Chapter 3 The Weight of Guilt

When I realized the person I had hit was Amer, my entire body went cold, like ice had flooded my veins. I couldn't move. I just stared at him, helpless and paralyzed. The anger I had felt earlier that day seemed so small now, a distant memory, completely insignificant compared to what I had just done. My mind couldn't grasp the reality of it. He was lying there, motionless. I had hurt him. He didn't deserve this. The tears started flowing uncontrollably, and for the first time, I felt utterly powerless.

I reached out to him, my hands trembling, but I couldn't bring myself to touch him. It was like I was afraid I might make everything worse. He had been so frustrating earlier, yes, but this was beyond anything I had ever imagined. I had wanted him to understand, to feel my anger, but this wasn't how it was supposed to end.

The silence around us was deafening. There were no cars, no sounds, just my panicked breathing and the throbbing in my head. I was alone with him, and I had no idea what to do. My stomach churned as I tried-desperately-to lift him, but he was too heavy, too limp. The world seemed to collapse around me, dark and crushing. I couldn't fix this. I didn't know how.

But then, a tiny movement. His eyes flickered open. My heart lurched as I caught my breath, a fleeting moment of relief before the panic returned. He looked so fragile, so vulnerable, and I felt a wave of guilt so heavy it almost drowned me. He raised his hand slowly, almost as if to tell me it was okay, but I couldn't believe him. I couldn't accept that this could be okay.

"Calm down. I'm fine. Please don't cry."

His voice was faint, barely above a whisper. I stared at him, trying to make sense of the words. I wanted to believe him, but everything inside me screamed that he wasn't fine. He couldn't be. Not when I had caused this. Not when I had seen him crumple to the ground, like a ragdoll.

"You're alive... You're okay... I'm taking you to the hospital." My voice cracked, thick with emotion, as I tried to reassure him-and myself-that everything would be alright. But deep down, I knew that this wouldn't just go away.

"No, no hospital. I'll rest at home... it'll pass," he murmured, trying to sit up, but I couldn't let him.

I shook my head furiously. "No, Amer! When I saw you lying there lifeless, I was so scared. I can't take you home like this."

The fear was clawing at me, irrational, but overwhelming. The thought of letting him go, to sit in his house, alone, after what I had done-it felt wrong. I couldn't just walk away from this. The guilt was suffocating.

I could see it in his eyes, though-he didn't want to be a burden. He didn't want me to worry. But I couldn't help it. I was terrified. I had hurt him. I had nearly taken him from this world, and I couldn't just act like it didn't matter.

Helping him to his feet, I felt every step we took together. Every time I looked at him, his face was pale, and his movements were slow, weak. My heart squeezed painfully in my chest, and I tried to hide how much I was struggling to keep it together. My fear was spilling out, but I couldn't let him see it. Not now.

Each time I glanced at the car, my stomach turned. The shattered windshield haunted me, reminding me of how quickly things had gone wrong. How reckless I had been. The guilt was unbearable, but I knew there was no turning back. I had to get him to the hospital, no matter what.

I finally managed to start the car, my hands still trembling. The day was fading into night, and with the darkness closing in, I found myself wanting to break the silence, to fill the void with something, anything, to distract from what had just happened.

"If you had just come to the library today, none of this would've happened. What were you even doing out here?" My voice was harsh, more accusing than I meant it to be. But I was so lost in my own turmoil, I didn't know how else to voice what I was feeling.

Amer didn't answer, and I hated how silent he was, how closed off he seemed. He was pulling away, and I couldn't help but feel rejected. He should've been angry with me, yelling at me, instead of lying there, still too weak to even react. He had every right to hate me.

But all I could think of was how I might never forgive myself. When we reached the hospital, I pulled over, my hands still shaking, and immediately called for help. I could barely keep still as the nurses wheeled him away. Each second felt like an eternity, the weight of what I had done pressing down harder with every breath. I kept pacing, my mind spiraling with guilt, wondering if I had caused more damage than I realized. His body-so limp, so still-haunted me. My stomach twisted in knots, and I couldn't stop my hands from trembling. I needed answers, needed to know he was okay, but I couldn't get them fast enough.

When Dr. Grey finally came out, his serious expression didn't help calm my nerves. I bombarded him with questions, my voice desperate, almost pleading. I couldn't stop myself.

"I just... I need to know if he's going to be okay," I stammered. "Please, tell me he's okay."

Dr. Grey's calm tone didn't reassure me. "He's stable, but we need to keep him overnight for observation."

Relief flooded through me, but it was short-lived. I couldn't shake the feeling that this was just the beginning. I still hadn't faced the full consequences of what I'd done.

When I finally saw Amer in his room, preparing to leave against medical advice, my heart stopped. "Where are you going? You can't leave like this."

He was too weak to argue, but his voice was sharp. "There's no point staying here, Nena."

"But Amer-" My voice cracked. I couldn't let him go. Not after everything that had happened.

"I said I'm leaving," he repeated, his tone firm. I wanted to argue, to push, but I saw the determination in his eyes. He didn't want me here, and that hurt more than anything else.

"Fine," I whispered, my voice small. "But at least let me drive you home."

Reluctantly, he agreed, and we left. The car ride was uncomfortable, heavy with the tension between us. As we drove, the silence between us felt suffocating. My hands gripped the wheel so tightly, I thought my fingers might cramp. Every glance at Amer, pale and broken beside me, made my stomach twist with regret. What had I done? I had wanted to punish him, to get some sort of satisfaction, but this was never what I intended. His injuries, the helplessness in his eyes-it was all too much for me to bear. But for breaking the silence I was asking questions.

Amer's voice broke through my questions . "Why are you asking me all these questions? If you're going to keep talking the whole way, just stop the car, and I'll walk."

I flinched, my heart sinking. "Okay, I'll stop," I murmured, swallowing the lump in my throat.

I couldn't even be angry at him for snapping. Not now. Not after everything. I had hurt him, physically, emotionally. What right did I have to expect anything else from him?

The house seemed to loom ahead of us, isolated in the dark. The eerie quiet of the surroundings only added to the growing unease in my chest. As I parked the car, I couldn't shake the feeling that I had made the wrong choice coming here, but what else could I do? Leave him alone in his state? I glanced over at him again-he looked so detached, so cold, and it hurt even more.

"You live here?" I asked, trying to make conversation, though I already knew the answer.

"Yes," Amer replied tersely, and I could feel the finality in his words.

"Alone? Here? Don't you have family-parents, siblings?" The words escaped before I could stop them, my concern spilling out despite myself.

"I live alone, Nena," he snapped, and I swallowed the hurt in his voice.

"Do you always treat people this rudely?" I asked, regretting the moment the words left my mouth. But I couldn't stop myself, not with the weight of everything hanging in the air.

"What do you want me to do? Thank you for hitting me with your car?" he shot back, his voice rough.

The sting of his words hit me harder than I cared to admit. "No! Look, I'm truly sorry. Please forgive me; it was an accident," I choked out, my voice trembling. I was desperate for him to understand, desperate for him to know I never meant for this to happen.

"Stop crying," he muttered, as if the sight of my tears somehow made it worse. "It's late. Go home. Your family will worry."

"But in your condition-" I began, but he cut me off.

"Go, Nena. I can take care of myself."

His words hung in the air as I sat there, the guilt nearly suffocating me. He didn't want me here, and yet I couldn't bring myself to leave. I wanted to do more, help him more, but he didn't want me near him. Reluctantly, I drove away, feeling more lost than I had ever felt before.

By the time I got home, it was dark, and the reality of what had happened hit me with a wave of exhaustion and panic. My mother wasn't home, and the house felt strangely empty. I knocked on the door, but no answer came. Using my key, I let myself inside, only to find it dark and silent.

I rushed to my room, heart pounding, but my mind refused to let me rest. I had to face what I had done. The accident, Amer's bloodied body-those images wouldn't leave me.

The phone buzzed in my pocket, and I quickly answered, hoping it was a distraction, but the sound of Samuel's voice only added to the pressure building in my chest. He asked questions, offering solutions, but nothing felt like it would make this better. What would I say tomorrow? How could I face anyone knowing I had hurt someone so badly?

I lay in bed, pretending to sleep, but my mind wouldn't let me. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Amer's face, pale and hurt. I couldn't stop thinking about what I had done, and the guilt pressed down harder. I didn't know how to fix this, but I knew one thing for sure: I couldn't just let him go. I had to know if he was okay.