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Sensing the intensity of my glare she sobers up and tries to settle on the bike once again. My bike.

Her knee touches my shoulder as she finally finds a comfortable position.

She’s swallowed by an oversized black T-shirt and matching joggers, every inch of her hidden beneath dark fabric.

The only colour on her is that ridiculous red scarf and the gold of her hair. And I’m baffled at how much attention I’m paying to a stranger.

We’re past that. I fucking cried like a loser seconds ago in front of said stranger.

I hide the small piece of wool in my pocket, and wipe the remnants of my tears with the cuff of my hoodie.

“Or you could’ve just done that.” She adds, still smiling and tracking the movements of my hands.

“What happened?” She tries again, as if genuinely interested in my story. “Not that I’m prying or anything.” She adds too quickly, almost nervous.

And like the desperate fuck I am, I open my mouth. “I just found out my mother died.”

She gasps before covering it with her hands.

“Thirteen years ago.” And then I let go. “And I was at her funeral not knowing it was hers.”

I don’t look at her as I continue. “My father killed her because she was trying to leave him but couldn’t go far away. She told me she’d come back.” I whisper in a low voice, swallowing as my throat tightens.

“I was waiting for her on the fucking stairs…” I lose my voice and don’t bother trying to fix it.

All these emotions I kept inside for years finally resurface. “Wait...” she tilts her head, her gaze full of torment as she looks at me. I already know what she’s thinking.

That my mother was abandoning me.

That she was leaving without me and I know she’s right, so I just nod.

The silence is too loud, the only sound filling it is the wind moving through the railing with a hollow whistle, the distant rush of water beneath us.

“Your turn.” I finally look up, tears streaming down her face feeling every bit of my pain and I purse my lips, feeling such a strong pull towards a stranger who is so much younger than me.

She couldn’t be older than sixteen, she is basically a kid.

Yet she is the one comforting me.

“Why were you crying?” I ask, needing something— anything—to pull me out of my own head.

Maybe it’s distraction.

Maybe it’s the restless urge inside me to know everything about her.

“I had a slight disagreement with my sister.” She shrugs. “She thinks I shouldn’t do things that stress her out.” Her nails dig into her skin as she speaks, and something in my chest tightens at the sight.

I reach for her hands without thinking, stilling them.

“She also thinks I’m an attention seeker.”

I almost smile at that.

“You’re not.” My thumb moves over her skin in slow, absent circles. “People just arrange themselves around you.” A quiet chuckle escapes me as I nod to myself, still seated on the ground while she looks down at me from my bike. “If anything, you’re an attention magnet, you don’t seek it.”

How else can I explain the inability to drive off when I saw her golden hair flailing in the air. She drew me in and now I’m tangled in her so deep, I cannot fucking get out.

I don’t want an out.