I look down at him in pure, utter shock, my eyes rapidly fluttering open and shut. The one thought running through my mind is that there is no way this is actually happening. There is no way I just ran over my former crush. Darkness encroaches on my vision as the weight of my actions bears down on me, threatening to drown me in guilt.
Once the blanket disappears from my eyes, our gazes meet and in that split-second, every single past memory I have of him flashes before my eyes, as if I'm about to meet my maker.
I don't remember the first time I ever laid eyes on him, but everything in between rushes back at me in full force. The first time I ever built up the courage to introduce myself to him. I told him my nickname, Starr. Back then, not many people were able to properly pronounce my name, so I compromised with a nickname.
I remember greeting him almost every day with a large smile on my face. Smiles he would blatantly ignore. I remember the day he rejected me too.
"Are you fucking stupid?" he groans in pain.
My mouth remains gaping at him in disbelief and shakily, I ask, "What?"
"I said, are you fucking stupid? Or are you just incapable of opening your eyes while driving?"
I gasp and narrow my eyes at him in anger. "Was that a racist joke?"
His eyes enlarge as he stares up at me in shock.
My arms automatically cross themselves over my chest and I suddenly don't feel that guilty about running him over especially if he is going to make jokes like that. Perhaps karma is just serving him a cold dish for breaking my heart all those years ago. A harsh and terrifying dish...
Okay, I take that back. If this is karma's way of evening things out between the both of us, it should have maybe eased up a bit. I mean, running the guy over seems pretty extreme just for one, measly heartbreak.
"Jesus, maybe you are actually stupid," he snaps, watching me in irritation. He pushes himself up using his elbows so that he is now level-eyed with me and his eyes thin into a flat, curious stare. "Either that or you have a concussion. Do you want me to call nine-nine-nine? Maybe your running me over gave you a concussion instead."
I reply with a mirthless chuckle and afterwards, I instantly glance away from him.
An irksome feeling bubbles in my chest and I ask myself how I could've liked someone like him. He's so rude. Even when he opens his mouth. At least, when he was silent, I could assume that he was just shy. That, or that he had a high-pitched voice he was embarrassed by, but no, he's rude even when he speaks. Now, I'm actually more disappointed that he doesn't have that high-pitched voice.
What the hell is he even doing here? He doesn't live anywhere near this part of town. This part of town is reserved for people whose parents earn an average salary and sometimes borrow money from the bank when they cannot afford to pay the mortgage loan. Dominic lives all the way in the ethereal town opposite mine, miles and miles away.
This part of town is where all the richest human beings live. People like Jodie, Taylor, Savannah and Riley. Most of my former friends live there, actually.
Last night when Amma got back home, I realised that I could not fall back asleep so I went downstairs to get myself a glass of milk, hoping that that would give me the yawns. It didn't. So, I just decided to watch some television and when I stumbled across the news channel, lo and behold, Mr and Mrs Lachowski were somewhere in the north of Africa. I think it was Senegal.
"What are you even doing on this side of town? You don't live around here."
"How would you know that? I never told you where I lived." He squints at me suspiciously. "In fact, I've never said a word to you before."
My eyes pop open awkwardly and I swallow a gulp.
How do I know where Dominic lives? Well, one might say that the crush I used to have on him back in the ninth grade made me do some questionable things. Things like stalking him for example. God forbid, he ever finds that out.
"I, uh, I know everyone who lives in this town," I stammer this lie out of my mouth, trying to keep a neutral face, but my eyes waver away so that he doesn't catch onto it.
He stares at me blankly which multiplies my anxiety.
"I guess you could say that… I'm your friendly neighbour who socialises with every single person around here. You could ask around, people know me and, uh, I know people."
I really hope he doesn't ask around because people don't know me, and I don't know people.
"Not that it's any of your business," he starts, causing the direction of my glare to settle on him, "but I was visiting a friend."
"You have friends?" I whisper-shout in horror, absolutely blown out of my mind with surprise.
Now it's his turn to glower.
"Who?"
He decides to clear the confusion by adding, "It's not my friends, necessarily. Just some friends of my mum who I have to stay with for the time being. Why am I even telling you this?"
"I don't know. This is the most open you've ever been with me," I reply with an amused smile.
He merely rolls his eyes. Another thing I'm accustomed to seeing.
"So, mummy and daddy dearest are in Senegal? Is that why you have to stay with your mum's friends?"
"See, it's comments like that. Why do you know that?" he asks in confusion and even more suspicion. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're a creepy stalker in the bushes with a camera."
Sheepishly, I obscure the camera hanging on my hip. "Well," I start in an explanatory tone, "good thing you do know better."
"Do I?"
Blinking irritably, I inform him, "I saw it on the news last night. They were kissing babies and everything," throwing out the idea of me being a stalker.
Even after my convincing explanation, he stares at me disbelievingly. He can never assume such farfetched things about me, even if they are remotely true.
He can never find out that I was stalking him back when we were immature and thirteen. He can never find out that I may have taken a few pictures of him when he wasn't paying attention. He can never find out that I may have hoarded those pictures and saved them under a file with his code name. I should probably delete those.
Through the corner of my eye, I see him touching his knee and wincing slightly. A tinge of concern arises within me and I watch him worriedly. Is he hurt? Does he need to get his knee checked out? Will my mum mind if I disturb her sleep and bring Dominic over for a little check up? Probably not, but she will be annoyed.
"Are you okay? Does your knee hurt?"
It's as if my soft tone snaps something in him and he neglects his knee, narrowing his eyes at me, the brown darkening into a nocturnal black which I have to say makes him even more attractive than he normally is.
I remember ninth grade Dominic and he didn't have as much muscle or height as this Dominic. Nor did he look as intimidating as he does now. I'm sure with just one glare he can pin anyone to the spot. Me, I'm so used to the glares that I merely brush them off now.
"I'm fine," he answers with a wry expression on his face.
"Are you sure? I mean, if you're in pain then you should let me know so that I can take you back to my home."
The more I speak, the more his eyes harden on me.
Being the idiot I am, I ignore the potent stare and continue saying, "My mum is a physician. She can take a look at your knee and—"
"Oh, my God. Do you ever just… shut up?" he cuts through my rambling.
I rear back in surprise at his words, frowning. What?
"I said I'm fine. What, are you so dumb that you also don't know the meaning of fine? It means that I don't need you worrying about my knee, that's what I'm fine means. You should look it up sometime, expand your vocabulary a bit."
"Okay, fine." I exclaim, astoundingly whilst raising my hands in surrender. "No need to bite my head off for trying to help you."
He blinks blankly.
"By the way, if the cops arrest me for your amputation because you didn't wanna get that knee checked out then I'm getting myself some high quality lawyer to sue your arse because I actually tried to help you instead of leaving you out here to rot. I don't know where I'll get the money to pay this supposed lawyer, but I'm optimistic and open to anything."
"Open to anything?"
"People get paid in different ways, you know?"
When Dominic still appears bemused by my words, I ball my fist and move it backwards and forwards while I poke my tongue into my cheek a few times in that suggestive manner.
"That's disgusting," he states in a deadpan tone.
"That's called making a plan," I correct him.
He rolls his eyes again.
Looking down, I catch the time on my wristwatch and release a breath of defeat when I realise that I'm not going to make it to school on time. Courteously, I ask him, "Do you want a ride to school?"
His eyes bulge out of their sockets in disbelief, almost as if he didn't hear me correctly and I take in the picture of him finally showing some emotion before it completely disappears into the normal neutrality. He blinks a couple of times and from the look on his face, I presume that he's trying to figure out if I'm actually being serious. I don't expect him to say yes.
"Yeah, sure. Why not?" he answers with an exasperated shrug, much to my surprise.
"Really?"
"Are you actually that stupid?"
"Excuse me?" I muse, watching him with an offended look.
"You really think I'm gonna get in the same car as you after you've just run me over?" he exclaims monotonously. "No, really. Think about that for one second, because there is no way you're this fucking dense."
"You know, you don't have to be such a cunt."
"Yeah?" he asks rhetorically, arching his eyebrows. "Well, you like this supposed cunt, remember?"
"Liked," I correct, trying to obscure the stutter in my speech and the heat portraying my embarrassment which covers my cheeks, "in the pa—you know what?"
He arches his brow, staring at me curiously when I stand up so that I'm towering over him, crossing my arms above my chest.
"Forget it. You can flipping limp to school for all I care."
"Look at that, ladies and gentlemen," he announces and also mimics my actions, now hovering a few inches above me, "Starr gets angry at the guy he just almost murdered."
"Unfortunately, it was only almost. The world could do with a little less certified arseholes," I mutter loud enough for him to hear.
He, like usual, glowers at me with the deadliest stare ever. He doesn't seem to have a response after that, so he just hoists his bag higher up his back and starts slightly limping away. I guess I hit the nail on its head when I said he can limp to school. Seeing him stumbling a little, I roll my eyes skyward and poke my tongue into my cheek in irritation.
Does he have to be so stubborn and prideful? An exasperated huff escapes me as I shake my head with another eye roll.
"Dominic," I hesitantly call after a while of watching his pitiful attempt at walking to school. He won't be able to make it there with the leg he hurt or the leg I hurt, whichever way you want to word it.
He comes to an immediate stop, but he does not turn around to meet my gaze.
"Let me ask my brother to give us both a ride to school. I'm sure he won't mind."
A few minutes later…
"Won't mind, huh?" he muses as I paddle away on the bicycle I used to use back in primary school.
"Oh, be quiet," I demand, rolling my eyes in irritation.
He balances on the stump pegs behind me with his hands on my shoulders, as I ride us to school. The ride is clumsy and at moments I fear us falling together, but eventually I manage to get the hang of it.
"You're lucky I didn't just let you limp to school."