The drive home was supposed to be peaceful, and uneventful. Yami was weary from the day's
toil, looking forward to the quiet solace of the game shop, and maybe a quick chat with
Yugi before he finally could seek the long-for refuge of a good night's music
was pleasant, the night air cool, but not unpleasantly cold, and he felt safe in the womb-
like atmosphere of the radio and the darkness. The song from the radio was soothing, the traffic light, and Yami was pleased to see that he was making good time. His peace was shattered by the bright flare of headlights swerving over the highway and into Yami's lane so blindingly quick. Yami's heart quelled in his chest, his whole body tremoring in the shock and the disbelief.
There was maybe a foot of distance between their bumpers, and even less time to react. Yami instinctively jerked the wheel to the left, towards the embankment. Yami's car shuddered as it nudged the other car's bumper and then continued its unrelenting crunch of metal rippled through his very bones like an earthquake.
The split second instinct had been made with the intent of salvaging Yami's
car and life, not to send both barrelling skyward then tumbling off the highway.
Yam did not even have time to cry out, as his thoughts suddenly narrowed and then severed into fragmented images. Even as the car started its cartwheel off the highway, even as the sky reversed position with the earth from the shattering windshield, even as Yami felt the car soar into the air, he denied its happening because it was too impossible to be believed. He only had time to snatch a breath before it was over.
The impact of the crash was horrific, a catastrophic tidal wave of breaking metal,
the windshield shattering, and earth and sky rolling into a dark blur as the car catapulted itself from the highway and dove into a rollover off the embankment.
He felt the sickening lurch as the tires left the pavement, the terrifying sensation of being flung ito the air, and then being flung downward. The car landed upside down, the roof of the car crumbling under its own weight, pinning him.
Pain, blinding pain coiled over his legs, laced up his hip, as something inside his left
leg calf bent and snap of his limb sounded like gunfire. He was hanging upside down,
suspended by the seatbelt as his groping hands scraped against the windows, and only felt the indifferent dirt. He was frantic, he was sobbing, and clawing, his bloody hands digging uselessly at the seatbelt to free himself from the prison of broken metal. He heard the wailing of sirens,
the blurred smear of blue lights as the EMTs scrambled down the hillside, standing aghast at the sight of the car upside down. A kind hand made its way through the gaping hole that remained of the windshield, coiled his trembling fingers in his own. "Don't worry, son.
We'll be getting you out shortly."
He had dissolved into sobbing hysterics when that kindly hand gave him another reassuring squeeze, and withdrew.
He heard the snatches of voices, the eerie calm that had settled over the carnage. He saw a a man's head with a helmet peer down at him through the sliver of winshield, and tell him that they were going to have to cut the car open to set him free from it. He was told that he would probably feel a rocking sensation, and hear a lot of noise, but not to worry, he would be free very soon. The quivering from the shock and the pain had increased to a bone-deep tremor that he couldn't stop. The agony had somehow slid from outright pain to numb throbbing as he felt his awareness trickling away like water. He heard somebody bellow that he was going into shock, as another hand gripped his cold one, imploring him to hold on.
The car lurched above his trapped legs, and he heard the sheering as they applied the plier-
like jaws of life to the car door, and peeled off the car's exterior. When it was established that the car's twisted frame would not collapse inward and crush him, they set about extracting his battered body. Yami flinched as they continued cutting away the pieces of the door, slowly,carefully extracting his battered body from the wreck. Yami whimpered as they finally freed his injured leg, and he stared numbly at the crooked angle of his gradually lowered him onto the backboard, carefully strapping him down to prevent any further wounding. He heard their voices, somebody gently stroking his bloodied hair in reassurance as he fought the encroaching darkness that finally swallowed him whole and engulfed all awareness in one abysmal silence. Yami's breath hitched in his heaving lungs before he fainted.
It was never supposed to be like this. Seto's head throbbed with the last remnants of his
hangover, and the clang of the bars behind him made his head ache even more. They left
him in this cold, concrete hole, reeking with the stench of vomit,piss and the aftermath of
being drunk. Seto felt unclean, violated, and nearly sick with guilt and horror.
Awareness was warring with his shot to hell nerves, and the handcuffs latched over his wrists were further proof that something had went horribly wrong. Seto remembered very little of the night until this point. A few drinks, a cocky reassurance of his own self-control,
the false sense of coordination as he decided to drive himself home. It was in the early hours of the morning, it was a short distance, and he wasn't drunk, hell, no.
He had only had a few and he was quite in control of himself, thank you.
That was the last thing he remembered with any clarity. There was snatches of moments, the sudden swerve of his hands, his growing irritation of the idiot who was going so slow on the lane, his growing impatience with wanting to get home and sleep before he had to attend to his usual duties of KaibaCorps.
He remembered the world lurching, the car in front of him halting, his own automobile colliding with the other car,his body feeling the reverberation to his core. His car spun around from the force of the collision, and came to rest after completely spinning around into a gordian hood was crumbled as a piece of paper caught in a fist, and smoking. His cell phone felt so unfamiliar in his pocket. He was shivering and scared and looking back to see the car he had just hit tumbling off the highway and crumbling into the ditch. His heart lurched like it was the wrecked car as he hastily dialed the emergency number. He was shaken, still panicking, still too intoxicated to function well, but enough... In trembling words, he poured out the whole awful event, as he scrambled to the hillside, watching as the car continued its tumble, and came to rest upside down in the ditch
There was only silence as Seto clapped a hand over his mouth, but could not hold back the vomit, or the
tears. He was only halted in his scrambling down the hillside by the swarm of EMTs and police. The arresting
officers were coldly professional as they tersely questioned him briefly, the stench of fine scotch
still on his breath, answering any questions of guilt they may have had. He was unresisting when they
read him his rights, docile as they wrapped his arms to the small of his back and then handcuffed him.
His eyes were searing as they continued to drink in the sickening aftermath of one stupid mistake.
He cowered on that cold sliver of the metal bed frame, his face buried in his hands. The tortured questions kept clawing at him like a flock of demonic birds, made him weep when the shock wore off and the realization of what he had done set in with all its vicious clarity.
The longest hours of Seto's life were spent pondering if he had killed somebody.