Falling Away by Allie Little Read Free Book Online Page B

grates at the air like metal tearing metal, and the sound of shattering glass sends shivers up my spine. When the fine tinkling eventually stops, my heart rate’s so high it’s thudding through my throat. In the rear vision mirror I see the bonnet of an old Hilux ute rammed unceremoniously up my rear.
    Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit. I hang my head in my hands and feel the weight of it. Can it get any worse?
    Three sharp knocks hit the window beside my ear. When I lift my head my heart sinks deeper, sliding through the chassis beneath my shaking feet. Jack’s standing by the car, gesturing way too calmly for me to get out. He doesn’t look too happy, but at least he doesn’t look livid. Can it get any worse? Well, yes. Yes, it can.
    I wind down the window. “Shit, Jack. I am so sorry.”
    “You all right?” he asks.
    I shrug in silence because I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to look at his sun-washed face and the light in his straw-coloured hair. I don’t want to look into those sea-green eyes because I’m scared I’ll never manage to pull my eyes away again. Even after this.
    He glances over the rear of my car. “It’s not that bad. Just a bump really. Move your car forward.”
    I roll the car into the parking spot, turn off the ignition and open the door. The world turns in slow motion, prolonging my pain. Grinding rather than spinning. Slowing to a halting, grating stop.
    I drag myself out, not really wanting to see the damage. “I didn’t even see you. I didn’t even look. Shit Jack, your car.”
    The front of his car is pretty badly dinged, but mine is worse. The metal’s all buckled, like a shrinkie curled up in an oven. The tail-lights and brake-lights are completely shattered, and the boot’s pushed up like it’s hugging the window. This is going to cost a fortune, and frankly I’d like to die. Right now I’d like the ground to open in a huge chasm and just swallow me whole. Cover me in earth and leave me. It’d be kinder than this.
    “Um, I’ll pay to get it fixed,” I offer, nervously avoiding his gaze.
    He looks right at me, running a hand through his scruffy blond hair. “No need. I’ve got a panel-beating mate who can do it cheap. Yours is worse. Maybe he could fix yours while he’s doing mine.”
    “I have insurance,” I add, hoping it’ll make a difference.
    He shakes his head. “Nah, mate. Don’t worry about it. The excess’d be more than the job.”
    “I’m so sorry, Jack. I really am.”
    “Stop apologising. These things happen, mate. It’s no big deal.”
    Oh god, get me out of here. Let me shrivel up and die. Anything ...
    “So what’s your phone number?”
    “Pardon?”
    “Your phone number? So I can let you know about my mate. I’ll see when he can do your car if you like? His name’s Matt.”
    He rifles through his glovebox and finds a pen, then etches my mobile number on a scrappy Bi-Lo receipt he uncovers on the floor in front of the passenger seat. I’m doing pretty well to remember my phone number with my brain so addled from collision-shock.
    He swings himself into the front seat and parks his ute next to mine. His fishing rod’s in the tray with a bucket and tackle box. He grabs for them, lifting the rod up and over the side with the bucket in the same hand.
    “You sure you’re okay, Sam? You seem a little dazed.” Despite everything he’s smiling, which almost makes it worse.
    I shake myself from my stupor. “Yep. Fine, thanks.” No need for any further concern. I will happily get into my car and drive home now, adding this to the long list of my ever- increasing tales of woe.
    He tilts his head as if to get a better view. “Okay, well if you’re sure. I’ll see you later then. I’ll call you, about the car.”
    I raise my eyes that have glued themselves to the ground, willing it to crack into a chasm. As I nod an acknowledgement, he saunters off toward the beach.
    The road from Bennett’s Beach to Tea Gardens passes in a blur. I