“Penelope, why are you siding with an outsider against Jackson?” one of them shouted.
“Yeah, what’s going on here?”
“And who are you supposed to be?” someone else demanded of Dwayne.
“He threw the first punch,” Penelope said coldly, shooting me a glare before rushing to check on Dwayne.
Blood dripped from his nose, smeared at the corner of his mouth. Seeing that, Penelope’s face twisted in concern. “Are you hurt?”
But I was worse off than him, yet she didn't care at all. All her care, all her tenderness, was only for him.
Dwayne cast me a mocking look. “It’s nothing. Just a scratch.”
The neighbors were whispering now, piecing together what was happening. Someone quietly asked me what this was all about, but I couldn’t bring myself to answer. My face was burning with more than bruises.
Gently dabbing at the blood on his face, Penelope turned her cold eyes on me and demanded, “Apologize to Dwayne, or I’ll call the police.”
“You want me to apologize to him?” I stared at her in disbelief.
“Yes,” she said firmly. “Apologize to him.”
“Ah, damn it,” Dwayne suddenly groaned, clutching his wrist. “Penelope, I’m sorry. I broke the watch you gave me.”