Clayton spit out a little blood, his body heavy into the back seat of the van. I had one of his arms, and Kennedy had the other. Really, for such a skinny kid, he was a lot of dead weight when he wanted to be. Asshole.
We got him laying down and Kennedy went to start the car. I heard her panic-voice while I was trying to comfort Clayton, the collar of his rock band sweater glistening with traces of rust-colored blood. His vision kept going in and out of focus on me, his breath pacing. I finally managed: "We're gonna fuck him up for you, okay?" in a hushed, sweet tone. his short, jagged hair, knife cut, was sprawled over his eyes and nose. He tried to answer, but he went quiet, gesturing me to come closer. I heard Kennedy, more irritated now. "Toronto." I got down near him, and a bloody smile creaked into his voice, ragged.
"I'm gonna help, dude.. I'm..." He coughed again. "Don't talk about me like I'm gonna die... We're.."
My heart did a skip-beat, my breath catching. I tried yelling emphatically, but it was more of an aggressive, breathy whisper. "Don't you fucking- don't even think about dying right now, you asshole!"
Kennedy finally shouted at me. "Toronto!" her hands were on top of the car and she was looking at me with annoyance and grief on her face. Clearly she hadn't heard the joke. God.
"What?! What?"
"I need the fucking keys," she deadpanned.
YOU ARE READING
TRAINWRECKS
Teen Fictionthe first day of a boy's life can be confusing. especially if he's seventeen years old.
