Silas, Honestly.

     We climbed back into the car, and hit the road again, hoping to put some distance between us and the police force that was hunting for us. My wrist hurt like a sonnofabitch, but I didn't make a sound about it. Silas didn't make a sound about anything. We drove in silence for a couple of hours. I was embarrassed about hurting myself, and Silas was unreadable for a very long time, until we hit a large bump, or, I guess it was a pothole, I don't know. What I do know is that my wrist bounced, hit the arm rest, and I yelped. Yelped is a girly word for it, but not an inaccurate one. That noise, whatever you call it, set Silas off. I'll try my best to recount what he said:
     "What, did you hurt your wrist? Jesus, you're amazing. Why the hell are you even doing this? You can't handle a fucking broken wrist, but you expect yourself to hold up against everything out here? Unbelievable."
     We got silent again for a few minutes. Silas was obviously pissed at me, and I couldn't argue. I had taken all sorts of hits and bruises and shit, but at the end of the day, I knew he was twice the badass I was. You can just tell about some guys, y'know? He stared down the road for awhile longer, clearly mulling things over in his head. I could see the cloud forming over his head, the anger building in his eyes. I knew I was in for it.
     "Your bitch ass couldn't even handle a fucking hangover. A goddamn hangover. Have you even thought about that? If your pansy ass had grown up, made like a man and got going that day, three people could still be alive. That's on you. You'd better realize that. Every time you are a weak-ass little girl, every time you take too long to man up, you put people in danger now. Bandage the damn wrist, because I'm done making concessions for you. Now we're doing things my way." 
     I should have argued, I should have stuck up for myself, but I knew he was right. Those people died because I wasn't there to help them. I bandaged my wrist up way too tight, trying to make the pain on the outside match the pain on the inside. It didn't work.
And now I knew who Silas was.