It was an astonishing feat that I hadn’t wet my pants yet. His nose hovered inches from mine, a fire-breathing dragon shooting garlic-scented breath straight up my nostrils. He had that look in his eyes, that I’m-going-to-murder-you-with-an-axe-and-dig-you-a-shallow-grave-or-better-yet-I’ll-punch-you-until-I-get-bored-then-bite-your-ear-off-like-Mike-Tyson-then-feed-you-to-my-pack-of-wolves-or-perhaps-my-bear-Linda look. He yanked malevolently on my collar.
“Now you’re gonna tell me,” he murmured threateningly through gritted teeth, “and you’re gonna tell me right now what happened Friday night.”
“N-n-nothing,” I stuttered, disgusted at how much I sounded like a little girl caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
He pulled me in closer, staring daggers at me with his impassioned, tempestuous eyes. “Something happened, damnit,” he snarled, sending tiny globules of spit on a collision course with my face.
“No, we didn’t do anything,” I insisted. It was the honest truth; we had watched movies and played Guitar Hero. There had been no debauchery. But the goon standing before me thought otherwise.
“Listen,” he snapped. “I love that girl more than you’ll ever know. I’m gonna give you one last chance to tell me what happened. You’d better tell me now, or if I find out later,” his voice dropped to a low, menacing whisper, “I’ll kill you.” He meant it.
I nodded slowly in understanding. He was just crazy enough to do it.
“I’ll give you to the count of five.”
Do I make something up so it doesn’t seem like I’m hiding something big? No, I can’t do that, for her sake.
Can I make a break for it? No, no, of course not. He’s ten times faster than me and would beat me to a pulp.
Will he believe me if I tell him the truth? What is his issue, anyways? Is he really that overprotective?
“Nothing happened!” I blurted. “I didn’t touch her!”
His facial features relaxed the slightest bit.
“Good. That’s great. Stupendous.”
He released my collar. I let out a long, shaky sigh. I had been spared.
“You go near her ever again,” he grated, “I’ll hunt you down, and you’ll be sorry you ever messed around with Jackson Newbo’s girl. Goodbye, Eric.” He spun on his heel and briskly walked away.
Wow. The cowboy thinks I rode his horse. He’s going to murder me if I go near her again. Why the hell does he insist something happened? Is he really that paranoid? Do I really give off the aura of a girl-stealing homewrecker? Am I-
I realized I had been standing in the same spot in shock for a good two minutes. I finally turned around and walked back to my car.
Well, this should be an interesting story to tell.