Danny, son in trouble

Oh fuck.

Those were the only two words I could think of.

I'm so fucking dead. I am going to die.

I can't even begin to describe the level of fear I have at this moment. I am most certainly going to die once my Dad finds out what happened. I sort of just stood there, looking at the damage. The car's front was crushed in, and the windshield was cracked. The other car only had a minor dent in the back of it. However, that car was not a car, it was a truck. I was the one driving a car. While I was trying to hold back tears visualizing the immense pain my father would give me later, the truck's door opened and the driver stepped out. Of course. The man driving the truck was at least 6ft 4, and muscly as hell. He had dirt brown hair and a neatly trimmed beard decorating his very pissed off face. I am going to die twice today.

The man walked (Well, more like stormed) over and stood right in front of me. His breath was hot as it cascaded down my head. "What the literal fuck were you thinking, you little shit?" The man yelled. I flinched, and didn't respond. He shouted once more. "Answer me! Do you want me to call the police?!" Tears started streaming down my face. I barely could form coherent sentences. "N-no sir, p-lease don't. Let me j-just call my Dad and he..." The truck driver rolled his eyes. "I don't want to talk to your Daddy you fucker. I want to talk to you! How the hell are you going to pay for this?" I responded worriedly. "I d-don't have any money but my Dad he..." The man cut me off. "What the hell did I just say? I don't want to talk to your father! You were the one driving that little sissy car, so you are responsible! Now answer my damn question! How are you going to pay for it?"