บท 10: Beggar
My lips tug, and for the first time, I get on the back of Zero’s bike.
My arms wrapped around his cut, hair tucked in the t-shirt I'm wearing. My cheek on his back. My legs brushing his denim-clad thighs.
The engines roar going straight to my core and the heat of his machine warming my naked one. I welcome the motor fumes into my lungs and the light essence of Zero's manly scent.
My mind blanks by the hum of the engine. I'm not aware of much until I feel Zero's fingers grip my thighs just above my knees. He pulls me roughly, my ass dragged on the leather seat until my hips are plastered to his back. Zero throttles the engine as if he didn't just shatter me with that one innocent touch.
He's taking it fast. My body moving with his to the glide and drop of the machine. And for a second, I swear I’m flying.
The wind blows through the thin material that does little to hide me and I come alive.
I'm seen. For the first time, I'm actually seen, not as a beggar but a human.
It's too soon that we come across a service station. I expect him to leave me by the motorcycle and cringe when I see how stupid I am. He will be leaving me with nothing on besides Storm’s t-shirt.
My nipples are still poking from the cold when he stops. The lights force my eyes to squint. And I can only imagine how dreadful I must look.
He sees my outfit, and also my predicament. The eye with the scar twitches, getting smaller and angry in the light.
I gulp, I'm feeling something, I'm just not sure what, but it's making me want to run, and getaway, far away.
Without thinking he slips his cut off and hands it to me.
I say without thinking because there's no way a biker who is thinking clearly would be giving me his cut.
I'm street smart, I know he shouldn't be giving me this. It's a symbol, something only your woman wears.
I push it back crossing my arms over my chest, my throat raspy,
“Nah, you keep it, I don't want no trouble with Falon.”
Something crosses his features but he covers it and that hardness I have seen since I've met him returns. So does the fear, my fear for this man.
“Woman, you better put the jacket on and let me decide who wears my fuckin’ clothes.”
My knees quiver as I slip his cut on without another word when he opens it for me. I know when to choose my battles.
If he wants to belittle his woman for the likes of me, I'm not going to fight him. I'm not just saying that because I’m shit scared of the scary biker.
We go into the shop together and I duck my head down when I hear some assholes whistle.
Not because of my dignity, I lost that a long time ago. It’s because I don't want them to piss off the bad biker next to me.
After a very tense ten minutes and moody Zero with no hot chocolate, (they didn't sell any), we’re back on the road to the Inn.
I don't say anything when I get off Zero's bike 20 minutes later. I take the leather cut off my warm body and hand it back to him. The chill of the night kisses my skin, reminding me of who I am, a beggar.
Zero is silent as well.
His burning gaze and the graze of his fingers when he takes his cut from my outstretched hand, screams that I should run. It's taking everything in me not to kick it as he slips the leather on to where it belongs, on him.
“What’s your name?”
I breathe in deeper at the question. A bead sticks out between his teeth, it’s gone again as he waits for me to answer.
I keep my eyes up, concentrating on his black mass of hair in the centre of his head that hasn't been shaven off like the sides. His hand glides through it, keeping the hair out of his face.
The same fingers rub his jaw and then that scarred eye as it gets smaller. My fear for him returns with a vengeance. I skid across the parking lot knowing my private parts are covered because I have been this naked before, and even if it wasn't, I really just want to get away from this biker.
The packet in my hand knocks on my knee reminding me of what I promised, reminding me that I'm not getting away from the biker yet.
He follows close behind me.
“Can you stop running and talk to me, I know nothing about you.”
“I'm twenty-one,” I huff out, dryly, “Born December 8th, lived on the streets of Washington my whole life, that's all you need to know about me.”
I don't think I spoke so much in one sentence since I turned seventeen, that was years ago.
My throat got damaged years back. Spending four days constantly screaming, did that to me. I screamed until my vocal cords were permanently damaged.
When I escaped, or got rescued, depending on who asks, the risk involved in getting medical attention was too great. I wasn’t getting caught, no way. So, I just kept my mouth shut. Nobody wants to hear the beggar talking anyway.
“I need more than that, tell me your name,” He insists.
I walk down the corridor to the room I'm sharing with Storm.
Zero's boots keep up behind me.
“I'm still thinking about it,” I say honestly.
My hand pounds the door twice before it swings open and Storm appears from the other side dressed in a white t-shirt similar to the one, I'm wearing and blue checkered boxers.
The smile on his lips when he sees my grip on the packet is a relief.
Zero touches my lower back and I run into the room as if he burnt me, which he might as well have fucker.
That's three times in one day.
Three times he has touched me. He doesn't know that I don't like to be touched and I'm not sure why I haven't said anything the first time.
I don't say anything about it now either and neither does Storm.
I sit on the end of the bed and rummage through my packet. My mouth-watering for the sweet goodies.
I look up only when I get my first taste of the chocolate and berry pudding. The flavor bursts in my mouth, forcing a groan from my throat.
Zero plants his butt on the dresser chair and Storm stands behind him. Both men staring at me for entirely different reasons. Storm’s mouth is hanging open, his arms crossed over his chest, probably wondering if I’ll offer.
Zero has his hands locked in the front of his pants, no doubt talking himself out of strangling me.
I carry on eating knowing full well that they're watching me, but I ain't offering them shit. This pudding is delicious, best damn thing I’ve ever eaten.
Zero clears his throat.
“It's three in the morning girl. We gotta be up at six. I ain't got all day.”
I drop my head after my first pudding is finished and slide myself up the bed and into the covers. My second pudding forgotten for now and my body covered I clear my tortured throat.
“Let's see, uhm, yeah, your girl was on the phone, I think with you.”
I peep at Zero for confirmation which he doesn't give.
His face is completely blank. Nothing.
I swallow the thick saliva lodged in my throat from the pudding,
“I was between the dumpsters waiting for the club to close.”
“Why?” Storm is the one to ask.
I pull my hair over my neck, eyes on the orange floral blanket.
“The owner promised me a hot meal if I spoke with him after they closed.”
Both of them say nothing and my vision involuntarily rises to the scary bikers. Zero has a death glare and Storm’s eyes are clouded in something that's making me wish I ran the other way.
Shit, I don't think they want to be hearing about me. They wanna know about that sweet girl.
“Falon walked further away,” I rush out, “I didn't hear her fo..”
“Hold the fuck on a minute!” My hands start shaking in my lap at the cold tone of Zero's order.
“You just agreed to meet this fucker.” Storm says in a bare whisper like he can't believe it.
My skin flames red in anger,
“He promised me a hot meal, I never had a hot meal,” I shoot back in my defence.
They both quieten.
And my small anger evaporates,
“So, you wanna know what happened to your girl or not? I don't want Storm falling off his bike while I'm on the back.” I don't look at them, I refuse to see their pity and sad faces when they don't know shit.
They think they do, but they don't.
“Tell me.”
With those two words, I don't even know who spoke it. I begin and I don't disappoint and they don't interrupt.
I tell them what they want to know, and I don't stop until both men that harmed their sweet Falon is on the floor, dead.
The two bikers don't ask any questions after that.
They don't say a thing.
Both quiet.
My throat pains from all that talking. I don't look up to see their faces. I don't wanna know what they're thinking. Instead, I keep my face blank and pretend I don't exist.
When they both leave the room and the lock on the door clicks, I let out a huff, and allow that cold feeling to seep through me for just a moment, the feeling I had accustomed myself to over the years. The feeling one gets after taking a life.
My eyes droop and I fall asleep, snuggled under the covers.
A warm bed to rest on for the first time in years.
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