Toxic

00 | prolouge (NEW)

A/n: It's a start to something, but I'm like half delirious while writing this...

1

The roaring of the engine

2

The excitement beating through your veins

3

"On your mark...get set..."

"Go!"

I take off like a bullet, feeling the wind ripple through my leather jacket, and rip through my hair, tangling it. I grip the handle bars tighter in my sweaty grasp, and lean my body forward more.

I'm sure from another point of view, I might look more dramatic, with the dust of the ground billowing around the wheels of my bike, and my hair waving like it's the American flag. Or maybe I'm just thinking of a Calvin Klein commercial.

But when I'm riding, I don't feel 'dramatic'. I feel rehabilitate, free, and empowered. I'm the one in charge of this motor on two wheels. I get to decide if I'm going to spin out and crash...okay that's not entirely true, trees are a bitch. You get the picture. I'm in charge of my own Goddamn life for once, when I'm riding my motorcycle.

My life is full of crushing forces, that are just waiting for the day that I scream out for help. I can't though. No one would help me.

To most, I'm just this little wannabe girl. This ugly troll bitch. Honestly I understand why Shrek preferences the swamp over the castle. To the guys, I'm a piece of ass.

Especially to one in particular. If I'm a piece of ass to him, then he's an ultimate pompous dick to me.

I feel the corner my eyes start to tingle, and I cast them downwards for a second. Crying in a motorcycle helmet is awkward. It's like crying in space when your tear drop just floats in the gravity around you. Of course, it doesn't float in the helmet, but you're going so fast, you don't feel the drop hitting your cheek, it's like it evaporates that fast.

I flit my eyes up, and I gasp, finding my scream stuck in my throat. Or maybe I do voice my scream, as I swerve my bike, and run straight though two trees. Then my ears are ringing, and I'm sure I hit my head on something, but it's numb. Everything is numb. Then air coats my body, and I feel my body double over, and slam back down on the ice cold dirt.

My entire body is spinning, tingling. Out of pure instinct, my tongue darts out to lick the side of my mouth, and it fills with this bland copper taste. Even a penny has more flavor than this.

I try lifting my arms, but I can't tell if they're moving. I can't feel them. The helmet is digging into the back of neck.

I just—I feel so fucking tired. My head is pounding, my ears still ringing.

What in the fuck happened?

What—what the fuck happened...

What—fuck happened....?

Then my eyes closed, and everything went black

And I can't remember if these words exited my mouth, or they were just in my thoughts, "I'm going to die...with out telling him..."