I groan as searing pain lances through my ribs, fairly certain that at least a few are broken from the impact. Gasping for air, I blink through the haze of confusion, trying to make sense of the chaos surrounding me.
Derek is slumped over the steering wheel, a grotesque trickle of blood oozing from his hairline. In the backseat, Jeremy lies crumpled in a disturbing, bloody mess, unmoving and alarmingly still.
For one hysterical second, I muse that this is precisely why seatbelts exist. Should've worn a seatbelt, Jeremy.
I grit my teeth against a wave of pain as I claw my way into the passenger seat.
My shaking hands fumble with the door handle, but the door remains stubbornly jammed. Peering through the cracked windshield, I realize this side of the car has collided with a tree. A few inches of trunk are all that's blocking my door from opening.
