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See. Bastard.
His words hit me, yet I can’t deny the truth of them.
“I think you’re stronger than you believe you are. You’ve got fire in you. Don’t ever let anyone put it out because in this world someone will fucking try. I think you’re naïve in thinking everything is simply right and wrong, black and white. Maybe that’s to be expected. You’re young. But life is so much more… And you’re beautiful. So fucking beautiful, especially when you’re mad.”
There are many things I could say, but I can’t because my face is on fire and my words are tangled in my throat.
He pushes my plate toward me. “Eat. You need something to fill the gaping hole in your face.”
I’m too hungry and they’re too delicious to care about my wounded pride. “Jerk,” I mumble around a mouthful of food.
After minutes of charged silence, he gets up and returns with my dry clothes before throwing them on the table.
I raise an eyebrow at him, my curiosity piqued. “What now? If you’re throwing me out, you can wait until I finish my food.”
He tosses a leather jacket at me. I catch it, surprised by the weight. “We're going for a ride.”
“But it's late,” I protest, albeit weakly.
He grins. “You want to go crazy with that camera before you leave tomorrow?”
My head bobs up and down, excitement fluttering low in my belly.
“Then get your ass up and get dressed.”
I don’t argue with him.
True to his word, he takes me on a tour of the city. We visit spots I'd never thought to explore. He shows me hidden gems, places where the city's soul is bared, where beauty springs from the most unexpected corners. He introduces me to people from all walks of life. Everyone knows him, it’s crazy.
And I capture it all, my camera clicking away as Logan stands guard, watching me with an intensity that stirs something deep within me.
I think he might be all mush on the inside, despite his exterior. Every time we’re on the sidewalk, he always places his hand on my lower back and moves me to the inside, away from the passing cars.
It’s uncharacteristically sweet.
On our final spin, he lets the bike roar on the open road. Fear seeps away, and I throw my head back, spreading my arms out wide.
Freedom.
When he parks up, we’re overlooking the city skyline, a sea of sparkling lights against the black canvas of the night sky. It's breathtaking, and my fingers itch to capture it, to freeze this moment in time. But Logan takes my camera from me, the edges of his lips tugging upward in a smirk.
“Your turn,” he says, his tone soft yet commanding.
He gestures for me to stand, the cityscape serving as my backdrop.
I protest, but he ignores my complaints, his fingers dancing over the camera with an uncanny familiarity. He captures me in all my vulnerability, his eyes soft behind the lens as he clicks away.
When he looks at me and says, “I think you’ve got a flight to catch,” my heart drops into my stomach.
I find myself mourning the idea of leaving him.
The journey back to my apartment on Logan’s motorcycle is a sensory overload. The roar of the engine vibrates through me, while the rain-slicked city streaks past in a kaleidoscope of neon and shadow. The cold wind nips at my cheeks, but Logan’s warmth seeping through the leather jacket he lent me keeps the chill at bay.
Every red light, he takes the opportunity to reach down and grab my ankles, like he can’t help himself from touching me.
I’m acutely aware of him, his solid presence against my chest, the firm grip I keep around his waist as we navigate the labyrinthine city streets. His cologne, mingled with the rain-soaked city, intoxicates me.
Despite the whirlwind of sensations, an uncanny silence envelope us, a bubble in the midst of the city’s cacophony. It’s the kind of silence filled with unvoiced thoughts and burgeoning feelings.
