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“Cheers.” Devon claps Matteo on the shoulder in thanks and turns to me. “What do you say? Check out the custom first or the showroom?”
“Definitely the showroom,” I reply eagerly, earning me an approving grin from Devon that heats my insides. “Great plan.”
I follow Dev through the double glass doors into the showroom. The whole space is airy and well lit. All of the bikes are on pedestals and are polished to a mirror shine.
The floor is a white and grey checkerboard, and walls are white with a giant Dirty Wrench Monkey mural painted on the back wall. The whole place is monochrome and the bikes are gleaming with more actual chrome than I’ve ever seen before.
“What do you think?”
“It’s awesome. But it could use a little pink.”
Devon laughs and threads his fingers through mine. My heart rate spikes at the contact and the casual, easy way he is with me today. I didn’t miss the way he told Matteo I was his girl, I was just too freaked out by meeting Matteo to enjoy it. But now with him holding my hand, I feel like I really am his girl.
He gently leads me up and down the rows of bikes, pausing to check out each and every one, watching me closely for my reaction. He asks questions and seems genuinely interested in my answers and opinions. We’ve not been this good in so long and it feels like the old days. He won’t stop touching me. Innocent little touches, like guiding me along the rows of bikes with a gentle hand on the small of my back, but I'm lit up from the contact, buzzing and electrified.
If we see a bike we like the look of, Devon starts the engine so we can listen. It’s strange how every single one sounds unique. Some putt, others purr, a few sound like a drumbeat, but they all have a steady thrum underneath that feels like a balm to my soul.
I smile faintly, lost in happy memories of weekends spent winding down country lanes on the back of Dev’s bike, my arms wrapped tight around his chest.
“You okay?” he asks, standing opposite me as we look at the custom artwork on the petrol tank of one particular bike.
“Yeah. Just remembering the good times,” I say with a soft smile. Devon leans towards me, closing the gap between our faces despite the machine between us.
“I’m glad you remember,” he says in a low tone, staring intently at my lips. I feel like he wants to kiss me again, or still...however you’d describe it. It feels imminent.
“Me too. I’m sorry about before.” I reach over and squeeze his hand but he doesn’t take his eyes off me.
“Don’t be, it’s not your fault.” His lips are less than a hair’s breadth away from mine, so close I can smell his mint gum and feel his heat.
“I know but—” I don’t get any further than that before Dev closes the gap between us and presses his lips to mine.
Then the almighty roar of an engine starting up startles me so much that my bones shake and I jerk backwards.
I freeze.
I’m losing track of time. Days…weeks…months, I fear.
Everything feels to be slipping away from me and it’s becoming increasingly difficult to grasp on to anything real or tangible.
I’m losing myself.
I sleep too much, but there’s nothing else to do. The drugs don’t help. I don’t know what they inject us with, but I lose huge chunks of time wherever I feel that ‘small sharp scratch’ in my arm.
I hate it.
I feel so dirty. I miss the sun. I don’t remember the last time I saw actual daylight. My skin has a waxy texture that makes me shudder and cringe. Thank god there aren’t any mirrors.
The only thing worse than the monotony of filth, is when they clean me up.
Those days are the worst.
The lights are too bright, the fingers too probing.
I know I’m being held, and I dread what for, what comes next. I don’t think I have the stomach for it.
