Ghost

Crossroads

Emily's POV:

The engine roared beneath me, the vibration of the bike coursing through my body as I tore down the highway. The night air was cool against my skin, but it did nothing to calm the storm raging inside me. I was The Ghost, the one who defied the rules, who lived on the edge, who made the streets my playground. But as the city blurred past me, the familiar rush of adrenaline felt hollow, like an echo of something that used to mean so much more.

I used to ride for Jake. I used to ride because it made me feel alive, because it was something we shared. But now? Now I wasn't sure why I was still doing it. The thought crept in like an unwanted guest, and no matter how fast I went, I couldn't outrun it.

What the hell was I doing?

I slowed the bike to a crawl, pulling off to the side of the road. The city lights twinkled in the distance, a beautiful, chaotic mess that felt worlds away. I killed the engine and sat there in the silence, the only sound the soft ticking of the cooling metal and my own uneven breathing. The helmet felt suffocating, a barrier between me and the rest of the world. I yanked it off, letting it drop to the ground beside me.

I stared out at the skyline, the familiar ache in my chest growing stronger by the second. This was supposed to make me feel better, supposed to make me forget. But all it did was remind me of how lost I really was.

Jake would hate this. He'd hate what I'd become, what I was doing. And that thought hurt more than anything else. He was the reason I'd stayed safe, stayed sane. Without him, everything felt meaningless, like I was just going through the motions, trying to fill a void that could never be filled.

I closed my eyes, leaning forward until my forehead rested against the handlebars. Memories of Jake flooded my mind-his smile, the way he used to look at me, like I was the only person in the world who mattered. The way he used to hold me after a long ride, his arms warm and safe, a reminder that I wasn't alone.

But I was alone now. So alone. And the one thing that had always brought me comfort, that had made me feel close to him, was starting to feel like a lie.

Tears welled up in my eyes, and I didn't bother to wipe them away. What was the point? No one was here to see me fall apart. No one cared. No family, no one. Except Jake. And he was gone.

I'd been running for so long, trying to escape the pain, trying to pretend that I was still in control, that I was still the same person I was before. But I wasn't. I hadn't been for a long time. And the more I rode, the more I realized that this wasn't filling the void. It was only making it bigger.

"What am I doing, Jake?" I whispered into the night, my voice barely audible. "Why am I still doing this?"

But there was no answer. There never was. Just the empty silence and the weight of my own grief pressing down on me, suffocating me.

I thought about the races, the illegal runs that had become my life, my identity. The thrill of being The Ghost, of being untouchable, anonymous. It had felt good at first, like I was invincible. But now, it felt like a mask I couldn't take off, a role I was trapped in. I didn't even know who I was anymore, without the bike, without the helmet. Was there anything left of Emily? Or was she just a ghost too?

The wind picked up, rustling the leaves in the trees, carrying with it the distant sounds of the city. I wondered if anyone else out there felt like this-so lost, so broken. It was hard to imagine that they did. Everyone else seemed to have it together, seemed to know who they were, what they wanted. But me? I didn't even know what I was running from anymore. Or what I was running towards.

I looked down at the bike, the sleek machine that had become an extension of myself. It had been my escape, my salvation. But now, it just felt like a reminder of everything I'd lost, everything I couldn't get back. Jake, my future, my sense of purpose. It was all gone, and I was just going through the motions, pretending that this was enough.

But it wasn't. It never would be.

I couldn't keep living like this, couldn't keep pretending that I was okay. I wasn't okay. I was falling apart, and there was no one left to catch me.

"What do I do now, Jake?" I asked, my voice breaking. "Where do I go from here?"

But the night gave no answers, just the empty echoes of my own voice. I was on my own, and the path ahead was as dark and uncertain as the road stretching out before me.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself, trying to find some kind of clarity. But all I felt was the crushing weight of my own grief, the overwhelming sense that I had nothing left to lose.

And maybe that was the scariest part. Because when you have nothing left to lose, you stop caring. You stop trying. And that's when you really become lost.

I stood up, leaving the helmet on the ground, and climbed back onto the bike. The engine roared to life beneath me, but it didn't feel the same. It didn't feel like freedom. It felt like chains, like a burden I couldn't shake.

I revved the engine and took off down the road, the city lights blurring around me. But no matter how fast I went, no matter how far I rode, I couldn't escape the truth.

I was lost. And I didn't know if I'd ever find my way back.