Here’s another snippet from a short story-ish bit I wrote a couple years ago. I really like this one and the characters in it, but I haven’t been inspired since writing the first ten pages… Ha-ha. I want to be in the mood for it; any time I’ve tried writing for it when not just didn’t feel right… This is one of my favorites, and I really hope to finish it some day. 🙂
This is just the beginning of it. I’ll post increments as the days go by, up to the point I stopped at. It’s a little long, my apologies; I was trying to find a good place to cut it off for this part.
Warning: cursing is involved in this part, in case that offends anyone.
I’d love feedback if anyone is willing to give it, even just suggestions on where you might like it to go!
Weston huffed as he pounded down the sidewalk, reverting back to taking even breaths through his nose. He probably shouldn’t have gone running today—it was a hundred degrees and humid, and he’d forgotten a bottle of water—but he didn’t want to ruin his schedule: a two-hour run everyday, preferably in the morning. Today he’d had to make an exception, and so it was two in the afternoon and stifling, and he was only halfway through.
He rounded a corner and his vision started to swim as he started across the street. But then he suddenly heard the squeal of tires on pavement and a hard and heavy smack to his arm sent him spinning. He landed heavily on the same arm’s shoulder on the opposite curb. He yelped in pain, and on instinct tried to lift himself up, but it only aggravated his damaged limb further. He hissed in a breath in order to keep from screaming in pain.
The car (what had hit him and caused the squealing noise), pulled over around the corner he was slumped onto. His head was bobbing and weaving when suddenly something wet hit him in the face. He sputtered, licking it away from his lips. Is that… Dr. Pepper?
“I didn’t have water,” a voice said next to him, as if reading his thoughts. Then it shouted, “The fuck were you doing, running into the road like that, kid? Didn’t your ma’ tell you to look both ways before crossing the damn street?!”
He groaned pitifully before rolling over, trying to wipe his face with his good arm, but it was still covered in sweat and soda. “Don’t you know what breaks are…?” he mumbled, looking up finally at the person who’d hit him. “And ‘m not a kid, you…”
“I did hit the breaks. And laid on the horn,” they huffed indignantly. It was a girl, who looked to be no older than he was. She was dressed nicely in black dress pants and a nice green blouse, and when he squinted at her face in the sun he could see she had on make-up, too, which made her eyes (Hazel…?) pop. Though if it was from the make-up or just a blush of embarrassment or from the heat, he couldn’t tell what made her cheeks so red. For such a hot day, he decided, she was wearing really hot clothes. Yeesh. “And you are a kid,” she continued, “A real dumb one. Come on, up slow.”
“You look like my age!” he protested, half as a joke and half to cover the pain of his shoulder. “And you’re shorter. You look like a sixteen year old. Fuck, that hurts, be more gentle.” She was indeed shorter, about half a head shorter than he, but no less strong. She at least had good upper body strength, for as she lifted him up his knees buckled and she kept him upright with little to no effort.
“And how old are you?” she retorted, before saying, “Guess again. Now get in the car so I can get you to the hospital.”
Despite not knowing her Weston figured she couldn’t be too bad; she did look like a teen, herself… “What’s my age got to do—?”
“Shut up and sit down,” she ordered, pushing him into the passenger seat, albeit gently, despite her tone. Quickly she crawled into the driver seat and they took off. “Oh, put on your seat belt.”
Sighing he did so, wincing as his movement jarred his arm. “Damn it… Fine. I’m seventeen—”
“Thought so,” she smirked, though she looked at him with a bit of worry. “Older than you still,” she taunted. She was trying to distract him a bit with small talk, obviously, but she didn’t seem very good at it.
“Bull,” he grumbled. “You can’t be any older than me…”
“Turned twenty-one last November,” she laughed at his expression. “Oh, shit, that reminds me…”
“I call bullshit,” he cried as she carefully reached into her pocket while maintaining her steady hand on the wheel and her eye on the road. She pulled out a phone and started to type away at it, still watching out the window. “You can’t—”
“Quiet down for a minute, kid,” she said, listening closely before speaking, “Hello, is Melissa available?”
A moment passed before she continued, “Yes, thank—ugh, frickin’ elevator music…” She sighed and lifted the phone away before tapping another button. The aforementioned music drifted out of the small speaker. It was annoying.
“Shush please,” she interrupted, as suddenly the music stopped.
“Thanks for calling Flameiron H.R., this is Melissa, how can I help you?”
“Hi Melissa,” the girl said, her voice suddenly chipper but with a hint of apology, “This is Tawny. I’m sorry, but something very urgent occurred and I won’t be able to make it to the interview. Can I call you back later to reschedule?”
“Oh… I’m leaving in half an hour. Call me tomorrow, all right?”
“Of course, thanks so much for understanding. I’m very sorry.”
“Not a problem. I’ll speak with you later, Tawny.”
“Job interview?” Weston asked, his eyes closed tiredly as he reclined back against the seat. He tapped against his knee to some unheard beat while his foot did the same. Bored, Tawny assumed, and probably trying to distract himself from the pain.
“Mm-hm,” Tawny murmured in affirmative, tapping twice more before setting the phone in a cup holder. The empty bottle of Dr. Pepper sat in the one next to it. “Probably not getting the job now, either. It always looks bad when you have to reschedule last minute.”
“As much as I’d like to blame you it’s both our faults, so don’t worry about it. Let’s just get you to the hospital and get your arm fixed up.”
The rest of the short drive was silent. Tawny drove up to the ER and they had to wait before someone finally made it down to meet with them.
“Here, these have to be filled out. What happened?” the young nurse asked, looking them over.
“He was taking a run and slipped on the curb—dehydrated. He landed on his left shoulder, so it’s probably dislocated or something,” Tawny explained. When Weston would have protested she gripped his shoulder, tight enough as a warning but not too tight to really hurt.
“I see… and what is your relationship?” the nurse continued, leading them to the elevator.
“Siblings. I’m his older sister,” she lied easily. The nurse glanced at them oddly, and Weston wondered if this lie was going to fly. They looked nothing alike, and she certainly didn’t look older than him. While she had hair that very much went with her name and hazel-green-dominated eyes, his hair was black and his eyes blue. “Different fathers,” she went on to say at the nurse’s continued scrutiny.
“Oh… all right, sorry. Uhm, we’re here. Please have a seat in the lobby and the doctor will be with you shortly.” She hurried off down a hall and the two ‘siblings’ took a seat.
Weston immediately went after her, “Why did you—?”
“I can’t afford to get sued,” she whispered quickly, and now he was sure the red on her cheeks was a blush. She looked at him pointedly, “I know it sounds petty, but I’m already suffocating on college debts and I’m not making much money as is—obviously, I was going for an interview, anyway that’s not the point—”
“Whoa, cool it!” he said, raising his arms to wave them emphatically for her to stop, but at the sharp twinge and pull of pain he hissed and lowered his arm. He sighed. “I wouldn’t even know how to go about suing you,” he started. She still looked at him suspiciously, so he went on, “And ‘sides, my dad is a doctor, he can afford the bills. It was an accident, so don’t worry. At least you didn’t just hit and run.”
“I was tempted,” she admitted, looking down in shame. “You shouldn’t rely so easily on your father’s money,” she added bitterly, as if remembering past pain. Shaking herself slightly, she said, “Thanks…”
“Forget it. Help me fill this shit out, though,” he said, pointing awkwardly with his right hand to the forms. “I’m a lefty, so this is kinda hard…”
“Mm,” she quickly snatched the clipboard and pen and asked, “What’s your name? And all that other good stuff?”