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Aurnia
Two opposite things were true: I wanted Conor to let me go. And I never, ever, ever wanted Conor to let me go.
His fingers were far more biting than the cop’s handcuffs as he dragged me across the dead lawn outside my father’s house. As I stumbled after him across the pitted street, I could feel his bones against mine. I waited till we were near his motorcycle, hidden by shadow, far enough away to not be heard, to dare to speak.
“You can let me go now,” I said.
When I tugged at my arm, Conor did not release me.
I repeated myself a little louder, “Thanks for whatever the hell that was and all, but you can let me go.”
Conor grabbed my waist and hoisted me into the air. Before I knew it, I was on his motorcycle. Before he knew it, I clambered off it.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I hissed. I backed up till my shoulder blades hit against the rough bark of the neighbourhood’s single living tree.
Conor advanced on me, faster than I expected for a man so big. His thumbs dug deep into my shoulder joints as he grabbed me. I twisted around and out of his reach when he tried to steer me forcibly toward the bike once more.
“I am not going with you.”
“Yeah?” Conor snarled. “Where are you going?”
The contrast between the voice he had used standing in front of my father, calm and professional, compared to what I heard now was frightening. He was a completely different man. A beast. The viciousness of his question startled me far more than the strength of his grip.
“That’s none of your concern,” I said, jutting my chin. “I get along just fine without you.”
Conor laughed mockingly.
“What? In there?” he asked, pointing down the street toward my father’s house. “What? In this little park? On that little bench? Spoonsies with the homeless man?”
My jaw tensed as I glared up at him. How dare he question how I live. How dare he act like he gave a single fuck about me. How dare he show up right when I needed him the most.
How cruel was he to pretend that he was going to be there for me? To make me feel looked after and protected and safe.
How dare he give me everything when he was certain to take it all away.
Without a word, I turned to leave. It didn’t matter that I didn’t know where. All that mattered was not falling into the trap of his big arms around me, of his sharp eyes on me, of his fingers curling into a deadly fist for me.
“Aurnia, get on the goddamn bike.”
I slipped into the night. Even in the dark he found me. I was over his shoulder before I could even yelp.
I didn’t dare scream, to attract the attention of the vultures in that house. I just pounded at his back as his long, steady strides took us back to the curb. Apparently my fist felt like mere flies.
He threw me roughly onto the bike. I struggled to climb off again. He caught one wrist and then the other and held them above my head as he threw a long leg over the seat. I squirmed as best I could, but Conor managed to force my arms around his waist. He gripped both my wrists in one hand at the centre of his chest as he started the bike.
“I don’t need you,” I yelled at him as the massive engine roared through my bones. “I don’t fucking need you. Let me go!”
Conor pulled the motorcycle out into the deserted street and still I did not stop fighting. I’d force us to crash before I let him take me away somewhere warm, somewhere safe, somewhere with him.
I’d never been on a motorcycle before, but I knew enough to know that when two people were riding they had to work together, not against one another. They had to lean together, left or right, right or left. They had to move as one. They had to keep close, to become as much like one single body as they could.
Well, I fucking refused.
Gone suddenly were the feelings of weakness that had made me shiver in the cold, cower in the dark. Gone was feeling small and timid and helpless. Gone was the hopelessness of losing the fighter in me, of losing me.
Because who was I, if not a fighter?
Who was I if I had nothing to fight for?
