"The original bad boy . . . crushes hearts."

17| Crushed Hearts

This one time I got my driver's license.

Mind you, it took me eight tests to pass.

"Get out of the way!" I shout for the umpteenth time.

The black cat along with a few pre-teens runs across the street.

One can already infer how amazing of a driver I am. One must also feel some sympathy for me and my companion as we drove down the packed street, yelling and cursing at people to move out of the way. Arsen's hands rest on top of mine, steering the bike in the straight. His cool cheek slightly brushes against mine and his bloodshot eyes focus on the road like never before.

Trust me, there's nothing romantic about this scenario . . . Okay, maybe except for how my back is pressed against his hard chest or how every time my ponytail gets in his face, he brushes the hair away to the other side, so that his chin could rest on the bare part of my shoulder. There's only a tiny problem with this much proximity.

"I'm never getting drunk again!" Arsen screams in my ear. I flinch. "You're gonna kill me!"

"Shut up!" I yell back as my knuckles turned white. I clutch the handles as if my life depended on it. "Move!" I scream at the late trick-o-treaters. Who even bothers people at midnight? The pre-teens scram across the road like cats and meow at us . . . Wait, not meow, they curse.

"Stop speeding," Arsen says, wide awake. Although he's intoxicated, he knows if he lets me be on my own, we'll die.

"I'm not even doing anything," I retort. "You're controlling everything. Why don't we change seats?"

"I don't have a license."

"What?!" I stare at the side of his face.

"Look at the road!" He snaps.

"Oh dear Jesus, save me," I mumble, following his order. "What did I ever do to deserve friends like you?"

"I ain't your friend."

"Yes, you are," I say, keeping my eyes on the road. Our re-friendship has to start somewhere . . . even if it's on the verge of a crash. Better late than never.

"What makes you say that?" he asks. I can feel his eyes on me, now.

"You hung out with me when none of my other friends did," I say. "In fact, you brought me to a parade and a party, because . . . "

"Because . . . ?"

"Because we're friends," I finish. Are we friends? I don't know for sure, but we aren't enemies either.

"Whatever floats your goat," he says, nonchalantly. I can't help but smile at those words. Arsen indirectly admitted we're friends or at least, there's friendship on my side.

"You know what will really float my goat?"

"What?"

"Take me to Skylar Johnson--"

"No."

"Please." I pout.

"No," he repeats firmly.

"Why are you such an arse?" I retort in annoyance.

"Because I require a payment to be nice." I groan and elbow him in the ribs. Probably the worst mistake of my entire eighteen years of existence. Arsen lets go to hold his stomach and I'm left to fend for the both of us. "Ow," he whimpers. "I already didn't feel so well. Was that necessary?"

All of my senses focus on the road so hard that Arsen's words enter through one ear and skids through the other.

I'm driving the bike.

By myself.

While Arsen complains about his upset tummy.

The bike speeds past buildings and cars parked near the curbs. I try to steer smoothly, however I'm no pro. In a distance there's a red light coming up and . . .

"Where's the brake?!" I yell.

"What? Lake?"

"Brake!" I say as we near the red light. There's a car already waiting for the signal to turn green. If we didn't pull the brakes, we're going to be flying soon.

"Cake?" Arsen asks. He doesn't even sound concerned, even though he can very well see the front. I wish I could punch him.

We're headed straight into the back of a car. "BRAKE!" I scream on the top of my lungs.

"Oh sh--" His words halt as he notices the problem at hand.

As a new driver, I have no idea what part performs what function. Arsen's hand comes back around me and he clutches the handles, trying to twist them. There's not enough distance for the bike to jerk to a stop. Furthermore, there are at least two other cars behind us. Maybe I proved us right. We're indeed going to die in each other's arms. 

Before I know it, Arsen selects the dumbest way to die.

He swerves the bike to the extreme side, so that we're facing the sidewalk three feet away. Arsen pushes all the weight to just one side of the bike, taking me along with him, and all of us run into the sidewalk.

I cry out in pain as my head crashes against the concrete. If Arsen hadn't put his hand out, the injury might've been more fatal. The bike's crushing our legs and I push it away before things can worsen. Arsen's awfully silent. I look past my shoulder at his pale, unconscious figure. I hope the red on his face is the makeup--nothing else. Slapping his cheeks lightly, I wait for his eyes to open.

But they don't.

A couple gets out of the car that was behind us.

"Oh god, are you okay?" The middle aged woman with raven black hair asks me. She offers me a hand to stand up and I grasp it gratefully. Meanwhile, her boyfriend or husband attempts to wake up Arsen.

Okay, maybe Arsen did take us all down, but the fall wasn't as serious as passing out.

He should be fine.

Maybe a few scratches . . . Wait, does alcohol worsen things post accidents?

What does that even mean?

"Arse! Wake up!" I say, rushing to his side. His forehead sports a two inch cut, but that's about it. I bend down my head on top of his chest to check whether or not his heart's beating. All I can hear is the drumming of my own heart in my ears. "Arse, I swear if you're messing with me, I'm gonna kill you!" I warn.

What if something actually happened?

I breathe in and out.

"I'll get some water," the man says and jogs to his car.

"I'll call 911--" the lady starts.

"No!" I interrupt. "Wait till the water." Then, if he still doesn't wake up, it'll be right to call the police. For some reason, I hate the cops. "Arsen, come on!" I nudge him desperately.

The guy returns with a half full water bottle and splashes some water on Arsen's face. There's a twitch. I grab the bottle from the man's hands and dump all of it on the unconscious idiot's face.

I can finally breathe properly.

"What happened?" He queries, blinking rapidly.

"The brake malfunctioned," I say. "On second thought, the brake didn't work at all." If it did, the bike would've long been stopped. Arsen sits up with my help. His face muscles wrinkle and he almost appears constipated. "Are you alright?"

"I . . . Uh . . . I'm gonna be s--"

He throws up all over my legs and feet. The nasty smell and the overwhelming sight nauseate me. I turn to the couple who step away from us so fast as if we had just told them we had Ebola.

"I'll find some more water," says the lady, holding a hand over her mouth.

"Please," I say, almost teary eyed.

The lady's partner leaves as well, saying he'll get us some paper towels.

"Sorry," Arsen mumbles, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "I guess I had a few too many drinks tonight."

"Naw, really?"

I kick out my legs, hoping it'd reduce some of the wet feeling. If I looked down, I knew for a fact that I'd throw up. Shouting at him won't do any good either. Controlling myself, I watch Arsen as he puts his head between his knees and lets out exaggerated breaths. I turn to see how far long the couple were . . . Let's just say they went too far for me to see.

"The ditched us," I say disappointed.

"They who?" Arsen asks.

"That guy and his wife or whatever."

"Do you know them?"

"No."

"Then get over it," he says simply. "Everyone leaves you at some point. You have to learn to grow up." Now isn't the time for philosophical remarks. As I open my mouth to say something, he adds, "Trust me, I know. First, my parents, then my Valley, and then my stupid uncle. Life's never the same. You can't blame anyone but yourself for it."

"My mom always says that people who live in your heart never leave you," I tell him softly. Well, she used to tell me that after Arsen and his family separated from us completely. I always blamed myself for getting Arsen sent to live with his uncle. He didn't deserve it. He no longer had a perfect family, hence all those words. The accident really got to him.

"Sounds familiar," he mutters.

"Yeah, my mom read it from inspirational quotes," I say playfully. It could be true. Who knows?

I hear him chuckle. "You're not so bad. Where did I pick you up?"

"Excuse me?" I say confused.

He stands on his feet and says, "Where did we meet? We obviously made plans to go out or something--"

"What are you talking about?" My eyes bore into his. He's not making any sense.

"Look, I hate doing this, but who are you?" He says, almost apologetically.

"What the hell, Arsen?! I don't have time for such petty jokes," I say frustrated. He behaves like we were strangers. Some people have a messed up sense of humor. I glare at him, however he gazes back innocently. He's not giving up the charade. "Can we get going?" I ask.

"Not until you tell me your name?"

Finally, a scary realization slaps me across the face.

Arsen seriously doesn't remember me.

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Next update: upcoming Thursday or Friday.