Nico Vaughan, the junior class "Nice Girl" wants to be free from her abusive and obsessive ex-boyfriend.
Valen Henford, the school's resident "Rich Guy meets Bad Boy" wants to spend his senior year with the girl he's been in love with for years.
W...
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"'You're not a monster,' I said. But I lied. What I really wanted to say was that a monster is not such a terrible thing to be. From the Latin root monstrum, a divine messenger of catastrophe, then adapted by the Old French to mean an animal of myriad origins: centaur, griffin, satyr. To be a monster is to be a hybrid signal, a lighthouse: both shelter and warning at once." (Ocean Vuong).
|◁ II ▷|
I park my bike inside for the night and throw my helmet on that piece of furniture in the foyer. The house is quiet, and I can hear my fast heartbeat.
I can still feel Nico's arms around my waist. I can still feel her hands on my stomach. I can feel her legs brushing against mine. Her cheek on my back. Her body pressed against mine. Her racing heartbeat...
I grab my helmet and go back out the door. I've got to take another ride.
My ride takes me all over town. I breeze through the neighborhood, past the tall houses and large lawns. I blaze through downtown, past the loud music and bright shops. I curve around roads, darting past large trees and cute houses. My bike hits some back roads, and it runs past the last of the nice houses and stores.
My bike takes me to a place I feel pulled to, and I curve around the road, not needing to inspect each shambled house. I know which one it is by heart.
My bike bumps along the driveway, and I park it, keeping my helmet on for a quick getaway. Just in case. I trip up the sidewalk to their house and knock on the door.
I wait a few minutes before the door swings open harshly and hits the wall.
"Wha' d'you wan', kid?" A burly, tall man slurs.
"To talk to your son," I voice.
A slew of curse words come from his mouth, and he takes a step out the door, swaying on his feet. His cursing turns to me, and then to Rikkard.
Rikkard appears at the door, helmet in hand. He's prepared. "Dad, it's okay. He'll leave, okay? He's gone."
Rikkard's dad whips around towards Rikkard, slinging the half-drunk beer bottle in his hand towards Rikkard. Rikkard blocks it with his helmet and takes a step back, both his hands going up. I keep still, knowing what happens to Rikkard if I get involved.
But when his dad raises his hand and Rikkard flinches back, eyes closed and figure tensed, I lurch forward, kicking his knees in. His dad stumbles forward and falls over the threshold. A loud groan sounds from him, and Rikkard all but leaps over him and runs across the street to the old abandoned house across the road where he keeps his motorcycle.
