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The wind. The sun. The freedom. The speed. The power.
The thought of being so close to death.
There’s nothing more thrilling than being so close to death.
It’s exhilarating.
“Gemma?” I gulp when he traces his fingers over my throat. I can’t tell him to stop because I don’t want him to.
This morning he was ignoring me.
And now he brought me to hell. But I like it here. It’s hell because I’ll get a dose of fun, of high, of happiness. And I won’t ever have the chance to do it again.
Because I promised. And even I can’t break a promise more than once.
I nod at Damon, who’s looking extremely worried.
“I’m fine . . . really. Surprised.”
God, I can barely speak.
My legs feel like jelly. My heart is pounding so loud in my chest, I sense my ears drumming.
“Breathe,” he whispers in my ear.
Stop, Damon. You’re making me want more. And I can’t.
Not with Harvey, I can’t.
There’s something in his eyes—I don’t know what it is. As if... he’s questioning bringing me here. He probably wants to know why I’m literally shaking all because we’re at a track.
I’m not even present when Damon talks to the instructor, who makes us sign a bunch of documents, and Damon pays.
“She’s all yours,” the instructor says to me as he parks the bike once we’re outside again, handing me gloves and a helmet before handing Damon his own equipment.
This is it.
How long has it been?
Two and a half years. Soon to be three years in July.
I put on my gloves and the helmet, leaving the visor open. My fingers skim the handle, moving their way to the narrow back leather seat.
I miss this. I miss riding bikes more than I care to admit.
There, I said it.
It takes me longer than usual to sit on it and start things up.On this day, I know better. I know to appreciate every moment because I never know when I’ll be riding again.
My foot removes the stand from the ground before I hover over the seat. I use the kick starter on the right side to start the bike. I take in the sound, the cranking of the engine. It feeds me to the bone.
I didn’t forget.
I sometimes worried I’d forget what to do.
But it’s impossible.
I try to compose the slight tremble that waves through my fingers, the rush of adrenaline washing through me, like a junkie’s first hit of the decade.
