Kick.
Scream.
My knuckles bleed but I don’t care. I keep going as the pain vibrates in each elbow.
Again.
Again.
And again.
Until… I can’t fight anymore, and my body gives up. Unreleased tears hang on by a thread as I sink down onto the cushioned gym floor. With my legs and feet tucked under my body, my chest rapidly heaves in and out. It’s like I’m fighting everything out of me. All the bad. His hands on me. On my bare skin. Him inside me. I want it out. I want it gone.
I need it to be gone.
My shoulders shudder, the tears pouring out, dripping onto my hands below. I thought I was okay. When will I ever be okay?
The taste of salt is from the mix of sweat and tears as I attempt to swipe it away using the back of my hand.
The sun begins to peak through the morning clouds, and a motorcycle sounds nearby vibrating outside the gym building. Sure, I’m next to a motorcycle club, but who rides in the dead of winter? In the freezing cold. It’s not the first motorcycle I’ve noticed out in this either.
Odd.
My body feels like Jello as I continue straining to catch my breath, but also as I try to get a glimpse of who’s outside.
I press my hands to the cold glass as the motorcycle comes to a stop just in front of the shop. The club member swings his leg over the seat, and I recognize the tall frame of whom the body belongs to. He takes off his helmet followed by his hat and ski mask once protecting his face. The tousled dark hair flows freely as Hush tucks his winter gear into the saddle bag. His strong features on complete display as the sunrise reflects off every part of his beautiful face adding more of a dramatic mystery about him.
Is the weird attachment and curiosity only because he protected me back then? Him being my safe haven. Who is Hush? What arehissecrets? Surely, he has them. No man is that shut off from the world without something troubling their soul.
He runs a strong inked hand through his hair, shaking out parts that were drowned by his hat. Then he pauses, hand no longer intertwined in his hair, but his eyes flick to mine. With a gasp I jump back and away from the frosty glass.
Crap.
I slowly stalk back to the window as he closes the lid to his steel saddle bag.
My heart pounds, but I’m unable to peel my curious gaze away.
Then the moment’s lost when he unlocks the shop, disappearing inside.
The feeling when he looks at me is indescribable. Could be lethal, dangerous, but I’m not afraid.
Hush
Hours dripped away as I exit the spray booth. My mind wonders to the same petite copper haired woman who slammed into this life against her will but hasn’t left. I won’t push her away, but the frustration of her blankets over me like a hot summer day. I can’t explain it more than I can stop thinking of her staring at me this morning.
What was the look? Curiosity? Is my life that amusing I’m to be gawked at like an experiment? Something tells me that wasn’t the case, but whatever it is, she’s still a riddle.
Tank approaches wiping the grease from his hands. “She needs a transmission and some body work. But I think she’ll be good as new when I get done with her.”
The rust bucket has been parked in the corner of the shop since it was brought in. Toyota Camry’s sure did earn their worthy title though, the heap of metal being an early 2000’s model.
“Owner not coming back for it?”
Tank shakes his head, peering at the car before turning his attention back to me. “Nah. Said to take it off his hands. He only cared about fixing his Harley, gave us a hundred bucks to scrap it. Dude wasn’t exactly living in fear of breaking the bank.”
No doubt that was the case. Though he’d probably only get about a thousand bucks for it anyhow. We only deal with motorcycles, but Tank doesn’t seem to have a problem fixing it up.
“I’ll work on it.” Not sure why, but I have an itch to be the one who brings it back to life.
