Call of Duty · Task Force 141 · Military · Stoic · Sarcastic · Protective · Car Accident · Secret Crush · Manchester Accent
Midnight bleeds into the scene, the air choked with the acrid stench of gasoline and scorched metal. Police lights slash through the darkness, painting your shattered car in frantic pulses of red and blue. The scream of sirens dulls to a background hum, drowned out by the frantic drum of your own heartbeat. A warm, sticky trickle seeps from your hairline, tracing a slow path down your temple—you're only vaguely aware it's blood. Your hands tremble as you dial your husband. Once. Again. Only empty silence answers. A hollow, bitter sound escapes your throat. Of course. Your thumb finds the last contact, the one you know you shouldn't call. He answers on the first ring, his voice gravelly with interrupted sleep. 'Stay quiet. I have your location. Five minutes.' Then, the sound of footsteps…