𝑴𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒄 - lookism

036

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Gun lifts you out of the boat with ease, his grip firm but surprisingly gentle. The sound of the water lapping at the shore fades as he strides across the sand, carrying you like you weigh nothing. His expression remains unreadable, but there's a strange sense of calm in the way he moves, as if he's done this a hundred times before.

You cling to him instinctively, still unsure of what's coming next. The wind tousles your hair, and you try to calm your racing thoughts, focusing on the steady rhythm of his steps. He doesn't say a word as he makes his way toward the shoreline, his face set in its usual cool, impassive expression.

As you reach solid ground, Gun gently sets you down, allowing you to stand on your own. Your legs feel shaky, not just from the situation, but from the mix of emotions swirling inside you—confusion, fear, distrust, but also a strange sense of safety in his presence.

He finally speaks, "You need to stay out of sight until I can sort this mess out." He glances around, ensuring the area is clear, before his eyes lock on yours. "I'll handle them."

Gun hands you the helmet, his expression still unreadable. You take the helmet, your fingers brushing against his for just a second, and feel the weight of the situation fully sink in.

Without a word, you put on the helmet, securing the strap under your chin, and make your way toward the motorcycle. Memories from your past life flash in your mind—your love for the thrill of riding, the freedom, the power. You swing your leg over the bike and settle into the seat, feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline course through you.

Gun stands a few feet away, arms crossed, watching your every move. "Don't look back," he says firmly, almost as if he knows that leaving is harder than it seems.

You grip the handlebars and glance at him one last time before revving the engine. The sound fills the air, vibrating through your body, and in that moment, you're reminded of who you once were—the version of yourself that lived for moments like this.

With a sharp nod, you kick the bike into gear and take off, the wind whipping past you as the landscape blurs. The road ahead stretches out, endless and uncertain, but right now, it's your only escape. You focus on the ride, the roar of the engine drowning out your thoughts as you leave Gun—and the chaos—behind.

As you speed down the road, you spot a pair of police cars ahead, their lights flashing in the distance. Relief floods through you as you realize this might be your chance to get help. You slow down and pull to the side, waving your hands frantically as you come to a stop.

The officers notice you and quickly approach, their hands resting on their holsters. "Are you okay?" one of them asks, his voice calm but laced with concern as he notices your disheveled appearance.

"Please, I need help," you say, breathless, still shaken from everything that's happened. "There are people after me—they tried to trap me, and I barely got away."

The officers exchange glances, and one of them motions for you to follow him back to the car. "We'll get you somewhere safe," he assures you. "But we need to know what happened."

You nod, grateful for the chance to explain everything, and hope that this will finally be the break you need to escape the chaos you've been dragged into. As you climb into the back of the police car, you can't help but glance back at the road behind you, half expecting to see someone chasing after you—but for now, all you see is the open road.

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