Page 30 of The Lucky One
Squealing tires right in front of me—the black van!
I jumped back, tripping awkwardly on my injured foot and falling on unforgiving asphalt. As I rolled to get up, a heavy foot pressed down on my back, pinning me to the ground. The air went out of my lungs—I struggled to breathe—a fist slamming into my side—pain sharp and searing.
“The fuck is your problem—”
Another kick to the side of my face, another burst of pain and disorientation. “You’re our problem!” A male voice. I had a sinking feeling I was in more danger than I had figured.
Something hard and cold pressed against my temple—metal. I froze.
I wouldn’t get the chance to talk to Jon—never hold my girl in my arms again.
Over the last few months I had paused my entire life for the slightest chance of getting her back. I stopped going out, stopped having fun, circling around her like a storm undecided about turning into a tornado. Damn, I didn’t even apply to college because of her and the future I had painted for us in my head. Against the black of my squeezed-shut eyelids, all I could see was Emily, her eyes filled with pity.
The metal pressed even harder against my skin. I was tired of this, tired of not feeling safe in my own home.
It was time to reclaim my life.
Gathering my strength, I opened my eyes to fight—
“Leave him the fuck alone!” Jon’s raspy voice cut the air; footsteps rushed over. Suddenly they let go of me. I heard car doors slamming shut, an engine revving.
“Are you okay, dude?” Jon extended his hand.
I got to my feet without his help. “Oh, so now you care about me?” Blood dripped from my face onto the asphalt. I spat out more. The van had already turned the corner.
Jon’s hand dropped. He didn’t offer an immediate response, refusing to make eye contact still. I threw my hands up in the air. “Please tell me you at least got the plate number!”
Jon shook his head. He took out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and offered me one, but I declined. He lit one himself, taking a deep drag, like I hadn’t just been assaulted by someone with a gun.
“You recognize the man who beat the shit out of me?”
“Never seen him before,” Jon mumbled. “You should go see a doctor.” And then turned to walk back to his house.
Oh, hell no, I wouldn’t let him be the one to walk away again. I grabbed him by the shoulder. “You’re a coward, Jon.”
He stopped in his tracks but didn’t turn to face me.
“Don’t you even remember that it was me who found you at Marna’s? Me who held you when you were about to die? Me who called the fucking ambulance?!”
“You called the ambulance?”
Adrenaline coursed through my body. “Fuck, of course I did! I searched the entire town for you and Emily that night, and I found you with Marna all over you.”
He flinched. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
I gritted my teeth. “And let you die? Fuck you, Jon!” I flashed my middle finger and hobbled away, my one leg aching with every step. Those kicks and punches, fuck, they weren’t even half as bad as all these emotions crashing over me. I could’ve been killed...
When I burst through the front door of my home, Mom, Dad, Zack and—Emily—were all lounging on the couch, having coffee and laughing about something Zack had said.
I couldn’t believe it. They were having a damn good time while I was more messed up than I’d ever been. I cleared my throat.
“Hey, honey. We were—” Mom began, but gasped and covered her mouth. Emily mirrored her reaction, clutching her kitten coffee cup in her hand. The same cup I used to bring her every morning. Now all I wanted was to throw it against the wall.
Dad rushed over to me and examined my face. His own was etched with concern. “What happened to you?” He lifted my chin, inspecting the damage from left to right.
“Fuck, bro, you look like the other person won!” Zack cackled.
Dad definitely wasn’t in the mood for jokes. “Don’t tell us you got into a fight again.”