When I was seventeen, I had a drivers license, places to go, and no car of my own. My older brother, on the other hand, had a brand new car sitting in the garage while he took the bus to work. One hot summer day, I needed to run an errand that was an hour's walk away, so I decided to borrow his car without asking him.
I scratched his car, just exiting the garage.
When I returned, I saw that there was a very deep 10 inch long defacement on the shiny silver paint of his passenger door. I felt fear, but mostly I felt remorse...I was a very selfish, bratty sister, and he was going to hate me!
When my brother came home, he saw me crying and asked what was wrong. Between the blubbering, I told him about my wrongdoings. He didn't hate me at all, in fact, he tried to cheer me up!