On Saturday, Dylan was invited to a car show to flaunt one of his luxury cars. He came with Max and Steve. While he was talking to other car owners, a guy approached his green Mercedes-Benz AMG GT 2020.
"Cool" he murmured, staring at the shiny green car in front of him. He came closer to it and attempted to touch its hood.
"Uh-uh! Sorry man, but no touching." Dylan told him.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm just... I mean... Wow! Your car is super gorgeous. I love the color." the guy complimented. He looked really amazed.
"Yeah. I just bought it last month." Dylan bragged. He acted humble, but his tone sounded a bit arrogant.
"Really? ...How much a car like this would cost?" the guy asked in a curious tone.
"Well, it's... (sniggered) Do you really want to know? I mean, I don't want to give you a heart attack." Dylan sneered, but again, he acted casual.
The guy noticed his rude behavior. He was a bit offended. "Yeah, it's true. I can never afford a car like this, so... (nodded) you're right. You better not tell me." he replied calmly.
"$251,900, Hybrid" Dylan boasted. "I hope you can still sleep soundly tonight." he added, then he sniggered and looked at his friends, but they did not support his impolite actions.
"What? I was just kidding." he told them. When he looked back at the guy, he was gone.
"You're such a dick, Dylan. You don't have to say that. You offended him." Max said.
"Come on. I just told him the truth. He obviously can't afford a car like this. He shouldn't have bothered to ask me how much it cost." he replied.
"First, you said you were kidding. Now, you mean it?" Max questioned. He still disapproved his friend's rude manners, but he played it cool and acted calm.
"Is this an argument?" Dylan asked. He sounded a little pissed.
"No. I'm just trying to tell you to be a little nicer to people who are not as lucky as you." he explained.
"Since when did you become my mother telling me what I should do and what I should not?" Dylan asked in an upset tone.
"All right, just forget it." he gave up.
"Will you please stop lecturing me like I'm a kid. We're friends. You should support me." Dylan dictated.
"Sorry, but I will not agree with that... I will never support your rude and childish behavior, because if I do that, I ain't a friend to you then." he replied, still maintaining his calm tone.
"So, this is really an argument, huh, Max?" Dylan asked again.
"Hey guys, what are you doing? Cut it out. We're not here for this." Steve reminded them.
"You know what? If you don't want to be my friend anymore, you're free to go." Dylan said, looking straight at his longtime friend.
"Are you sure?" he asked. He kept his relaxed tone to try to avoid aggravating their verbal dispute.
It took Dylan a while before he answered. "Yes... I can always find someone else who will not give his side to a random guy instead of his friend." he told him in a voice full of confidence and pride.
"Okay, then... I guess this is our last night as friends... Well, take care of yourself, Mr. Walton." Max replied with a smile. Then, he walked away.
Steve got up and followed him.
"Hey Steve, what's up with you? Are you going to leave too?" Dylan asked in a bothered tone.
"Sorry, bro... You're a friend, but Max and I, we've been together before we met, so... I'm coming with him... No hard feelings." he answered, then he looked away and left.
Seeing his friends leaving made him feel angrier, but something else dominated him. He knew it was disappointment to himself, but he chose to hide it and forced himself to believe they were not a loss to him.
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On Sunday, Dylan stayed at home because he had nowhere to go. His girlfriend was away and he's not in good terms with his friends. While he was in the living room drinking, his phone beeped. It was a text message from Patricia. He quickly opened it and read the content.
- Baby, our photoshoot is extended. I won't be back till next week. I will call u later. Love ya! -
Her message only exacerbated his annoyance. He snatched his glass aggressively and poured another shot of whiskey in it.
"Sir, your breakfast is ready." a housemaid told him.
"I'm not hungry." he replied.
"Should I put the food back, sir?" the maid asked.
Dylan looked at her. "You heard me, right? I said I'm not hungry. That means you can throw that food away now, or feed it to the dogs... Can you just get out of my sight, and do your job right, Bridgette." he grouched in an annoyed tone.
The maid quickly lowered her head in fear. "I'm sorry, sir." she quavered in a low and scared voice. Then, she hurried back to the dining room.
"Tsk, damn it" Dylan muttered.
He got up from the couch and snatched his car key from the key bowl holder. He went to the garage and hopped into his Mercedes-Benz. When the tilt-up door opened, he blasted off at high speed. Even when he got through the gate, he didn't let go of the gas pedal. He was very angry, he forgot the speed limit on the highway.
While driving like crazy on the road, he heard a siren tailing him. He quickly realized he was being chased by a police car for speeding. Because of his intoxication, he forgot his self-control and continued to roar his car.
At that time, different emotions rumbled inside of him. There was hatred, disappointment and guilt.
"So, this is Mr. Regret, huh?" he murmured. "Let's see if you can catch me, stupid fat cops." he scoffed in a pissed tone.
He entered a clearer road and began to set his mind for a race. He moved the gear shifter with aggression and pressed the gas pedal harder. The speedometer reached 140, then 160.
When he looked at the side mirror, he smirked. Just as he expected it would, he got further away from the police car.
"Suckers" he derided, sniggering.
When he looked back at the road, he saw the red light ahead was on, but because there were no other cars crossing, he proceeded without reducing his speed.
He was about to pass through, when another car suddenly appeared from the right side of the intersection. He was shocked. His grip on the steering wheel tightened. He quickly hit the brakes and pulled the emergency handbrake.
The wheels stopped, but with the speed of 180, the car was dragged forward by the force. He pulled the steering wheel to the left, but it was too late. Half of his car from the back hit a silver sedan's front half.
Both cars were thrown away by the strong impact. The sedan flipped over, while Dylan's car rolled over on the road twice. In that quick seconds of fear and lost, he felt a sharp pain on his face.
Then, darkness came.
☆••••••○○●○○••••••☆
Dylan was rushed to the hospital. He was immediately taken to the operating room after he got a broken arm and an open wound on the left side of his head from the accident.
After half an hour from the time the doctors started working on him, Mrs. Walton arrived. The police officers waiting for her quickly calmed her down. She came hysterically crying.
Dylan's operation took more than four hours. When a male doctor came out of the room, Mrs. Walton immediately got up from her chair and approached him.
"How's my son?" she asked in an anxious voice.
"He's stable now, but we still need to monitor his head injury. We were able to fix it, but usually, in cases like this, other damages could possibly appear at a later time. Head is a very critical part of a human body." the doctor said.
"W-What kind of damages?" she asked in a worried tone.
"We still can't tell now. We have to wait until the patient wakes up. We'll transfer him to a recovery room tomorrow morning." the doctor answered.
☆••••••○○●○○••••••☆
The next day, Mrs. Walton stayed in his son's room. Her husband who's in Sweden at that time said he would fly back home as soon as possible.
In the afternoon, Max and Steve came to visit. Mrs. Walton informed them about what had happened to their friend.
"How is he, aunt Vic?" Max asked softly.
"The doctor said his condition is stable for now... The bad news is, his head injury can bring out other serious damages." she answered in a bothered tone.
Max looked at Dylan in his bed. He was still unconscious and covered with bandages.
"We... had a little misunderstanding the day before the accident. Maybe that was..." He paused when Mrs. Walton interrupted him.
"Don't blame yourself, Maxwell. Little fights are common for your age. It's actually us who led him to this. We kept believing he would learn on his own, so we let him do whatever he wanted, but it turned out, that decision is a mistake." she said heavily.
"Don't worry, aunt Vic. Dylan is a hard-headed guy, like literally he is, so I'm sure he'll be all right." he replied, trying to cheer her up.
Somehow, it worked. Mrs. Walton managed to put up a little smile.
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To be continued....
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