A single slap left Cheryl speechless, her hand on her cheek as she stumbled to the side, too stunned to utter another word.
Wasyl, his face a patchwork of bruises, managed to pull himself up. Spotting his chance, he lunged like a sprinter into his car, gunned the engine, and sped off.
Cheryl, still shaking and clutching her face, watched Wasyl's car disappear into the distance. Panic-stricken, she took off after him, her voice laced with desperation, "Wasyl! Wasyl! Don't leave me! Wait up! I'm not even in the car yet! Wasyl, you jerk, how could you just ditch me like that?"
And with that, the ridiculous spectacle came to an end.
After his escape, Wasyl ended up in the hospital, enduring a lengthy bandaging process. When he finally emerged, he was a sorry sight—face battered, limbs swathed in bandages, one arm and one leg freshly cast, hobbling along.
Settling into his car, Wasyl couldn't hold back his curses. "Damn that Eaden, he's like a rabid dog! I'm in agony!"
Just as he was about to slam the car door shut, a woman with wild hair and a look of utter disarray burst in, stopping the door with a forceful hand. She jabbed a finger at Wasyl's nose, her voice a torrent of fury, "Wasyl, what's your deal? You just bail on me and take off? I tried to help you when they were beating you up, even got slapped for it, and you? You just drive away, leaving me there like I'm nothing, not caring if I'm dead or alive!"
Wasyl, aching all over, had no patience for soothing Cheryl. He retorted, exasperated, "Cheryl, it wasn't like I planned to abandon you. You saw what happened—they were all over me. If I'd dragged you along, what if they'd caught up and you got hurt too?"
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