of ebony and gold

II

of ebony and gold: II

Samara Klein's curls hair flew back behind her face as the cold New York wind whirled around her. Somehow the temperature of the wind didn't bother her; she had been cold in the coffee shop, not because of the lack of heat, but because of the icy glare the boy gave her. She shivered at the thought and her grip on her purse tightened as she looked for a taxi cab home. Or as least what was soon to be her home.

She looked up at the sun. It had hidden itself behind the clouds, sucking all the warmth from the sky. A gloomy haze fell upon the city affecting her own mood. She missed the sun and longed for the day to be home where the sun wasn't in short supply. Waiting quietly, she wished for a cab to come before the next cloudburst let loose the impending rain fall.

She spoke too soon.

The first drop fell, landing on her cheek. She quickly sought for cover underneath the coffee shop's awning, only the tips of her hair getting wet. She held up her hand, acting as if it could protect her eyes from the wet onslaught, and peered across the street. Back to back, bumper to bumper, traffic lined the road. Although, the sidewalks weren't as cluttered as usually, there was no way a taxi would catch her eye. But a sound caught her ear.

The revving of a motorcycle filled her ears, sending her stomach overflowing with hope. Maybe, just possibly, she could persuade the driver to give her a ride. At least to the closest bus stop. Her sneakers slapped against the sidewalk, sending splashes of water up her legs, as she followed the sound to the alley. She stopped in her tracks when she saw who the owner was.

Pulling his black beanie on top of his head, his father had closed up the shop early. Too much rain, not enough people. His black boots were drenched in water, much like the rest of him, but at least they were water proof unlike his hoodie. He hadn't planned for it to rain, it's the middle of fall, but of course it had. A personal gift from hell.

He pulled his keys from his damp pocket and made his way to his motorcycle. No, it wasn't the cool, all black and chrome got rod that everyone wanted. His bike was rusted and its seat was tore. It was a literally piece of crap, missing unnecessary parts, but hey, it worked for him. Getting him to work and school, and back.

She held her breath. Could she really ask him, she pondered, sliding a gold strand behind her ear. Would he even say yes? Was the humiliation worth it? She breathed out. Take the chance, she was the optimistic type. In this world, in her life, she had to see the good. She had to constantly convince herself that this life was worth living.

"Hey."

He stopped, only partially sitting on the bike. His ears perked up and somehow, over the ragging city traffic and the loud chattering people, they heard her rich, soft voice. Where had he heard that delicious sound before? How could he forget? He turned around on his bike, his jeans rubbing up against the wet leather seat. Her honey hair was undoubtedly soggy, but still, on this cloudy, gloomy day, it's shine hadn't flattered.

"What do you want now?"

He hadn't meant for it to come out so harsh, or for him to regret it so easily. He gripped the handlebars harder, his knuckles turning even whiter, as he waited for her to say something. He watched as she stood there, drenched and shaking in the cold. Again, he wondered why she hadn't worn a heavier jacket. He shook his head. He shouldn't care whether or not she froze; she wasn't his responsibility.

Her jaw locked and she was afraid to say anything. He clearly had a problem with her, whether that problem was her fault or not, she didn't know. He was practically her last hope. If she didn't woman up and ask him, she'd have to walk. In wet sneakers.

"Do you think you could give me a ride?"

Even though her voice came out only just above a whisper on the noisy street, she was noticeably begging. Hurry, think of something, anything that could make him say yes, she shouted at herself. He was not going to agree to help her without there being something in it for him.

"I'll pay you?" Somehow.

-

She had never been allowed to ride on a motorcycle before, and now she could see why. His motorcycle was way faster than any of the motorized bikes from her hometown. She kept her head low, squeezing into his wet, but slowly drying, sweatshirt. Her curls whipped across her face - and his - in the most unbecoming of fashions. The movies we're wrong, she thought. There was no way this could have been seen as attractive. And he could vouch for that. Every time her grip tightened on him, he would glance at his side mirror to look at her. She kept her head down, stuffed into his neck. If it weren't for her warm breath nuzzling his neck, he would have shoved her off by now. How did he get himself stuck in this situation? Taking a girl home? This was so unlike him.

She had told him where she lived and his first thought was how far he had to drive. His second was how bad that side of town was. He wouldn't say that he lived in the good part of the city, not with the upper east side being the Holy Grail of New York, but he did live comfortably with his Dad. So, when she said she lived there, what was he to think but the worst of her. His third thought was that he actually felt bad. This beautiful girl, who smiled without a care in the world, couldn't possibly live there.

The rain made the streets wet and sleek, and he was driving fast, in a hurry to get there. Trying to keep her nerves at bay, she held her breath and looked anywhere but ahead. Her face was frozen and it wasn't hard to tell the speed was starting to get to her.

"Could you slow down?"

Her question came out more as a pled, and he couldn't tell if she was in agony or if it was just the wind in his ears. He glared into the wind, releasing his grip, and slowing his pace only a little. He was as not keen on going slow, especially with this stranger at the back of him. He hadn't even gotten her name. It was obvious she was hiding something; her looks were not to be taken lightly. She was not to be trusted. But why, he could not wrap his mind around.

The only thought that circled his mind was the fact that she might be harmful. As far fetched as it was, he could only think 'serial killer.' But as soon as he glanced at her, his mind became clouded with golden yellows, and beautiful sunshine, and he couldn't possibly imagine her hurting anyone. As far as her looks went, she wouldn't hurt a fly.

"How far down did you say you lived?"

She hadn't. If she could, she would punch herself right now. She quickly mumbled the directions and hoped that he wouldn't need help getting there. This would be get first time there, too. He only nodded and veered forwards without saying another word.