All American Boys

15. Hit and Run

All American Boys

Chapter 15: Hit and Run

I parked Isaac's two seater right behind my car. Mom had driven to work, so there was enough space in front of my house. Turning off the engine, I glanced over at the young man beside me.

He seemed to be fast asleep, his pretty lashes made even more pronounced by the soft orang glow of the streetlight shining above us. He seemed at peace.

"We're here," I said, defaulting to a soft and high voice.

I guess it probably wouldn't matter since he won't even remember tonight, but he had thought that he was going back to Shoshana's so I guess I just had play along.

When that didn't wake him, I shook his shoulders. His eyes slowly fluttered open, looking dazed and confused.

"We're here," I repeated, like some announcer of sorts.

The young man looked at me through his reddened eyes, confused. He narrowed his eyes, but I couldn't tell if he was trying to take a closer look or he was just tired.

"Shana," he slurred. "Wait. . . Shana – when did you cut your hair?"

"Oh, this?" I replied, not knowing what to say. "Well-"

"Y-You're not Shana!" the young man blurted out, fumbling to undo his seatbelt. "What. . . did you do to her? Where is she?"

Isaac somehow managed to unlock the door, pushing it open. He managed to stumble out of the car – only to fall onto the pavement. Fortunately he had managed to break his fall with his arms.

I could only hope that Isaac didn't get this drunk that often. Poor Shoshana.

I helped him up, but he yanked himself free from me.

"Let go of me," he slurred. "You're gonna. . . kidnap me!"

"Oh calm down Isaac," I snapped at him. "I'm not gonna hurt you."

"L-Liar," he stuttered as he began to try to inch away from me. "I. . . I don't know this man! Help me!"

He began to scream for help, flailing his arms around. I didn't want to wake the neighbours, so I grabbed him by the arms and tried to bring him inside. If I had to do it by dragging his ass down my front yard, then so be it.

It was then when it hit me – a fist straight to my cheekbone. And it wasn't those flailing lucky shots either. It was a full on punch.

I've had enough. It took every fibre of my being not to run inside, grab the pepper spray we had kept in the kitchen and emptying the contents on his face.

Instead, I settled for the mightiest slap I could ever give someone. My hand stung when it hit his cheek, but I can only imagine what he must've felt.

That seemed to have calmed him down. He only looked at me blankly with those green eyes of his. Trembling, he brought a shaking hand to his cheek.

"Why'd you do that for?" he whimpered. "That hurt."

He started to sob, but he seemed compliant at least. I managed to get him on his legs, and I brought him – still stumbling - to my front door.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, breaking down in tears as I brought him inside. "I won't do it again."

I felt a little bad for slapping him so hard, but I guess it was fair after he had landed such a hard punch on my cheekbone. I haven't managed to take a look at it in the mirror, but I suppose it was pretty bruised by now.