It … It’s a nice sound.
Both the laugh and the bike. Loud enough to drown out the voices in my head telling me how I don’t deserve shit. Voices that sound like my mother. My step-father.
I jerk upright at the sudden flood of that man’s face in my mind, the back of my helmet smashing into Tristen’s, and we wobble.
“Shit, shit, shit,” Tristen yells and kicks out a leg as we tip, saving my ass from scraping along the gravel beneath.
The engine stalls out, at least that’s what I think it’s called, and he rolls us to a stop.
“Let me off,” I mutter, but it sounds too loud as I shove at the arms caging me in.
Tristen jerks back immediately, taking with him the warmth and freedom I first felt when we got on this thing, and I scramble to solid ground.
Except the too-big shoe catches on something when I go to kick my leg back over and I stumble. Slip on the tiny rocks and crash palms first.
“Shit, I’m so sorry.”
Tristen’s voice sounds muffled when I roll to my side and cradle my hands to my chest.
I know they’re bleeding just from the warmth alone, the wetness that spreads, but I can’t look at them. I can’t.
“Emmett, let me see?” It comes out like a question, but it still seems far away. Too far away and my eyes well up.
Why does it hurt more when it’s an accident?
I just want … I just want to be fucking free. I don’t want this anymore. The pain of being alive is just … too much.
“I should have put you on the back. Fuck, Em, I’m sorry.”
I shake my head, the helmet growing tighter. Darker. The little window in the front shrinking, taking with it the blurry vision of Tristen crouched next to me.
Don’t go …
“Get it off,” I whisper and uncurl my fists. They burn, sting with tiny little cuts as I plant my hands on the fiberglass and yank.
It doesn’t come free.
“Get it off.Get it off.”
“I gotta touch you to do that, bub.” There’s something in Tristen’s voice that feels off. Uncertain. Wobbly almost and it makes this even worse.
“Just get it off!”
The feel of his fingertips digging into my chin makes me jerk back.
He does it again and I can’t help but jolt back.
I don’t want this. I don’t want to be touched, but this fucking helmet feels like it’s shrinking on my head and crushing my skull in the process.
“Emmett,” he snaps, deep and raw. “Stop.”
I freeze.
A chill rushes down my spine.
And I lock up even though my heart is attempting to race through my skin.
I feel his fingers under my chin, gentle when I expect rough. I hear the snap of the strap’s buckle releasing and it’s loud. Yet … freeing as the cage around my head is pulled off and I drag in a breath of fresh air.
