Through the Windshield Glass Read Online Free Page A

alone which surprised me. I had wanted company so badly I’d
been willing to do anything. I just hadn’t realized until that point that the
company I wanted was Maria, or my family, not a random stranger. I'd never been
one to talk to boys, especially attractive ones that were closer to being men.
Unfortunately, the guy wanted to keep talking.
    "Daman
Carter," the boy said, extending his hand to me. The moonlight threw
Daman's features into sharp contrast, his face was all shadows and silver
moonlight, but I could see that his eyes were very light blue, almost like
water or a storm-grey sky. He was wearing a hooded jacket, and it was easy to
confirm that he was in excellent physical condition. I saw his arm flex when he
put his hand out. Daman's hair was dark, extremely curly and so thick it could
have hidden horns. That thought surprised me and I tried to shake it from my mind
as I slid my much smaller hand into Daman's outstretched one.
    His hand was
warm, slightly calloused and much bigger than mine, but my hand seemed to fit
perfectly. My jaw dropped a little at the feeling, thank goodness my name
started with an ‘a’ so the jaw drop was easily disguised.
    "A--Alice
Patterson," I replied. Daman and I settled in to silence. I cursed myself
internally for being so awful at speaking with boys, for some reason I felt as
though all my weaknesses should have evaporated with my death.
    "How did
you die?" Daman finally asked. I jumped and hoped Daman wouldn’t noticed,
for some reason I desperately wanted to impress him with my deadly maturity.
    The memory of
my death flashed so vividly in front of my eyes it stole my breath and used the
oxygen to feed the flaming remembrance. I choked and tears stabbed at my eyes
as I gasped for air that wouldn't come. I could feel the airbags compressing my
chest and the image of my hands on the steering wheel seemed burned into my
retinas.
    I contemplated
how to answer Daman's question, but it was so complex, and I didn't want him to
hear me cry. I condensed the long, detailed, painful story into one extremely
vague and unsatisfying sound bite.
    "Car
crash," I said simply.
     
     

Chapter Six
     
    Daman could tell
there was much more to my tale. It was evident in the way he looked at me, the
way his mouth twitched up in a half smile at my explanation. I held my breath
and waited for him to press me for more information. Instead, he looked down at
the grass in front of him, pulled out a handful and let the severed blades drop
through his fingers back onto the ground.
    “I’m sorry you
had to die, Alice,” Daman finally said. He was staring at me with those
piercing blue eyes, “I’m sure you didn’t deserve it.”
    I shrugged,
"Not many people truly deserve to die, do they?"
    Daman grunted,
"I did. I ruined my mother's life."
    I was
immediately speechless. I hadn’t pegged Daman as the self-hating, mildly
suicidal type. Until that point he had just seemed slightly depressed about
being dead and being stuck sitting next to a random, and probably boring, girl.
    "I'm sure
you didn't deserve to die," I protested weakly. It seemed an odd thing to
say to someone I had met less than ten minutes ago, and way too personal a
subject to be discussing with such a young relationship.
    "Can we
not talk about it? Being dead is depressing enough." Daman said. I was
again surprised at how touchy and defensive he had suddenly become, "Tell
me about your life instead."
    "It wasn't
that great," I said. I was hoping Daman would drop the subject of my life
as he had my death, but he remained silent and pressed into me with the
glowing, magnificent orbs of his eyes.
    "I had an
older brother, James,” I found myself saying, almost against my will, “but he's
dead too now, he's the one who brought me here. A younger sister, Lacey, she
was fifteen when I died. I never had a boyfriend, never went to a school dance.
I only had one friend, Maria, and I died the day she committed suicide.”
    "Are you
mad