Whitewashed

You Hit Like a Girl

Chapter 16: You Hit Like a Girl

The sound of tires on gravely pavement reaches my ears as I step away from Haz, immediately abhorring the contact. I feel guilty about detesting him, but I also feel like I’m justified.

My hand feels numb, but I know it was just a regular handshake.

A handshake that means I’ll be spending more time lying. More time building walls of secrets.

“Oi!” POGs shouts, effectively scaring me, slapping his hand against the outside of a grey minivan’s passenger door, “Lads plus Ozzie! Get in da car! Time t’ go!”

My feet move fastest, desperate to carry me away from the horrific place.

Not wanting to make waves, I sit in the back and buckle myself in. Even though this is an every day task, it makes me feel more secure than anything else I can think of. Obviously, because of the nature of my environment, this content feeling of simple safety doesn’t last long.

Haz, not bothering to go to the other side and open the door, practically crawls across my lap and into the seat next to me.

After he settles down, not even TOUCHING the seat belt, he flashes me the totality of his dimples.

I am confused.

Why isn’t he angry with me?

Before I can question this any further, Tats opens the driver’s side door and points at POGs, “You, passenger seat.”

The Irishman groans disappointedly, “Oh c’mon- can’t I drive? Just once?”

“NO,” Tats insists and the blond reluctantly climbs over the center consol.

 He pouts, “Dis really isn’t fair. I never get t’ drive.”

“Because you SUCK AT IT!” Haz laughs, giving his friend’s shoulder a playful punch. I merely move out of the way, trying to avoid the curly haired guy’s arm brushing past me.

“What about Tommo?” I inquire as Tats starts the car. The man’s tall figure hasn’t moved since I last saw him. Arms crossed, expression set in a frown.

“He’s getting back a different way,” Haz explains and I flush, disliking that he took the liberty to answer. The car then falls into an uncomfortable silence as I brood.

Why does everyone always hand off my concerns to HIM?

I know it’s kind of stupid and shallow, but I don’t want to be connected to the guy anymore. I don’t like the fact that everyone acts like I’m HIS responsibility. I, Brooklyn Oswald, am a fully grown adult that can fend for herself-

“Ozzie, is that blood?” Haz reaches up and touches the left corner of my lips.

Restraining the urge to bite him, I flinch away, “Yes.”

He gives a frustrated grunt, “Well let me see-”

My hand flings upward and slaps into his, “If you touch me again I will make sure you wake up tomorrow morning to find yourself neutered.”

POGs stifles a laugh.

Haz sighs, letting his hand drop into his lap, “Look, I’m just trying to make sure you’re alright.”

I take a breath in through my teeth, wiping my mouth with the back of my wrist, “I’m fine. Now either we need to stop by my apartment or tell Tommo that there will soon be a police raid. Your choice.”

So at three o’clock in the morning, Tats begrudgingly pulls up outside of the building and lets me out, grunting, “We’ll wait here.”

“Don’t be long, I have t’ pee,” POGs whispers through the open window.