face with the gentlest touch. “Just lay still. I’m going to call 911,” Graham whispers. With trembling hands, he digs in his pocket for his phone and almost drops it. Fire runs through my veins. Maybe I’m in shock. Maybe I’m delusional. My thoughts point me straight in the vicinity of crazy. It’s obvious Graham hit me with his car. What isn’t obvious is why I’m about to stop him from calling for help. “Wait. Stop. Put your… phone away… and listen to… me for a second.” I croak out between gasps. My voice is weak, scratchy, strained. He stares at me, confused by my words. “Grab my phone… out of
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