Colourless

Chapter Seven

"Land!" I cry in relief, before slipping off of the motorbike and immediately landing on the trimmed grass alongside a quiet, asphalt road.

"Oh, you're fine," Malik laughs, grabbing the back of my coat and forcing me upright. "It wasn't that bad." Coughing from the pressure he had unintentionally put around my neck, I shoot the chuckling brunet a glare.

With a sigh I avert my gaze, using the hair-tie around my wrist to draw back my wind-swept curls that have definitely seen better days. Glancing over my shoulder as I gather my hair, the tie clenched between my teeth, I watch as Malik cautiously surveys the forestry that had now become distant. "You think it's still following us?" I ask, my words slurring into one mess from my hair-tie.

Malik chuckles, glancing back to scan his eyes over me. "I don't think they'd risk it," he shakes his head, "They're too scared to have their mechanical subordinates out in public. People aren't stupid, they'd figure out that something is going on."

Extending a hand, I smile gratefully as Malik pulls me to my feet. "Do you think when this is all over, I could go find my sister?" I ask hopefully as we slip back onto the motorcycle, "I think my family would be relieved she hasn't been working as a slave for all these years."

"You'll have to talk to the boss at the institute, but...you're smart, sometimes. I'm sure she'd have no issue sending you to help."

I grin eagerly, arching a brow, "She?"

"It's the twenty-second century, Pearl," Malik grins, "Women are in power everywhere, except for where we need it most, apparently..."

I can't help but hum in agreement, thinking of all the good a particular female president had done before being pushed out of office — replaced by the man everyone who wasn't rich or famous had grown to detest.

Kicking the away the kickstand, Malik began driving down the road at a slow enough pace to let me read the derelict sign that welcomed people into the next town.

***

"This is like a teenage boys room," I grimace, surveying my eyes over the small apartment, "Correction; an apartment used for a social experiment where twelve teenage boys were forced to live in close quarters. One experienced regular panic attacks, whilst two discovered their love for each other extended beyond bro-hood."

Malik laughed, swatting playfully at me with his satchel. "Don't stereotype us," he grins, "I just... haven't been here in a while. We usually alternate Chaser's for every month, but the past few have been surprisingly silent."

"Damn," I sigh, "You guys really have hideouts everywhere. It's like in those spy movies, you know? With the overnight stakeouts and stereotypical, tempting mistresses of the night."

Grinning, Malik takes off his steel-cap boots and jacket before collapsing on the perfectly made bed. "I think you need to get out more, cupcake."

Throwing him a playful glare, I finally drop my bag by the foot of the bed and take a chance to inspect every room in the apartment. "So... how many people have you gotten out?" I call, leaning into the small bathroom and narrowing my eyes at the cockroach crawling along the sink.

"I don't really count anymore," Malik laughs, chuckling at my look of disgust as I hurriedly retreat from the bathroom.

"That many, huh?" I ask, taking a seat beside him — making sure to place a comfortable distance between us. "How'd you even find out about this stuff, anyway?"

"My step-sister was clear-blooded," Malik informs, causing my eyes to widen, "It was lucky, though. She had forgotten to take the government provided pills that stop your periods. So, guess what happened then." He looks at me pointedly and I can infer from there.

Sighing, I comfortingly pat his shoulder. "Get some rest," I urge, noting his tired expression and bloodshot eyes, "You look like you need it."

***

Humming quietly to myself, the cool chain of the silver necklace wound around my fingertips. The metal caught the light and reflected in my dark eyes.

Hearing Malik shift on the bed, I tumble from my reclined position on the couch in fright — so enraptured by the jewellery. "You okay there?" Malik's laugh was hoarse as his bare footsteps padded closer, before two warm hands hooked under my arms to hoist me upright. "Come on, clutz, there should be some old clothes in the dresser."

I smile, thanking him as I glide towards the dust-gathered furnishing. "Remnants of your past voyages?" I remark sarcastically, lifting a black dress that stood out amongst the masculine clothing options.

"Oh, no," Malik retorts sarcastically, "That's mine. The bra, too."

Laughing, I instead lift out a simple black shirt that appeared to be cropped and a maxi skirt that would probably fall around my ankles. Gesturing for Malik to turn around, I quickly pry off the sweaty clothes that clung uncomfortably to my skin — happy to feel a new, softer material on my body. "You know, if fugitive life prompts constant black attire, I'm okay with it," I hum, fixing my dark, almost-black curls in a rusted mirror, "It's very slimming."

Malik smiles, changing his shirt whilst my back is turned, before hiking our bags back onto his shoulders. "Come on, cupcake," he beckons, nodding to the door, "We have to find ourselves a new ride."