And he did. He slowed and halted, and as if by magic, everything was quiet again.
I didn’t let him go.
“This is black,” he said. “Fear, falling, release. Excitement, risk, danger.”
I sat there, hugging him and trying to figure out if I liked it or not. It scared me just like he did when he broke into the house last week. I hated that, but… I didn’t really hate it anymore. Probably because I wasn’t as scared of him anymore. It was fear in a controlled environment. The motorcycle wasn’t.
Or maybe I just needed to try it again.
“I won’t let you go ag—” He stopped and evened out his voice. “I won’t let you go,” he said. “Hold on.”
I inhaled a shaky breath and readied myself for another go. And when the bike shot off again, I lifted my head, making myself not hide from it.
He won’t let me go. He won’t let me go.
The wind cut my face, and I closed my eyes to keep them from watering. After a moment, I found my body molded to his and moved with it as he turned and leaned, sped and broke, and it was like we were one rider.
When he leaned, and I thought we were going to fall, I squeezed my eyes shut and stopped breathing, letting him handle the bike and me and carrying us around in one piece.
When it happened again, I eased my muscles a little more, trusting him and letting him do it. I tipped my head back, feeling the wind and my body move with his, no longer needing to squeeze him so tightly.
I wanted to go all night now, because for the first time in forever, I was seeing things again. And just because I’d lost my sight didn’t mean that I needed to fear getting lost.
Just maybe, it was exactly what I’d been dying for.
The rumble of the motor shook my tummy, and I smiled, hoping for a thousand more nights like this.
He slowed to a stop and put his feet down on the ground. “Fear, falling, release,” he said again. “Excitement, risk, danger.”
“And at any moment, death,” I mused, still with my smile toward the sky.
“Freedom,” he added.
I laid my head on his back again, and he put the stand down and took out the key.
“We’re done,” he told me, sounding a little amused when I wouldn’t let him go.
“I’m cold.” I nuzzled closer.
He chuckled under his breath, and the smell of Sticks pizza wafted through my nostrils again. “Can you show me red?” I asked.
I didn’t want the night to end.
He paused for a moment and then whispered over his shoulder. “Someday.”
“Are you still going to hurt me?” I joked.
But he paused again, his whisper barely audible. “Someday,” he said.
Damon
Present
I was glad Michael and Rika weren’t having their engagement party at St. Killian’s. I refused to step foot in the nightmare they no doubt made of one of our favorite high school haunts.
St. Killian’s was an old, abandoned cathedral we all explored as kids, precious hours spent away from parents and left to our own devices, and when we became teenagers, the catacombs underneath were our obsession. I could still smell the earth and stone and hear the water trickling down the walls. It was decadent and indulgent, and my domain.
We ran and hid, scared each other, drank, and had all kinds of hot fun down there growing up. It was our pathetic little empire, but it was freedom.