I want to hold your hand

I can feel my heart leaping out of my throat as I chase after my dog. Running at his full speed, he ignores my commands to calm the fuck down while I get his toy that's bouncing off the road.

"Baxter!" I try again, and catch my breath. The golden retriever bolts away. "Baxter, leave it!"

I make a mental note on paying closer attention to his leash next time we go walking, but the next moment I find myself screaming and taking flight as a swerving Lexus hits Baxter and knocks him flat on the pavement.

Blood pounds in my ears as the world moves in slow motion, only falling back to its pace when a tall, wide-eyed, blond boy in a university hoodie – the idiot driver – scampers out of the blasted car. "Ohmygodisheokay?" he asks.

Probably not because you hit him, you idiot.

Seeing the looming stranger, Baxter panics in his place. He makes an attempt to flee and fails as he's unable to move his legs.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!" The driver looks at me as he cautiously crouches next to my pet. His desperate, blue eyes make him look like he's about to cry. He asks me, "Are you okay?"

No. No, I'm not, thanks to twats like you who mustn't be allowed a driver's license.

I want to tell him but the thing is, I can't speak. Queasiness has glued my lips together. I'm sweating and shaking profusely, torn between giving in the instinct to kill someone and passing out on the ground beside Baxter.

"Aw, you poor thing!" The driver tells my injured pet as though he is still incapable to wrap his head around the fact that his carelessness has brought him agony. He turns to me. "We need to take him to the vet ASAP – will you do me a favour?"

Hastily, he takes off his shoelaces and asks me to hold Baxter while he muzzles him. Hearing his pained whimpers is torture, but the driver says this is the best way to prevent further injuries until the doctors can take a look at him. He volunteers his hoodie as a stretcher, and with utmost care, we both transfer Baxter to the back of his car.

On the short drive, he attempts getting friendly with me. He throws me apologies nonstop, and I keep telling him to say that to Baxter who hasn't stopped whimpering at the back. He says his name is Alfred and he lives around the neighbourhood. He asks me what's my name, do I live around the area, why did Baxter run off, and am I okay?

"You're trembling," he points out like I'm unaware of it. With the worried look on his face, I think he plans dropping me off to the emergency room as well.

"Just drive," I tell him.

I'm not sure what to do with my hands as I try my best restraining them from wringing his neck. For once, my constant self-destructive schemes miraculously take a backseat in my head. I want to tell him he seems like an expert in this and ask, Do you hit runaway dogs in your neighbourhood quite often? But my mouth is still incapable of conversations so I just stare at the blur of houses by the window and bite my nails.

I take Baxter out for long walks every weekend. These are the best times to contemplate on life and existence and other shit without anyone breathing down my neck. I leave my car outside my flat and we walk for a couple of miles, strolling along a different neighbourhood every time. Only today, due to some unfortunate circumstances, we end up at the pet hospital with a despicable stranger (an American, no less) named Alfred.

As Baxter undergoes a series of blood tests and x-rays, Alfred stays with me in the waiting area. He finally gets my I-really-don't-want-to-talk-to-you hints and now we sit apart with a comfortable distance and an awkward silence.

I pretend being busy by scrolling through my phone. He does the same, tapping idly on his screen. We're trapped in this charade for ages, only interrupted when someone hesitantly sits between us. I feel his eyes on me at times. When I return his glance, he gets busy with his phone again.

The harrowing wait is over as the doctor calls me to explain the diagnosis. Baxter's got some broken bones, but no spinal damage or any other fatal injuries. Thank God.

"I'm glad he's okay," Alfred huffs with relief, pushing his glasses against the bridge of his nose. He looks genuinely happy as if a relative's life has been declared out of danger.

I nod.

It's his turn to speak, but instead, he buries his hands on his jeans pockets, suddenly taking interest on the tiled floor.

"Hey," I tell him. It still feels strange talking to him. Breathe in. Breathe out. "I'm sorry if I acted like a prick or a nervous wreck today, but er, Baxter's the only company I have since I fled my mother's house, and er... I can't afford to lose him."

He smiles at that and runs a hand at the back of his head. "It's alright. I understand." He shrugs. "I think I would've acted the same if it happened to my dog."

Like a normal well-mannered human being, I thank him for taking the responsibility of driving us here and even staying with me. That's about it. He offers driving us home, but I reckon that's asking too much from him so I insist taking a cab.

"Bye, Arthur." He waves his hand in a constricted sweep.

"Bye, Alfred."

I close the cab door.

I hope our paths will never have to cross again.


AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Happy New Year, everyone! Whoa I haven't posted anything in ages.

How does this sound for a first chapter? This is for wolfofthemoon101 on Tumblr who gave me this amazing idea of an 'I accidentally ran over your pet and now I'll take you both to the vet' AU. It's gotten wayyy longer than I intended so I'm chopping it off to little chapters. Updates won't take long as I've finished more than the first half. uvu