Cherreads

Chapter 3 - Never Offer Your Crush A Ride

What steps does one take after running someone over?

I remain seated in my car, my body rigid and tense. My heart hammers wildly in my chest, each beat echoing in my ears like a countdown to an impending explosion. My fingers grip the steering wheel with such intensity that my knuckles have turned an eerie shade of white. My breaths come in shallow, ragged gasps.

For an agonising moment, I find myself utterly paralysed. I am unable to twitch even an eyelid, consumed by a terror that primal. Outside my car, the world has come to a standstill. I mean, even the rustling leaves seem to have been frozen in a tableau. Time itself feels suspended in dread as I sit there, trapped in my own racing thoughts.

Do I call someone?

I force myself to look away from the windscreen. I count five things in the car—my phone, my water bottle, the old keychain dangling from the rearview mirror, the crumpled coat on the passenger seat and my panic.

All perfectly intact.

I reach for the door handle, my fingers trembling. The moment it clicks open, cold air rushes in.

I step out of the car cautiously after unclicking my seatbelt with a sharp snap, heart still thundering. My legs feel like jelly. I slightly lean over to try and ominously peek over the hood of the car. I brace myself for anything. A chipmunk? A dog that broke loose? A rogue shark that miraculously grew legs? Literally anything but a person.

I slap a hand over my mouth to muffle the gasp clawing its way out.

Sprawled on the pavement, in a black hoodie that looks eerily familiar, is a human body. That is not a chipmunk—unless Alvin and the Chipmunks recently recruited a six foot tall member with a love for monochrome.

My panic surges.

Do I hide the body? Wait, maybe I should check if he's still alive.

I urgently dive to the ground and fearfully press two fingers to his wrist.

The pulse kicks against my fingertips like a miracle.

A sigh of relief escapes my lips, placing a grateful hand over my chest.

He's alive.

Looking up, I mouth a word of thanks to whatever angel is watching over me and lean away to scan him for any injury. Every time I would get hurt, my mum would insist on putting pressure on the wound just to check if I was being truthful about my boo-boos, as I used to call them.

I do the same to his body but he doesn't even twitch, so instead I grab his arm and try to turn him over.

"Jesus," he murmurs and abruptly, I jump away in shock, landing on my derrière. "Where did you learn how to drive?"

I glance up at his face and my gaze enlarges as round as saucers when I catch the impassive, brown eyes which I'm quite familiar with. I am only familiar with them because they have basically glared at me throughout my entire secondary school life.

From year eight all the way into year eleven, he has been glowering at me as if to shrivel me into nonexistence.

At first, his stares used to scare me to my wits. I would immediately bury my chin into my chest and scurry away from him. I mean, you'd think the guy would get tired of narrowing his eyes at me in class, in the library, in the hallway when we're walking past each other and even after school when I'm rushing over to the bus. I swear, this guy is everywhere I turn.

Turning thirteen seemed to change everything for me. That's when I started seeing boys in a different light—a certain one, at least.

In primary school, I didn't care for boys nor did I care for girls. I just saw boys as human beings who lacked hair and girls with way too much of it. In fact, when Jodie, one of my childhood best friends started dating Timothy Havre, I thought he was just her new best friend. I was so jealous that another boy had taken my spot as her number one.

She did everything with him, started to spend less and less time with us and more and more time with him. He would wait for her outside her class so he could carry her bag to the next one. She would write him notes. He'd share his juice box with her.

Then suddenly, during one of the recesses, they kissed in front of everybody. My eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets from surprise. Jodie never kissed Taylor or me.

Since when do friends kiss?

That's how I learned the term boyfriend.

This brooding emo of a kid whose locker was assigned right next to mine used some kind of magic on me. He had my heart beating at an abnormally fast pace whenever I was in his presence, so fast that I would get worried I was going to have a heart attack at the young age of thirteen.

The first time I told Taylor and Jodie about how I felt about Dominic, they both squealed in my face excitedly and immediately started plotting.

I recall lying in bed the night prior, eyes trained on the painted stars sprinkled with glitter on my ceiling, pondering if I would actually go through with what they had both encouraged me to do from the very beginning. I was going to tell him that I liked him and that I wanted us to be more than just friends—even though we weren't exactly friends in the sense. We had only had a few conversations which usually went as follows:

"Hi," I'd call, waving at him vigorously from across the corridor with the widest grin on my face.

Dominic would then glance over at me with the dullest look ever, roll his eyes slightly and then walk away from me like I didn't even exist.

And I don't know why I was so naïve back then, but I mistook his death glares for something entirely different. The guy clearly despised me with a burning passion. Why did I think that his constantly glowering at me meant that he liked me?

Deep down, I think I knew he didn't like me, but there was a bigger part of me that was holding onto hope, no matter how small that hope was.

I did it either way.

I told him that I liked him.

And... you can most likely guess what the guy did.

It happened in the music room, raindrops tapping the windows. I was perched on top of a desk, trying to decipher how to use the violin balanced on my shoulder. My camera was tucked away for once. I knew nothing about music. The only reason I signed up was because of him.

Dominic sat at the piano, fingers tracing the keys but never pressing them. He did not look at me, which should have been the first sign.

I broke the silence with a joke. "With a lot of practice, I bet I'll be the next Chopin."

"Chopin didn't play the violin," Dominic responded monotonously.

"He didn't?"

"No."

"So next Mozart?"

Dominic finally looked up. "You talk too much."

My eyes widened slightly. 

A longer silence stretched between us before he glanced down again. 

Then I cleared my throat and blurted out, "I like you."

His hands froze on the piano, and he didn't react. Not even a muscle on his face twitched.

"I mean, you probably already knew," I added, laughing nervously. "I'm not exactly subtle about it. I think I've vlogged about you like fourteen times—"

"Stop."

I blinked. "What?"

"Stop liking me."

I tried to play it cool, even as my face burned.

Right, okay. I'll just uninstall my feelings, I wanted to say sardonically.

Dominic then stood up, grabbed his backpack and left the room without even saying goodbye. The silence that remained after his retreat echoed harder than the rejection. And since then, we have not spoken to each other.

So essentially, my crush crushed me.

And now I've just run him over in my car.

I look down at him in shock, my eyes rapidly fluttering. 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.

I don't remember the first time I 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 knew how 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.

Dominic groans from the pavement, clutching his side and glaring up through a mess of dark hair. "Are you fucking stupid?"

My mouth falls open in disbelief and shakily, I ask, "What?"

"I said, are you fucking stupid?" he reiterates without even a hint of hesitation. "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. "What?"

"Open your eyes?" My arms cross over my chest defensively. "That's real subtle, Dominic."

His brows knit together bemused. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Open my eyes while I'm driving because I'm Asian?" I suddenly don't feel that guilty about running him over especially if he's going to make jokes like that. 

"I wasn't talking about your race," he says sharply. "I was talking about the fact that you nearly broke my spine with your Kia!"

"It's a Hyundai," I correct him under my breath.

"Does that matter?" he snaps, watching me in irritation. "Jesus, maybe you are actually stupid,"

I forgot how rude he is.

"Either that or you have a concussion." Dominic pushes himself up using his elbows so that he is now at eye level with me. His eyes thin into a flat stare. "Do you want me to call an ambulance for you? Maybe your running me over gave you a concussion instead."

I reply with a mirthless chuckle and afterwards, I instantly glance away from him.

Irritation builds in my chest.

How could I have liked someone like him?

He is so rude. At least, when he was silently ignoring me back then, I could assume he was just shy. That, or he had a piercing voice he was embarrassed of, but no, he's rude even when he speaks. Now, I'm actually more disappointed he doesn't have a high pitched voice.

What the hell is he even doing here?

Dominic doesn't live anywhere near this part of town. This part of town is reserved for people whose parents sometimes have to borrow money from the bank when they cannot afford to pay the mortgage loan. Dominic lives all the way in a suburban town miles and miles away from mine.

This part of town is where all the richest people live. People like Jodie, Savannah and James. Most of my former friends live there, actually.

Last night, when my mum 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. When it didn't, I just decided to watch something on the television and when I stumbled across the news channel, lo and behold, Dominic's parents were somewhere in the north of Africa.

"What are you even doing here? 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 barely said a word to you."

My eyes pop open awkwardly and I swallow a gulp.

How do I know where Dominic lives?

One might say the crush I used to have on him back in year eight 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 on to it.

He stares at me blankly which multiplies my anxiety.

"I guess you could say... 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.

Now it's his turn to glower.

"Who?"

"Not necessarily my friends. Just some friends of my mum whom I have to stay with for the time being." When he catches himself rambling, he shakes his head in confusion. "Why am I even telling you this?"

"I don't know," I reply with an amused smile. "This is the most open you've ever been with me."

He merely rolls his eyes. Another thing I'm accustomed to seeing.

"So, your parents travelled to Senegal and left you to stay with their 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 were 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 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 rubbing his knee and wincing slightly.

Concern surges in 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 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 usually is.

I remember eighth grade Dominic and he didn't have as much muscle or height as this Dominic. Nor did he look as intimidating. I am certain that with just one glare he can pin anyone to the spot. I'm so used to his piercing stares that I merely brush them off.

"I'm fine," he says in a clipped tone, not even remotely convincing.

I squint at him. "Are you sure? If something hurts, just say so. I can take you back to my house."

The more I speak, the more his eyes harden on me. Being the idiot I am, I ignore the potent stare.

"Seriously, my mum's a physician," I blabber on. "She can check your knee and—"

"Do you ever shut up?"

The words hit me like a slap I never saw coming, and I freeze, frown carving itself across my face.

"I said I'm fine," he snaps, voice slicing through the air. "What, is that a foreign concept to you?"

I rear back in surprise at his words. What?

"Let me help you understand what "I'm fine' means. It means I don't need your overly dramatic attempt at medical intervention. You should try looking it up sometime. Might help you expand your vocabulary."

"Okay, fine," I mutter, hands flying up in surrender. "No need to bite my head off for trying to help."

Dominic blinks at me.

"So, just saying," I begin, arms flailing slightly for emphasis, "if the rozzers come for me because you refused medical attention and your leg falls off, I will be suing."

His face stays blank.

"I'll get myself one of those expensive lawyers with three surnames and pretentious cufflinks. The ones who speak in legalese and drink coffee from those tiny cups. Sure, I don't know how I'll afford one, but I'm flexible and open to anything."

He arches a brow. "Open to anything?"

"People get paid in different ways," I shrug dramatically, then ball my fist and rotate it while poking my tongue into my cheek theatrically.

Dominic stares. "That's disgusting."

"That's called making a plan," I correct.

He sighs and rolls his eyes, which at this point feels like his default language.

Looking down, I catch the time on my wristwatch and release a breath of defeat when I realise 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 did not hear me correctly and I take in the moment of him finally showing a fingernail of emotion before it completely disappears into the normal neutrality. He blinks a few times and from the look on his face, I presume he's trying to figure out if I'm actually being serious.

I don't expect him to agree to my offer.

"Yeah, sure," he answers with an exasperated shrug, much to my surprise. "Why not?"

"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 literally one second, because there is no way you're this fucking dense."

"You don't have to be such a wanker."

"Yeah?" he asks rhetorically, arching his eyebrows. "Well, you like this supposed wanker, remember?"

"Liked," I correct, trying to obscure the stutter in my speech and the blush heating my cheeks from embarrassment, "in the pas—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.

"You can 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," I mutter loud enough for him to hear. "The world is well overdue for fewer cretins knocking about."

Dominic 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 stumble 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 comes to an immediate stop, but he does not turn around to meet my gaze.

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.

"Let me ask my brother to give us 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."

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