𝐀 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐒

Jealousy

You almost got run over by a truck on your way to the hospital.

The four of you – Charlie, Hash, Marjory and yourself – were walking the whole distance, chatting about various topics. From complaining about classes and teacher gossip, to Charlie's lawsuits and Marjory's baking adventures, to theories about Oscar's disappearance/"plans" and Hash's highly classified government-assigned hacking mission, there was hardly a moment of silence. The air was buzzing with energy.

Approaching an intersection, your group had to cross a wide road, busy with oncoming traffic. Simultaneously, all of you looked left and right. When the coast was clear, Hash held your hand and Charlie's hand, as usual, while the four of you walked together.

Halfway across the road, you noticed your shoelaces were untied. So for only a few seconds, you broke off from Hash and bent down to tie your laces.

In those few seconds, a white truck veered down the road.

"Y/N!"

"ヾ(ﾟДﾟ;ヾ)"

"Watch out!"

Three pairs of hands grabbed different parts of you and pulled you aside right as the truck zoomed past with a BEEEEEP! It released a blast of wind upon its wake, blowing over everyone in your group. It was clearly speeding at least twice the limit.

Shocked, everyone's eyes trailed the truck.

Bounding up and down, it curved side-to-side on the road, sometimes onto the sidewalk and almost ran over pedestrians who screamed in fright. It struck a dent in eleven streetlights and broke off two fire hydrants. The tires burst into flames.

The driver was drunk or insane. Or both.

None of you could look away until the vehicle disappeared in the distance, leaving charred tracks on the road.

Finally, you blinked. Your hair was more dishevelled than usual, as you sat on the curb with your legs sprawled out in front of you. Your school uniform was rumpled, littered with dirt marks. Your chest heaved, heart thumping wildly under your ribcage while you panted laboriously.

Had it not been for your friends, you would have been a bloody pancake baked on asphalt.

You didn't mind death. But getting run over by a truck would have been a terrible way to go out.

And you were 90% sure reincarnation via truck-kun didn't exist in this universe.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" asked Marjory, while Charlie checked for any injuries. He spotted the edge of one of your old bruises just above your collar, sustained from all your brutal fights during the coup attempt. Thankfully, Charlie had the sense not to point it out.

When you found your voice, you wheezed, "Who the fuck was driving that thing?"

"୧(๑•̀ᗝ•́)૭"

"...Hello, Beth?" Charlie muttered into his phone. "I would like to sue another–"

"–Charls, don't," you said. "It's not worth it. Probably another drunk driver. Who knows? Don't care." You feigned a smile. "I'm alive, aren't I?"

He blinked. "Nonetheless–"

"–Don't," you emphasised. "Please."

The thought of standing in court again made you nauseous. Humans turned into animals in that place. Educated mules on the side of the defence and prosecution stooped so low to cover their asses and win the case. In the gallery would be a bumbling, sheepish jury. Sitting high at the top would be a brainless judge ruling in favour of the lawyer whose lies sounded the prettiest.