Chapter 21 #2
Both bikes are parked just in front. I look at her. I’m already memorizing the line of her jaw, like I am already losing her.
Whatever happens, you have to keep driving, I sign.
I swing the backpack onto my back and climb onto my bike, the helmet clicking into place as I pull it over my head. She moves to her pink Yamaha, straddling it, her sneakers slipping for a second before she finds her balance.
“What do you mean, Judas?” she asks before she pulls the helmet over her head.
“Ride or die,” I say, my voice muffled inside the helmet. I press my palm to my chest. “We ride until we die.”
She nods, rolling her bike forward. “We ride until we die,” she whispers, copying the gesture, her palm crossing over her heart.
We push away from the house, turning the engine on. We look at each other one last time, visors sliding down while our hands twist the throttle. The street opens in front of us, and we surge into it.
I fold over the bike, every vibration climbing up my arms, into my shoulders, into my teeth. The handlebars tremble under my grip. I tilt my head and see her beside me, leaning into the ride, her hair whipping against the back of her helmet.
We take the short road and head onto the main one. There is no one there. It’s just us.
The curve comes, and she glances at me. She lifts off the seat for a second, rolling her hips back toward me. I laugh and slap my palm against the helmet as she rockets past me.
Then she reaches back and extends her hand as I pull up beside her.
Ride or die. Love with no brakes.
But just like everything in life, happiness isn’t ours to keep.
The sound reaches me first. Sirens are coming from far away, then getting louder as we move faster. I turn my head around and see seven bikes behind me, their headlights piercing the dark. The deep, gravelly sound of a Harley rolls over the road, and I immediately recognize it. It’s the President.
I surge forward toward her, snapping my hand out to warn her. They’re behind us. Her bike wobbles as she looks back.
My heart pounds so hard it blurs my vision. I lift my head and see the police cars ahead, lights flashing towards us.
She looks at me, flips her visor up, and points to the curve on the right.
We drop into it, tilting our bikes. More police cars come from the right side. When we try to turn back, the Fallen Saints are already there, blocking us in.
“We ride until we die,” she screams, and she guns it straight toward the cops.
“No,” rips out of me as I chase her, pushing harder, reaching for her back, for anything.
She doesn’t slow. She doesn’t even look back.
Red and blue lights strobe across the road, and sirens are closing in.
Her bike starts to wobble. The front tire catches a slick patch, just for a second, and that’s enough.
She goes down.
The bike slams onto its side and skids, metal screaming against the road. Her body falls down, her shoulder first, then her hip, then she slides, spinning once before she goes still.
“No,” I gasp.
I wrestle my bike to a stop as police cars box me in. I jump off and run to her.
I can see trails of blood around her. Her helmet is cracked. She isn’t moving.
Shouts explode behind me. Guns rattle like I’m the most dangerous criminal on this street. My only crime is loving her.
Hands grab my arms and wrench me back. I fight, I twist, but they throw me to the ground and rip the helmet off my head.
If she dies, I die with her. There is nothing in me worth saving.
“D-d-don’t l-leave m-me,” breaks out of my throat.
My heart slams against my chest.
Ride or die. But my ride is dying.
Nothing matters anymore. I’m losing her.
Something in me screams. The worst part is, I know this feeling. I saw it in her eyes when she lost me. I lived it through her. Except I get to keep breathing, keep moving, keep existing, while I don’t even know if she still does.
Losing someone hurts most when you are the only one who feels it. When they are still right in front of you, but already gone. The world keeps walking past, keeps talking, keeps pretending nothing is breaking apart.
The cops don’t see her. They only see me.
They see headlines. They see the moment they finally put a name to my face, as if they won something.
While they drag me away from her, her chest could stop rising at any second.
They don’t even look at the President and his men as they close in and take her away, like they’re saving her.
I know what waits for her if she survives. And it is worse than dying.
I think that is the worst part.
No. I am wrong.
The worst part is I miss her already. I miss her, knowing I will spend years not knowing whether she is still somewhere in this world, still breathing under a sky I won’t be able to see.
And it’s my fault. All of it. I should have let her live.
I should have let her have a life that doesn’t carry my shadow in it.
Fuck.
Now I understand what letting go means.
If you love someone, you come back. And I did.
If you love someone, you let them go. And she did.
They pull me away, tipping my head toward the car, and I feel nothing. I feel nothing because I can’t feel her. Their hands shove me into the back seat, while they slam the cuffs on my wrists.
The door slams and the car pulls away.
The world moves forward without her in it.
I press my forehead to the cold glass and make myself a promise I don’t know if I will ever be allowed to keep. If I get out. I will look for her. She is everything this world is worth fighting for.
The scariest part is that without her, I am the loneliest man in the world. Just a small, sad thing with nothing left to reach for.
All the gold in the world can’t buy back a life you lose. All the speed that blurs past you can’t buy the time you watch slip through your fingers. And in the end, you always lose. You lose people. You lose friends. You lose love.
And when there is nothing left to lose, you lose yourself.
She was my everything. And I lost my everything before I ever got the chance to truly live it with her.
Hold tight to what you love. Everything fades. Everything leaves. Until one day, you are just an empty shell standing where a life used to be.
Rides will end. Speed will slow. But a heart that breaks in a thousand pieces never really heals. It only hopes. It hopes it might one day see what it lost again.
They say we only love three times in a lifetime.
She was my first.
My second.
And my third.
And time is the one thing I don’t have anymore, but my love will always stay.