Chapter 9 – Amanda
Nine
Amanda
F ear surges through me and overpowers my senses once Ethan revs up that demonic motorcycle. My chest shudders so powerfully that I question whether I'll stay conscious or not. He might have good looks, but this man is a demon.
Once he peels out of the parking lot, I stupidly expect Ethan to show some respect for the speed limits. He kicks the bike up to 45 mph, even if the speed limit is clearly marked 30mph. The bike wobbles and I clutch his jacket so tightly that my palms and fingers ache.
He's going to kill me. I should have just died in that office because it would have been faster than this...
Because what the hell am I thinking letting this man take me to New York City? It doesn't matter that all he did was cuddle me last night. He lied about... something.
And that something pressed into my ass all night. While he was asleep, I even felt it go between my cheeks a little bit, just about ready to jump out of Ethan's pants.
He turns the bike and I lean with him instinctively, but my stomach drops into my ass. I'm going to die. I swear...
My fear intensifies as we head towards the Mass Turnpike onramp. He shoots past a beat up Chevy Colorado, causing the guy behind the wheel to flip him off. Ethan's body vibrates with the bike and he only speeds up, ignoring everything, including what must be shrieking coming from me.
I can feel my lungs rattle as I scream, but I can't even hear myself or anything except the Harley Davidson engine roar. Mallory knows I'm in trouble, but I was explicit that she shouldn't go to the cops. Not like she would.
Ethan's assumption about me is funny because nobody hates cops more than my basic ass white best friend. Not only did she go to the 2020 protests in Boston, her picture went viral because she was screaming at a cop with all the bravery only a crazy ass white girl like Mallory could muster in the face of an assault rifle.
She wouldn't even go to the cops when her ex broke into her apartment last year.
Thinking about Mallory doesn't do enough to distract me from the ride. My ass and thighs hurt after fifteen minutes, but we're barely out of Boston and we have a long drive ahead. Hopefully this man stops at a gas station so I can catch my breath and if I get a chance — slap him hard across the face for dragging me through this mess.
I hardly believe I'm alive when Ethan stops for gas at a place called Cumberland Farms in Connecticut. New England is weird about their gas stations. Ethan removes himself from the bike easily, but my fingers feel like they're seared into his jacket. He has to pry my body away from his to get me off.
When I stand, I dry heave, fogging up the helmet and nearly causing a true disaster before Ethan places his hands on the sides of the helmet and removes it.
Fresh air rushes against my face and for the first time in my black ass life, I understand what it means to feel pale.
"I'm going to throw up on you."
Ethan's scowl melts and he has oddly sexy crow's feet at the corners of his eyes as he tries to hide a smile that his eyes betray.
"Don't."
I glare at him.
"Hungry?" he asks, in a cheap ass effort to placate me.
"Yes."
He reaches into his pocket and hands me a hundred dollar bill.
"Put $40 on the pump and get yourself some snacks."
I reach for the money, skeptical about the entire situation. He was just trying to kill me with his motorized demon bike so giving me money just isn't adding up in this situation.
"Come on, Doc. We have to keep it moving."
He smiles again and I can't tell if I like him calling me doc. I need to walk and get some fresh air, so I nod and take my first few steps towards the door before he changes his mind. A plump blonde woman wearing a gas station branded shirt greets me cheerily, but with an air of customary suspicion in her voice, like I have the air of a thief just because of my skin color.
New England racism is funny like that.
"Hi," I say to her, trying to hide my nausea so she doesn't take that as another sign of suspicion and actually call the cops over nothing. "Can I get $40 on pump five and... I'll pay for the snacks separately."
"Sure thing."
She sullenly accepts the hundred dollar bill, aggressively checks it for fraudulence with a clear marker and then hands me back $60. It's a big snack budget and I have no plans of being a cheap captive. Protein shake for $7? Don't mind if I do. Apple for $2.50? Add it to the list.
I get enough for a solid thirty minutes of snacking and throw in some peanuts and Zyns for Ethan. I have my “emergency” credit card carrier in my front pocket because I’m paranoid like that, even if it just has my emergency debit card with less than $5 of cash available and my old McGraw College ID, which I kept because of the rare good hair day.
He's a grungy looking white boy, so I'm honestly shocked he hasn't spat out one of those little white pouches in front of me yet.
I throw my stuff into a little basket and walk back to the front, completely ignorant to any other clients in the Cumberland Farms and lowkey, I'm famished. I don't know how a man the size of Ethan hasn't needed to eat yet.
The cashier at the front of the gas station starts slowly scanning my items.
"Expensive!" she remarks after scanning the protein shake.
A man clears his throat behind me. I expect it to be Ethan, so I look over my shoulder and... it isn't.
"Nice day out, huh?" the man says. He's about my dad's age, gray-haired with coffee stained teeth.
"As nice as it gets in New England..."
People here don't make small talk.
"It's even better watching you walk around with that big old black butt."
The cashier stops scanning. Girl, if you don't...
"Excuse me?" I say to the ‘gentleman’.
He chuckles. "I'm just saying. You don't see a nice big black ass like that every day."
I cross my arms over my chest, which only makes this creep look down at my boobs and purposefully lick his lips like a pit bull eyeing a lamb chop.
"That is very disrespectful, sir," I say firmly, standing up for myself because I know I can run to Ethan outside -- as long as the cashier finishes scanning my shit!
She scans the apple. There are still four items left, but she's ogling the situation like I don't have places to be.
"No disrespect," he says. "Just letting you know that I would put my tongue deep inside that pretty black butthole if you let me."
"MA'AM! Can you hurry up?"
I turn my back on this man and then I feel something warm on my ass. Shame washes through me. Shame I felt when I first started developing. Shame I felt when I experienced a man's lust for the first time as a ten-year-old who had the misfortune of getting her butt and boobs before her fellow classmates.
I'm on the run from the law... what the hell can I do?
"AMANDA!"
Ethan's voice barks from the doorway and I yelp. The hand blatantly groping my butt retracts instinctively. The presence of another man means more to this freak than my boundaries. I throw $60 at the cashier and turn around before Ethan can do anything crazy but...
It's too late. He's gone full crazy mode on his fellow white man. The cashier takes an apple and bites into it... watching the entire scene with her trifling ass...
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