* * *
I’m walking back home, and the sun is killing me. The soles on my Converse sneakers are sticking to the sidewalk. I just wanna get home.
Now that my arms are completely inked, I’m comfortable wearing tank tops. It’s a real gift being able to freely choose what to wear. Denim shorts reveal my legs, which are tanned just the way I like. My hair is still shoulder length. I thought I’d get a haircut, but then I remembered Bruno liked it this way, and if I happen to see him again, I want to look as close to the girl I was the last time we saw each other.
Bruno… Where the fuck are you?
Some days are hard without him, stormy days, filled with fury and angry tears. Other days are filled with love and good memories that I recall as though they happened only yesterday. Memories such as the way he made me feel when we touched, when he kissed me and of the music we listened to together.
The Beatles gave me a feeling of comfort, and each song I listened to made me feel as though I was getting to know him a little bit more.
Before I got kidnapped, I was the type of person who would listen to whatever the tabloids recommended or the radio stations were playing as the “hottest shit”. I’d never let music fill my soul and patch those holes everyone has but tries to conceal. I’d never experienced how warm and joyful music could be. Bruno changed that for me. He taught me that a melody or a phrase is all that’s needed to change your spirit. Even a man as cold as him was able to feel free when listening to music. That’s when I realized that I was getting to know him a little bit more every day. I would also imagine him in mundane settings like having Christmas dinner with his family whileChristmas time (is here again)played in the background or a melancholic moment withBecause. It’s the only thing I have left of him. That’s the only thing getting me out of bed every morning.
His scent has already faded from most of his things. I don’t have a single picture of him, much less of us. I still remember his face though, but I’m already starting to forget certain details, and that’s freaking me out.
I reach the corner and push the crosswalk button, which buzzes as the pre-setwaitsound comes from it. I hate this streetlight, it always makes me wait for a long time before I can cross the street, and this fucking sun is just too much today. It’ll get me crispy, all right.
In that moment, I hear the unmistakable sound of a Harley Davidson engine, and right after that, a few more bikes following behind it. It’s a MC. I love the way they own the streets, making every kid, grownup – male or female – turn their heads. If you hear it, you will turn and look, out of curiosity perhaps, but for some, myself included, out of respect.
Nobody fucks with bikers.
They roll down Main Street, approximately ten of them in a triangle formation. The president always rides first, leading everyone, or so I’ve heard. A bad experience with their kind is still fresh, though I like to believe that not every single biker is an asshole likeBadBloodand his gang.
Those are something else.
The president is riding a red Harley, he’s wearing fingerless gloves and a black military helmet, and his long black hair escapes from beneath it. His body is as big as the bike, and there’s a kind of synergy between the two.
He gets closer to where I am.
I see him.
He sees me.
I know that face, I’ve only seen it once, for a moment, seconds even, which is more than enough for me. A face like that is hard to forget. An emotion surges that I cannot describe.
The MC roars by and quickly fades in the distance. They are gone now, but the president keeps staring at me. The man doesn’t even blink, and he does that until his neck cannot turn anymore.
I know he recognized me. I’m sure of it.
The first and only time I saw his face, was through a screen. I was fucking terrified that night, and to top it all off, he emerged from a cloud of smoke, destroying the only camera focusing his face. That was a man who injected terror into someone’s soul only by looking at them.
When I asked Bruno about him, his body shifted a little and he refused to disclose anything regarding that man. I had thought I would never see a man like him again, but well, here we are.
I would never forget that face, though.
Realization strikes, and my mind catches what my body is feeling. It’shope. Bruno and this man are related somehow. He must know something about his whereabouts. Anything that I can use to track him, a rope, no matter how thin, is a rope I can start pulling.
A lead.
Their colors identify them as theSoulless Bastards.
I need to find him. I must talk to him.
It is dangerous. That’s what someone who has something to lose would say, but that doesn’t apply to me. If talking to him leads me to Bruno, it’s worth it.
I’ll start digging.
My body moves forward without my mind’s consent. A car slams on brakes, its tires skid, and it comes to a stop a few inches from me.
