Crash Into You

Chapter Zero

I think something is wrong.

Very, very, very wrong.

But I don’t know what or why or how and the more I try to figure it out and can’t figure it out, the more scared I get. I have never, ever been this scared in my life. The panic tunnels into my guts. It pushes its way under my skin. It holds me frozen in place until it’s all I can do to just…breathe. But I feel like I’m barely doing that.

I suck in air. Huff it out again.

In and out.

In. Out.

But the breathing hurts, and then the scared is worse because why?

Why does it hurt?

Did I relapse?

Am I…dead?

No, I’m not dead. If I were dead, I wouldn’t be scared. If I were dead, I wouldn’t feel like I’m hungover. Nausea, headache, groggy, confused. But…I wasn’t drunk. Was I? I scrabble for memories. No, I wasn’t drunk, so I’m not hungover.

I don’t know what I am. Except for scared. I’m so fucking scared.

Andy?

I’m sure I said her name, but when she doesn’t respond, I realize I just thought it. When I open my mouth to try again, my throat closes around the words. I raise my hand to wipe something wet from my face, but that small movement sends a stab of pain tunneling through my torso. I choke out a scream. It’s cut short by the explosion radiating from every nerve ending in my chest. White-hot and burning, it’s a knife twisting into me, digging at my insides.

The noise that pushes from my throat is less scream, more whimper. I settle into gasping, shuddering breathing. In. Out. The pain slowly eases, and now the overwhelming sensation is pressure, like a football team is kneeling on my chest, digging their knees into my ribs.

No, I’m definitely not dead.

But now I’m even more scared. What the fuck is happening?

After a couple of excruciatingly long moments, my surroundings solidify into something horrifying.

That wetness I tried to wipe away from my face is warm. It trickles down my cheek, slips over my lips and chin, and continues down my neck. It smells coppery. Fleshy. I lick my lip. Bloody…

Something’s pinning me. Pinning me…to the car seat? Yes. It’s the passenger seat because it’s Andy’s car. Her brand-new Lexus EV SUV that she’s had less than a month. She’s driving. Was driving.

We must have had an accident.

God, I’m going to give her so much shit. How many fucking times have I told her to slow down in the rain? To not tailgate? To not change lanes without thoroughly checking it’s clear? I can almost hear her laughing, teasing, “You’re such a goddamned grandma when you drive.”

Gurgling, wheezes, and gasps from my left. Where Andy is. I try to look over at her, but I can’t focus. My eyes are gritty, sore, like someone’s thrown a handful of coarse dust into them.

I try to say something to her, but I still can’t make a sound.

I try to hear if she’s telling me something, but my ears are ringing, blocked.

I try to touch her, but my left arm is pinned to my side.

Now the panic focuses into a single, sharp, claustrophobic sensation. I need to move. But I can’t free myself from whatever’s holding me down. My body just won’t obey. I need to get to Andy. She’s right there. I know she is. I can feel her, deep in my chest where she always is. With enormous, painful effort, I manage to move my left arm and realize there’s something in my hand.

It’s Andy’s hand.

I’ve held that hand so many times that I know unquestionably that it’s hers. I squeeze her fingers, instantly calmed by the touch. But not calmed enough.

Noise fades in, like someone slowly turning the volume up on a movie. I’m trying to pull the sounds out and separate them. Rain on the car roof. An indicator flicking, keeping time like a metronome. People. Talking quiet and loud.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

My thighs are wet. So’s my butt. But I’m inside the car where it’s not raining. Embarrassed, I realize I’ve peed myself. Andy’s never going to let me live it down.

Maybe I’m actually in a dream, one of those nightmares where I need to say something and I can’t and I can’t run or fight or make a call and nothing works the way it’s supposed to.

A low calm voice from my left rises above everything else, but I can’t hear the actual words. I know the tone is meant to be soothing. But I’m not soothed. I squirm against whatever pins me to the seat, ignoring the pain that sears through my chest. It doesn’t matter. I need to move. I need to get to Andy.

Why can’t I get to her? I squeeze her hand again, trying to ground myself in her touch. I will not let go of her hand, not even if someone tries to drag me away. She’s not squeezing my hand back. She must have passed out. I blink hard to stop the tears, my lips and chin trembling. If she’s passed out then she’s hurt. I don’t want her to be hurt. I don’t want her to be hurting. She’s only ever passed out once before. She had the flu when we were fifteen and she said she was so scared when she realized what was about to happen. She’s going to be so scared now.

I flail my right hand over to touch her, twisting as much as I can for more reach. But what I touch is cold, hard, and unyielding. I follow the thing along its length and confusingly find my hand back near my chest. This realization is sharp and scary. The thing stopping me from touching Andy is a haphazard clump of metal poles between us. One of them is bent sideways, pinning me against the seat. Jesus, fucking…how?

A fresh wave of panic surges through me, and now the pain in my chest is overwhelming. I feel like I can’t breathe at all now and the more I try, the more the air sticks inside my lungs like it’s solid instead of gas. Oh god. I’m going to die. I can’t breathe.

More voices. Shouting now.

I manage to suck in enough air to say, “Andy?”

I said it this time. I know I got it out. Just a croak, but it was out loud. She’ll hear me and she’ll wake up from being passed out and she’ll help me. She’ll make me calm down so I can breathe in a full breath.

Andy doesn’t answer.

My panic steadies to constant background noise. Metal screeches, the car moves slightly, a woman’s voice is in my ear, low and soothing. It’s the same voice I heard from my left before, from over with Andy. “Hey, hey, just relax. I’m here with you.” Warm hands on my temples stop me from turning around to look at whoever is in the back seat. They stop me from looking at Andy. I try to turn my head, fighting against this stranger’s hands, but they’re strong.

The woman’s fingers are sure and steady as they guide my head back to the seat, before something smooth across my forehead replaces the touch of skin. There’s a smell of wet leather and a vague scent of citrusy perfume. It’s both repulsive and comforting, and I don’t know how something can be both, but it is.

Every breath is agony. I’m sure someone has skewered me through my torso with a burning stake. I try over and over again to ask about Andy. Is she okay, is she still passed out, why isn’t anyone helping her? But I just can’t get the words out. It’s like my throat is closing around the questions.

“Just relax and stay nice and still for me, okay? You just need to keep still. Emergency services are on their way.”

I make a sound I hope she takes for agreement. I have to agree because I can’t fucking move my body more than a squirm or wriggle.

The car shifts again. Now she’s leaning through the open door beside me. If I focus on her eyes, I can breathe a little easier. They’re dark brown, big, warm, kind. They soften slightly at the edges when she says, “I’m Fia.” She enunciates it carefully, the F sharp. “Can you tell me your name?”

I take an awkward, wheezing breath and push out “Beth” on the exhale.

Her fingers touch my neck. “Nice to meet you, Beth. Sit tight and we’ll have you out of here soon.”

I swallow a sour mouthful of saliva. “What about…Andy?” I squeeze her hand again. She’s still here. She would never leave me, and I know now for sure that she passed out after the crash. That’s why she’s not talking to me.

“The driver?” At my gurgled sound of assent—I can’t nod with my head strapped down—she says, “Someone else is with her now. Just keep looking at me. Can you tell me where it hurts?”

I shudder. “My…my chest hurts so bad it’s hard to breathe. I think my foot’s stuck.”

“Do you know what happened? Where you are?”

I scrunch my eyes closed until I can find the images. “Driving…Home. Truck in front. Was swerving,” I mumble. “Did we hit it?”

Fia doesn’t answer. Instead, she yanks her leather jacket off and covers me with it. But the heavy, cold rain is still blowing through the open door, spraying me in the face. Sirens drone in the distance.

Saliva wells in my mouth again. My stomach convulses. I swallow hard, trying to stop the inevitable. But I can’t. I can’t even warn Fia before I throw up my dinner over her jacket and my lap.

Vomit dribbles from my chin. Fia pulls her long sleeve up over her palm and wipes my mouth and chin. The sour smell of regurgitated white wine and salmon fills my nose. The salmon was ever so slightly overcooked. Andy and I had exchanged looks over the table and silently agreed I wouldn’t send it back. The dinner was for our parents’ anniversary and we wouldn’t spoil it for something trivial, even if I’d paid seventy dollars for badly cooked salmon. And now I’ve just puked it up anyway.

Fia twists slightly to face away from me. She’s talking to someone outside the car. She’s shaking her head.

Now the shuddering is uncontrollable. I clench my right fist, keep my left hand tightly gripping Andy’s hand. If I keep holding her hand then everything is going to be all right. I wish she’d wake up.

Fia turns back to me, and I ask, “What’s happening to Andy? Why aren’t you with her?” My chattering teeth make the words catch and break.

Fia touches my trembling shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay.”

But I realize suddenly that I’m not and she didn’t answer me.

Her fingertips dig in slightly. “Just breathe for me, okay?”

“No. I—”

It’s then that I feel it. It’s then that I’m finally able to pin down the hollow feeling I’ve been fighting to focus on. The strange emptiness I haven’t been able to name. The thing I don’t want to name.

Straining, I turn my eyes as much as I can with my head strapped to the headrest.

It’s not enough.

If I squirm really, really hard, I can move my head around in the stupid fucking thing across my forehead that’s trying to keep me from looking at Andy. I can move my head just enough to look at her. The effort makes me gasp. Fia tries to stop me, but I snap at her to get her fucking hands off me.

I look and I see and as soon as I see, I wish with every single cell in my body that I wasn’t seeing it.

Andy is silent.

Andy is covered in blood.

Andy is looking right at me.

“Andy?” It’s nothing more than a whisper, so quiet I’m not even sure I said it. I want to scream, but I can’t get in the air I need to scream.

Andy doesn’t answer. Andy’s not blinking. Andy’s not…she’s not breathing?

Lights, like blue and red fireworks, flash over her face which is sickly under the streetlights. I reach across my lap to pick up her hand in my right one. I will not let go of her. Now that my left hand is free, I can just reach over to touch her properly. I need to wipe some of the water from her face. Her face is all wet from the rain coming in from her open door and the broken windshield on her side. Her mascara has run.

I have to contort around the thing between us but finally my fingertips brush her cheek. She’s warm, wet from the rain and…blood. Blood spills down from her hairline, over her temple, her cheek, her jaw, sliding down her neck.

“Andy?” I try again, but I choke on the word and all I can think is she won’t know that I’m saying her name. She won’t know I’m saying anything.

My hand falls, landing hard on the two-inch-thick metal tubes protruding from her chest and stomach. Tubes…tubes…scaffolding tubes? Protruding. From Andy’s chest and stomach.

A dull pain radiates in my hand. But that pain is nothing compared to the deep pain in my soul. I thought that before was the most scared I’ve ever been. Now I know that was nothing. I have never, ever felt fear like this fear right now, looking at this. And I can’t get away from it. I’m stuck.

I…I…I can’t do anything. I’m completely frozen. What do I do? I need help. Please, I need help. Andy needs help. Why isn’t anyone helping her? I know I’m screaming for someone to help. I can hear it. But it doesn’t sound like me.

Why isn’t anyone helping her?

Please. Please someone help her.

Please.

Someone has to come help. What about the woman? Fia. I just have to wait. Someone will help if I wait. I’ll wait with Andy. I fumble down with my aching left hand until I’m cradling her limp one between both of mine.

I will not let go of my sister’s hand.

It’s the last thing I think before my head starts to spin and I feel myself blacking out.

Fiona S.
Having finished reading Crash Into You by E. J. Noyes I feel like I've been on an emotional rollercoaster. My eyes started leaking almost from the first page and didn't stop until I was almost at the end of the book. This is one of the most compelling stories of the journey through grief that I've ever read and it is going to sit with me for a long time to come. …E. J. Noyes has done an extraordinary job with this book and I know it is one that I will come back to read again in the future.

Michele R.
From my perspective this book was a top read of 2026. The writing was strong and there was an emotional pull that had me crying a few pages into the story and many times thereafter. … This was an extraordinary book by an extraordinary author, E. J. Noyes.

Tempe M.
E. J. Noyes has done an extraordinary job with this book and I know it is one that I will come back to read again in the future.