‘Looks good,’ he says, kicking the stand out and stepping away from the bike so we can both admire it.It sparkles underneath the sun, and I take a moment to truly appreciate the fact that it’s mine.I’ve always wanted to have a bike like this.I rode dirt bikes growing up – owned by my uncle – and borrowed one of his bikes when I first got my licence, but when my mother met my stepdad, she and my uncle had a big fall out and all of a sudden I wasn’t allowed to borrow his bike anymore or go on rides with him.
After everything that’s happened lately, I should reach out to him.It wasn’t my fight, and I don’t want to be isolated from the man that was more of a father to me than anyone else has been.
Dropping the keys into my hand, the guy smiles at me.‘Have fun.’
‘Oh, I will.’
Minutes later, I’m on the back of the bike, jetting down the back roads.The wind slaps my skin through my half-opened visor,and I can’t wipe the grin off my face.I love this feeling.The adrenaline I get as I lean into the corners, and the feel of climbing up in speed when I reach a long, straight, flat bit of road.The sound of the bike is music to my ears.It’s fuckingloud.
I spend a good hour looping around the back roads, getting a feel for the bike, before I decide to head home.As I pull into the driveway, my stomach sinks.A car I recognise all too well is parked next to mine and I’m instantly filled with dread.The rush ebbing through my veins evaporates.
Sitting on the porch is my mother.
Her lips tug downwards as she stares at me.Cutting the engine, I yank off my helmet and rest back, meeting her gaze with a defiant lift of my chin, my defences barricading sky-high around me.She purses, staring at the bike.
‘Please tell me that this is a friend’s bike.’Her voice is clipped, and she folds her arms across her chest, telling me all I need to know about how she’s feeling about my new toy.
‘Hello to you, too,’ I mutter.
‘I’ve been calling you,’ she says.
‘I know.’
The frown deepens.‘Zay … when is this going to be enough?I’m sick of you punishing me.I want to work things out with you.’
Dragging my tongue across my teeth, I shake my head.‘Oh?You want to work things out with me?’
‘Zay,’ she sighs, having the audacity to look fed up withme.
‘You don’t get to decide anything,’ I scowl, swinging my leg off the bike and placing my helmet down.‘You don’t get to have anything to do with me anymore.You made that decision, not me.’
‘Please,’ she murmurs, looking tired and old beyond her years.Streaks of grey run through her hair and it seems like her face has developed quite a few more wrinkles over the last few months.It hurts to see her like this, but it hurts even more remembering what she did.‘Can’t we work this out?’
There’s a heavy silence between us and I exhale, looking down at the bike, gathering my thoughts.It’s hard to think when I’m draped in all this leather and it’s so damn hot.I need a cold shower and a beer, not a bloody heart-to-heart.
Shrugging out of my jacket, I toss it over the bike and glance down at my white shirt.It’s basically see-through, clinging to my skin with all the sweat, revealing the dark swirls of my tattoos underneath.Lifting my gaze, I notice her staring.
‘More tattoos?’She shakes her head.A muscle in my jaw clenches.Great.On top of her demanding a truce in this battle, she also wants to pile a lecture on top.No wonder I don’t answer her damn calls.‘Who owns that bike?’
‘I do.’
‘For God’s sake!’she hisses, planting her hands on her hips as she glowers at the bike, as if it is personally accountable for our relationship breakdown.‘When are you going to grow up?’
‘You have no right to ambush me like this.Come tomyhouse and lecture me like you are a fucking mother to me.You’renot.’I seethe, jabbing a finger at her and hating the way she flinches, like I’m the one who hurther, when it was very much the other way around.‘You lost that privilege the day you turned your back on me.I won’t ever forget that.’
Her mouth snaps shut as she stares at me, tears swimming in her eyes.Guilt floods me.I hate that she gets this reaction from me.We were close growing up.She meant everything to me.She’s mymother.But after what she did … I can’t ever look at her the same.She hurt me worse than anyone ever has.My first true heartbreak.
‘There’s things we need to talk about—’
‘Just leave,’ I demand, fishing for my keys.I slam my finger onto the button that opens the garage door.
‘Zay …’
Rolling my bike past her, I push it into the garage and shut the door behind me without looking back.
Leaning heavily against the wall, I press my hand to my chest, hoping it will somehow slow my heart rate down.Flashes of images bombard my mind, making me dizzy.
His hands on me, beating me until my skin became black and blue.His meaty hands around my throat, squeezing so tight, allowing no air in or out.The weight of him on top of me as he held me down.The look on her face when I told her.When I cried in front of her.When I showed her the marks.
