'WHY WON'T YOU TALK TO ME?'

3/5/2012 (placed on wattpad 4/20/2012)

"WHY WON'T YOU TALK TO ME?"

Chapter 1...

"Why won't you talk to me?"

That was the last thing I said to her before she turned her back on me
and walked into the bedroom that she stayed in while she came to be with
me. Was I the blame for this sudden change in her? It seemed to have come
on quickly, and before I knew it, she had left me behind.
She was gone...

Draped over the over- stuffed chair that she deemed her own whenever
she stayed here with me, I stared up at the stucco ceiling of my small 2
bedroom apartment, wondering why I didn't try to get her to talk. It had
been over a month sense she left. Not only did she just leave me.
She had left the country as well. How did I know that I would never see her
again...?

Was I indeed the reason why she had gone quiet on me? Was the fact
that she was always there when I went through the pain and sorrow that I
suffered after the accident, the scar across my right eye and damage to it,
the fact that my career at the age 15 was destroyed and I became bitter and
cold hearted? Was it the constant fact that she was always there,
supporting me through all of this until some sort of sanity returned to me,
that I could function in society again? Even though I was set for life from
the sells of 15 albums, I just couldn't bring myself to go back out and try
again because of the damage to my throat; I couldn't hit the high notes
anymore. And the fact that I purchased another motorcycle, had put me at
unspeakable terms with my parents, Emmalee tried to help... 

Closing miss-matched eyes, I drew in a weary breath and let go of a sigh. This
was getting me no-where and I just couldn't get the thought that somehow I
was the blame, I sighed yet again, got to my feet and headed for the coat
closet to retrieve my helmet, passing a lone mirror that would not have been
hanging there if not for her. I stopped in front of it to look at my face for the
1st time in 6 months. What looked back at me made  me frown in anger and
I felt like putting my fist into it. 

Since the accident, my style of living had changed drastically. At 15, my hair,
a ravens wing black (blue- black), shoulder length and wavy, my oriental
slanted eyes of amethyst... the scar that now runs from the edge of my bangs
over the right eye, dark red streaks had now appeared and runs thru my long hip length hair only on the right side. Which I now keep in a braid. The scar thru my right eye, leaving a silver streak through (thru) a now faded purple eye that no longer works well. No surgery they tried, had helped in the end. So they gave me an eye-patch to wear, however, I had opt out to growing my bangs so that it covered the right side of my face, hoping to hide the scar and eye.

The scarring didn't end there though (tho), no, it also covered my right shoulder all the way to my right knee. I had been told that I had died 3 times, once in the lifesaver helicopter, once in surgery and the last was after I was put into my room... and I always wonder why I didn't just die there... 

Another sigh, I turned away from the mirror and headed out the door, the air crisp and cool, I walked to the small parking lot, over to where the tarp covering my bike was at, and uncovered my old 1973 Harley, a machine that I had personally rebuilt, mostly chrome with a painting of a midnight sky and stars, a silhouette of mountains against it, and a white wolf howling in the front of a luminous moon on the tank. The helmet matched the tank.

Folding up the dark blue tarp, putting it into the back trunk, which it and the 2 side saddle-bags also matched the tank, I pulled the helmet on my head and straddled the bike. Turned on the switch, I kicked the bike to life. I was going down that long stretch of road that I always traversed when I needed to escape the confines of my apartment.