While his own feeble attempts at shoving the man away hadn’t been as effective as he’d initially hoped it would be, he did let the woman go, and that had to at least count as some sort of victory.
The instant that the girl in question shuffled away from the monobrowed creep, Darren let out a sigh of relief, immediately grateful that she wasn’t now in the clutches of some sleazy dirtbag who couldn’t take no for an answer. When the aforementioned sleazy dirtbag turned his attention away from her, and onto Darren, however, he realised he should probably be a little concerned.
Despite his own abnormally large stature for a boy of his age, the man now closing in on him still managed to have some height on him, not to mention that all of Darren’s years of dancing, gymnastics, and even skateboarding, appeared to have had little to no effect on him in the muscle department.
“Aw crap,” he groaned, as the man advanced on him, his expression one that could only be described as pure, unadulterated rage.
There were a select few things that Darren knew he could do right now. The first, and most obvious, option was to run; run like hell and never look back. But he couldn’t do that. That would involve leaving this poor, unsuspecting girl to deal with the fallout of his own actions, and God only knows what the man might do if he got his grubby paws on her again. The second option would be to take the girl’s hand in his own, and then both of them could run, but he wasn’t sure that option was entirely plausible, as it would require a total stranger to be entirely okay with a 6 foot teenage boy essentially kidnapping her. The third option was to call for help, maybe yell until somebody came and intervened, but given the various club-goers and bouncers that were lingering on the streets at the current moment, he wasn’t entirely sure any of them actually cared. The fourth option, of course, was the one that he wasn’t so keen on, but the one he was determined to stick to. And, unfortunately, it involved him squaring up to this terrifying ogre of a man and telling him exactly what he thought of him.
Before Darren could even utter a word, however, he heard a cry somewhere beside him. The sound, it appeared, was coming from the girl that he had just rescued, and he turned his attention back to her instead. He could feel her tugging frantically at his t-shirt, and while he couldn’t quite figure out what she was trying to tell him, he anxiously wondered if Shrek the Second had some form of backup coming, when something collided with his jaw.
That something, it seemed, was Shrek’s fist, and holy fucking God did it hurt.
Stumbling backwards as skin connected with skin, his arms windmilling in every direction in an attempt to steady his falling body, he half expected to land haphazardly in some puddle at the size of the road as he clumsily tripped over his own feet.
The second impact never came, however, as he found himself being yanked forward by some unknown force. With the world spinning and tiny cartoon birds singing above his head, it took a moment for Darren’s vision to unblur. A glimpse of gratitude soared through him as he recalled shoving his glasses into his backpack and deciding on his contact lenses instead that morning, but the moment was fleeting at best when he realised just how ridiculous it was to be thinking about that right now.
Blinking rapidly, he brought his hands up to his chest in an attempt to pull the man’s hands away from him, clawing hopelessly at the boulder that had just connected with his chin. As he had expected, he had no such luck, and the man’s fists maintained their fierce grasp on the fabric of his t-shirt, lifting his feet from the ground as he pulled him up to eye-level.
“Put me down,” Darren cried out, his legs swinging from side to side as he attempted to do some damage.
To say his pleads were ineffective would be a fib, of sorts. The man did technically put him down, though just not quite in the manner that Darren had so hoped for.
“If you insist,” he spat, throwing his arms out with such force and releasing his hold on Darren.
There really was no way to prepare yourself for a six foot something man to pick you up and throw you across a darkened, Wellington street. It wasn’t an experience that Darren was familiar with and, in all honesty, it wasn’t something he’d ever prepared himself to go through in life. And yet, here he was, being tossed aside like some sort of ragdoll, seemingly weightless as he flew through the air.
Legs and arms flailing, with absolutely no clue as to how to protect his body for the incoming collision, Darren’s shut his eyes tight, his body involuntarily tensing, and collided with the ground. As damp, rainwater seeped through his jeans, he skidded along the pavement, his elbows catching on a combination of sticks and stones in the process.
When he finally came to a stop, he let out a feeble whimper as pain surged through him. Between the undeniable pain in his jaw, and the cuts and scrapes that he’d already managed to gather along his arms, he could only imagine the abundance of bruises that were bound to appear over his body by morning. But hey, at least if his dads asked why he was home so late, he had a pretty rad excuse.
Cringing as he pressed his palm to the ground, dirt already fighting its way into his new cuts, he pushed himself onto his feet, swaying on the spot for several seconds as he tried to pull himself together. Finally looking up at the ogre from before, he noted that the girl he’d originally been manhandling was still rooted to the spot. Really, man? Had he seriously gone and gotten his ass handed to him for nothing? He’d only wanted to get her away from the creep, and she’d stayed.
“So, you’re like… totally done now… right?” he implored, his eyebrow furrowing as Gregor Clegane’s identical twin brother rounded on him once more.
Mellie stumbled backwards, the heels of her shoes scraping against the sidewalk as she frantically attempted to pull the boy away from the mountain of a man. No matter how much she cried out and tugged on his shirt, he didn’t seem to pay any attention to her words. His error meant that she was soon wincing upon hearing a sickening crunch as the man landed a punch on the boy’s jaw. Mellie let go of him at once, a startled and undignified squeak sounding from her as she immediately clapped her hands over her mouth.
“Oh my days, oh my days,” she muttered to herself, the words muffled by her sweaty palms. She watched with wide and terrified eyes as the boy toppled backwards, arms flailing, only to be hauled forward again by the man yanking him forward by the shirt, having a lot more success than Mellie had when she tried it.
“Let him go!” she insisted. Her words were no longer feeble, even if her voice did shake. Still, they had no effect on the drunkard who had picked the kid up with a strength she was surprised he managed to possess given how much he’d presumably had to drink.
“No!” she yelled when the teenage boy was catapulted across the empty street, his body colliding with the ground and getting ripped up in the process. She could already see his elbows blooming with fresh blood and guilt rose up in her like a tidal wave. This was her fault. She knew she couldn’t rightfully blame herself for the man accosting her, even when she’d told him to leave her alone, but if she hadn’t been so stubborn to disobey Che’s curfew, then maybe the boy wouldn’t have been hurt. He could have potentially landed himself in bother elsewhere, but with a lesser man – and not for the sake of her safety.
Her breath caught in her throat as she watched the boy lie on the ground, looking slumped and defeated. Oh my days, was he even moving?
She heard a grunt and relief coursed through her as the boy picked himself up. She didn’t miss the frustrated look he gave her and, despite everything, she frowned indignantly. She could hardly leave when he was getting beat up in the manner he was, and she had hardly asked him to come to her rescue. Of course, she wouldn’t have managed to escape without him, but that didn’t mean they were in safer waters yet. As long as the hulking man towering above them both stood there, she couldn’t leave the boy to fend for himself – although, if guilt hadn’t factored into her decision, it looked like the most appealing choice.
As soon as she picked up on the boy’s words, she cast him an appalled look, her mouth falling open. Was he really goading him? She had thought that the teenager was stupidly brave before, but now she wondered if he was just plain stupid.
“Are you serious?” she whispered, shaking her head. She had no idea what the desired effect of his words were, but what they earned was a frown from the drunk man who immediately began advancing towards the boy.
She knew she couldn’t fight back. She was far too small and unco-ordinated for that. However, fear had a funny way of turning into bravery when the right amount of adrenaline was muddled into the mix and as soon as she saw the man’s foot dangle off the kerb, she ran forward and kicked his shin with all her might. A gasp left her as her toes protested from inside her polished shoes, but it was nothing compared to the yowl the man let out as he slipped, losing his footing and crashing to the ground.
Mellie gaped for a minute then hurriedly searched for the boy.
“Run!” she commanded him, hastily moving backwards, unable to break into a run until she was sure that he would join her.
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