Regret, Shame, Bliss

Bliss

“Please Bliss?” My friend Kat asks for the millionth time. She has her chocolate colored hair down today, hanging loosely around her shoulders. We call her “Kit Kat” since she loves the things.

“For the fifth time in the last five minutes, let me think about it! Jeez!” I say exasperatedly.

“But you will ask right?” she says in her excited tiny voice.

“We'll have to see,” I say as a roar echoes through the normally calm air. I smile. Ozz has no morality. I turn just as the cycle roars past us. He pulls over and turns to stare at us through his helmet. I give Kit Kat a rushed goodbye and sprint towards him. He's silent as he hands me my helmet and turns back to the front. I pull the warm helmet over my head and wrap my arms around his waist as the engine roars and we speed away from the sidewalk. He guns the engine and sweeps in and out of lanes as we speed down the street. I hold tight to Ozz’s leather duster as he turns onto Jenkins Street. He guns it even faster towards the end of the street, towards home. He slows down and turns into the driveway. He cuts the engine and puts the kickstand up. We dismount and Ozz finally removes his helmet. He would look just like any other guy: shaved brown hair, lean and toned with broad shoulders and a black shirt under his duster. But, of course, no one notices that. They only see the fact that one of his blue eyes, his right one, is a dull gray with no pupil and the scar that runs across it. After years of seeing it, I barely notice it, but I never forget it's there. I put my helmet on one of the handlebars and head inside. To most people, our house looks rundown, but to us, it's a beautiful antique. Sure, there's no paint or wallpaper, and the floorboards creak, and sometimes bugs are in the cabinets, but it's huge and been my home for over seven years. What I am surprised to see is the young woman standing atop the staircase. Long blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and a small bar code tattoo on her right forearm.

“Zizi!” I say as I run up the stairs to hug my sister. She obliges and squeezes me in her arms.

“When did you get here?” I ask as we drift apart. Zizis’ been living with her husband, Wyatt, for the last year or so. Wyatts alright, not mean but not boring. Just right for Zizi.

“A couple hours ago, where's Ozz?” she asks, as I remember that Ozz probably hasn't seen her either.

“Outside with his cycle,” I say as Wyatt walks up behind Zizi and wraps his arms over her shoulders. Shaved brown hair, like Ozz's, and luminescent green eyes. He also bears a tattoo on his right forearm, but it's not a barcode, it's a picture of Zizis face.

“Hey Bri,” he says.

“Hi,” I say. He's one of the only people who use my actual name.

I hear the door open and shut and the thud of Ozz's boots on the wood floor.

“Up here Ozzi!” Zizi calls down.

I hear his footsteps stop in the hallway as he comprehends the voice. Then he appears at the bottom of the staircase, a long smile across his face. He walks up the stairs and hugs Zizi. Then, he and Wyatt lock arms in a weird shake, like they're proving who's stronger. Wyatts bigger then Ozz in terms of muscle, but Ozz would definitely beat him in a fight if there was one. They release after a few seconds.

“How you been holding up Zi?” Ozz asks.

“Pretty good,” she says. “Been good here?”

“Yeah,” Ozz says,”Cage got me working earlier in the morning, but Bliss can drive now so I don't have to worry about that.”

“Woah,” Wyatt says surprised,” you can drive?”

“Yeah. Ozz here even got me a car.” I reply.

“Where is it?” Zizi asks ,”We didn't see it in the driveway.”

“In the garage,” Ozz says ,”An old Mustang in perfect shape that no one wanted.”

“What do you drive?” Wyatt asks.

“Ninja ZXR,” Ozz replies, “which room are you two in?”

“The one next to Bliss’.” Says Zizi. I feel a pang of happiness that they decided to sleep next to me instead of somewhere else. I show them the room, which isn't in bad shape, and head to my room for some down time. I want to call Katrina, but I don't want to disturb her, so instead I turn my favourite song, Hide Away by Daya, on and lay on my bed, letting the lyrics flow into my head. Before long, I feel myself drift into a dreamless sleep