Except it won’t start.
I crank the engine over and over. It doesn’t make a sound. Fucking fuck fuck!
Why did I think this car would get me all the way to Florida? I can’t even get it out of my driveway.
Shivering in the cold January temperatures, I drink the coffee, savor the warm rich taste, and consider my options.
I need to go back inside and call a tow truck. I can stay with Bree until the car is fixed.
Opening the door, I climb back out, and the pall of vertigo hits me sideways. Jesus, I don’t feel good all of a sudden. I attempt another step and sway. What the hell?
A loud rushing sound roars in my ears. Dizziness grips me hard, spinning the ground and splotching my vision. I need to sit down. I need to…
My knees buckle, and the pavement rises up, slamming against my chest. The coffee tumbles from my grip, and darkness creeps in around me.
Unable to lift my cheek from the cold ground, I stare in a daze at the paper cup where it rolls on its side beside my limp arm. Rolling… Slowing… Stopping.
The last thing I see before the world goes black is three words written in unfamiliar handwriting on the bottom of the cup.
It’s not over.