Stephanie & Xander

Chapter 22

XANDER.

I don't really want to use the bike but we got no choice. I spend the last three days mulling over how I let my prey go. It was my payback time. To think that shithead was so lucky that he's got his family as a human shield, fuck him.

And I fucking fucked all the fucks up.

For two days we slept on the streets or in the parking lots or below some trucks. We're pitiful homeless trio. And sometimes I get angry over Jun-nii again and I end up kicking some trash cans.

Coco got a part-time job as a waiter in a butler café. I don't understand why Japanese loves these dress-up cafes but I appreciate that Coco's got a job. And when I peek into his work hours, he looks so cool. It makes me forget all Jun-nii's bullshitness.

He was pretty famous among high school students because he can barely speak Japanese and they're teaching him various words. And I think it's pretty good, he get salary from attracting customers by his cherub look and all he did is sit around them talking with cute girls and he also gets to learn Japanese for free. Good going.

After wasting three days, I decided to use the bike again because I have no choice. We tried to deepen our search by asking vendors. We wind through the narrow streets and most of them didn't know her, almost like she didn't live here at all.

Tired, Stephanie asked for a rest. He wanted sandwich but sandwiches from shops are too expensive so we just get into a grocery store and buy a whole loaf. The whole loaf wasn't enough for me but we're being savvy. I shouldn't listen to my stomach because the only word it knows is growl.

"Mayonnaise and then Catsup and then Tomato and then cheese." I mutter, "Your goddamn sandwich is too costly."

He glares at me, not like I care and he just reached for Strawberry Jam. I slap his hand and I pick up a cheaper brand. He rolls his eyes this time. I enjoy the way his eyes are way more flexible than a gymnast, "Gawd, Xander!" he whines, tilting the jam showing me how fluid it is, "My saliva is thicker than this."

"You're so picky. You're not even rich." I snatch the jam from his hand and immediately pay for it on the counter so he'll stop pestering me over it.

Though, he never stopped even until we're out. He's like a nosy, naggy mom who keeps on blaming you over things that are already done. But I've gotten used to him.

On the parking lot, I saw a familiar face. To be more exact, his way of clothing is quite familiar. There's no mistaking him for someone else.

He's looking at us and his reaction is identical to ours. He also recognized us. I know he's one of the biker gang and I see their bikes parked not far from ours. Gawd, these shitheads are still looking for us, it seems. I don't even know what we did.

We immediately ride our bike. The guy also did as he calls his teammates over.

Was it really because we're foreigners? Are they racist? Do they call us Beef Burgers while we call them Orientals? That's so sick.

The engine makes a series of weird noises before it kicks in and we dash away like we did before. 'Dash' is an overstatement. This old bike can't do anything worthy to be called a dash.

We're like 50 kph and they're like 60 kph, 61, 62, 63 and still accelerating. Honestly, I can jump out of this old man and if I really try, I can outrun them better than this bike. But I can't leave Stephanie. He's not a frail man but with a knife he'll probably gouge out all their eyes and we'll be sent back to CA. Sometimes I think he's a psycho. So, sometimes I think our team is so strong.

We're getting far from the buildings. The scenery is changing slowly. They're catching up. They're so close that in 2 minutes we'll be the one chasing them. We're now beside a riverbank. I can't believe we're wasting so much gasoline for a petty gang chase. I hate this.

The bike coughs, "There's something wrong!" Stephanie yells over my ears. And I want to say I know.

When you're a driver, every little rig in your vehicle, everything travels to our skin and it feels like whatever's wrong in the vehicle is also wrong within us. And, right now if we stop, we're fucked. If we didn't, we're also fucked because it'll only be a matter of time before this old man finally stops in its own accord.

Then, the handlebars are also reacting. It's making a weird rigid sound in it like rust or sand and I can't control the bike anymore. I yell at Stephanie to cling and hold his helmet close to his head and brace for impact.

Before I know it, we're flying to the riverbank straight into the water.

But we didn't fall down to the river. We roll down the steep grassy slope and hit the dry bank beside the water. The bike crashes and I can barely see anything. I hear something break, whether it was the engine or the helmet or my bones I don't know. My eyes are blurry, but I saw the biker gang looking down at us before scampering away in fear. I check on Stephanie. He's bleeding. Red. Blood. He's bleeding!

I crawl towards Stephanie and reach for his blood-covered face. I touch him. I prick my finger. What are these? Shards of glass? Did they throw something at us? Those pricks pulling shenanigans on us! Damn, he's wounded.

"Oh fuck it!" he says, pulling himself up, shouting. With this much blood, he shouldn't even be moving!

"Get down, I'll treat you." I panic and then I go fumbling over my bag for whatever.

He shoves me away, "I'm not hurt. Don't be so melodramatic." And then he looks at the blood and his face gone pale, "Oh my fucking osprey!" He then sniffs himself and he calms down, "Strawberry Jam." He says.

The gangsters saw us all covered in blood and got scared that they killed us while all of these are nothing but the watery strawberry jam we purchased a while ago. That was cheaper for a lifesaver.

I finally breathe. It was a false alarm. Thank goodness.

But this bike crumbled, it's annoying.

I kick it. I know it's beyond repair. It's all bust up. I kick it as much as I can until I'm satisfied. And it breaks even more. I feel like breaking as well. There's something inside me that's acting weird and I've never felt this emotion before.

I wasn't satisfied. For some reason, I felt sorry for the bike. It's old and dusty and I repaired it. It was there unused for years and I helped in bringing it back to its former glory, ride the same road again, and to be of actual use to a wanderlust. It gets us away from the gang and guides us into a completely foreign country. I save it and it's paying me. It must've been thinking I was its lifesaver and so it served me until it crumbles and now I kick it when it did.

I feel awful. It was Jun-nii I was angry against. Thinking of it, it mustn't have been Jun-nii's fault either. It was peer pressure. I didn't know the circumstances. I was the reason why Stephanie stabbed Beast. It was of plain instance. I didn't know what happened or what was he feeling that time. I suffered but he didn't forget either. He suffered too. He brought the memory with him until this day and I blame everyone.

And then I'm hugging the bike, apologizing to it, wishing it would rain so I can cry. But it didn't so I didn't. Stephanie pats my back. He must've known what I was thinking. He wasn't dumb after all.

Since the bike is busted, we just lie low for a while. We took some butter knife and reuse the spilled strawberry jam, eating loaf beside the riverbank. It wasn't very bad.

"You look like you're about to cry."

"I do?"

"Yeah."

And we eat quietly. The loaf is a little pressed and the jam is quite dirty but I love this moment. The experiences we have in Japan is too intense but in moments like this... I think it was worth it.