Loose Ends - Book One

Ana ~ Please Don't Protest

The night is deadly silent but all that's going through my head is shit!

I definitely should not have been driving this car, especially at this time of night. I'd been behind the wheel maybe twice before I got thrown behind mental bars. I haven't been home for even a full day, yet, and shit's already hit the fan. Being lost in thought for a mere five seconds is apparently enough time to miss a pedestrian. I pull over and jump out of my dad's old car, praying I didn't just take a life.

When I fly around the car, I see him lying on the concrete. He's not moving at all, and my eyes immediately start to sting with tears. With no knowledge of what I could possibly do, I run over to him and drop to my knees.

"Please," I silently beg. He has a backpack, one strap sort of wrapped around his arm. I lift his head and feel around his neck until I find a pulse. Still steady. "Can you hear me?" I shake him a little and stare at his face. I think to myself, for a second, that he looks familiar. It's hard to tell with his eyes closed.

I don't know CPR, or any other type of medical attention, so I do what I had to do to Sheila when she got black-out drunk on sneaked-in Vodka.

Please don't hate me, I pray. I draw my right hand back and send it right across his face.

His eyebrows furrow and his jaw drops. "Ohh!" He holds his cheek and slowly caves over in pain. Hell, even I wince at his pain.

"I'm sorry."

"What just...?" He groans and attempts to open his eyes.

"I'm so sorry, this is my fault. Let me find help." I look around desperately and see that no one's around, yet. When I return my attention back to blondie, I see him trying his damn hardest to sit up.

"Did you just... slap me?" He finally makes some eye contact with me, and oh he is fine. He also does look familiar like I suspected, but why don't I remember him? Shouldn't I remember such a face?

It gets stranger when, within our eye contact, a look of what seems like awe goes across his face. I almost ask what's wrong, but quickly remember our situation when he groans in pain. "We have to get you to a hospital."

His tone quickly goes from pained to stern, and almost pleading. "No, no, no. No hospital."

"No hospital? Why?!" I give him a puzzled look. "You need medical attention, and I can't help."

"Yes, you can." He tries sitting up, again, while I support his back.

"No, I can't, I'm calling 911." I rip my phone from my jacket pocket and bring up the dial pad. Immediately after I dial nine, my phone gets projected out of my hand. It hits a nearby telephone pole and smashes into pieces. My mother had just gotten me that damn thing.

"Do not go to that telephone," he commands once we lock eyes, again.

"What the hell?!"

"I'll buy you a new iPhone."

"Why don't you want help?!"

He glances over at the Honda Civic that now has a dent on the left headlight. "Is that yours?"

"Arguably."

"You're gonna take me home."

"Do you have a doctor at home?"

"Arguably." He slides his feet underneath himself and attempts to stand, only to fall flat on his ass, again. "Please, get me in your car before someone sees us."

He's definitely hiding from someone. My only guess, so far, is that he's avoiding police, but why? What did he do?

Nonetheless, I help him stand on his two feet and swiftly get him into the car. He has a few good inches of height on me, and he looks healthy. I have his left arm around my shoulder, and my right arm around his waist. He's definitely fit, just a little more on the slim side. I could only hope his recovery would agree.