Vines and Thorns part 1

“Kill me…”

Her voice wasn't loud, but her words troubled him more than he could admit.

" If you won't let me kill myself... Then you do it..."

He frowned.

The way her eyes lingered stirred something deep inside him, opening the door to dark memories, the kind he wanted to forget, because of how easily he drowned in them.

Nobody in years had looked at him that way.

Raw.

Utterly exposed.

He bit his lower lip nervously and held his breath for a moment, happy to have his face hidden behind the motorcycle's helmet.

Roan was holding her by the collar. A fleeting thought crossed his mind: if anyone saw them now, they would never believe that he wasn’t assaulting her. The knife he had slapped out of her hand lay a few centimeters away, gleaming under the dim light of the alley.

Behind the visor of his black helmet, his golden hazel eyes looked detached, but the tension in his arm was telling another story.

Every cell inside Roan reacted to the slightest movement coming from her: her heavy breathing, the way her body surrendered under his grip, the rain melting her blue shirt into her warm sienna skin.

His mind noticed everything, from her hair tied in a messy afro bun, to her long eyelashes...

“Please… ”

Her hands gripping his forearm, in a soft shackle, felt like they were burning him despite the rain .

His gaze drifted to her parted lips before he quickly looked away from them.

“I’ve heard you’re good at it… at taking people's lives … so ...”

His eyes widened in surprise .

"Oh, really?" he thought to himself with a hint of sarcasm .

But to her , he said nothing.

So she continued.

“Am I not even good enough for that ...?”

Her voice cracked as she grinned cynically.

The rain seemed to fall harder, drenching them both. At least , it was hiding her tears.

Roan sighed and gently forced her to sit up, using his second arm to support her body weight. She had stopped fighting back .

Dressed in a black tank top and pants of the same colour, he was as soaked as she was. His mind noticed that her muddied pale blue shirt was partly unbuttoned.

He stepped away from her, bent down, retrieved the knife, and slipped it into his pocket.

He was now towering over her bowed figure, seated on the wet pavement .

Grabbing her by the arm, he forced her to stand up and dragged her toward the bar’s entrance, where they were both shielded from the rain.

Without a word, he disappeared inside.

The young girl stood there, arms wrapped around herself, her empty eyes looking into the night . Amara had no idea how long he stayed inside. Honestly, she didn’t care. The voices coming from the bar sounded like they belonged to another world, shared laughs, heated conversations, so far removed from what she was going through.

She couldn't help but recall that just some minutes ago inside that same bar, her ex was dragging her by the hair while their group of friends watched in silence. She quickly blinked away the images resurfacing in her mind.

Not now ... If she faced them now , she would crumble ...

Roan returned with a spare white helmet and placed it on her head. Then, silently, he led her by the hand back into the alley. They walked until they stopped at a nearby empty garage where his black motorbike was parked.

Amara was feeling as if she was having a fever dream -- the silent biker, the rain, the fact that she had almost killed herself some minutes ago and was now standing here with someone who was practically a stranger...

She knew Roan Clairmont from her pottery class. But they had never really talked to each other until today.

His reputation was horrible. People whispered that he had killed someone in the past . Yet that didn't stop them from nicknaming him "Angel face" . The fact that he kept to himself only fueled the rumors .

Amara was trying her best to stay out of trouble and avoid any negative attention.

She had no family besides her little brother, so she did her best to not even disturb the air around her.

"But you still ended up with Jake." A sarcastic voice said in her mind .

And in the midst of all of this was this monstrous engine. Her agitated mind made her feel as if the bike was alive , as if it was about to swallow her. Panic rose inside her chest . When it roared , a shiver ran down her spine.

Amara wrapped her arms around herself again, grateful for the helmet that offered her a fake sense of privacy.

Roan’s visor was up.

Her dark eyes met his brown gaze .

His expression was hard to read, blank , maybe slightly annoyed?

He revved the engine again and tilted his head, in a silent command to hop on.

Only then she noticed the black pendant at his neck and the bracelet at his wrist.

She hesitated. He hated anyone touching his bike, everyone on campus knew that. And now he wanted her to climb behind him?

She didn’t feel like following him anywhere.

He was one of the least sociable students in her class. Even now, he didn't say a word.

But staying here was even worse of a prospect, and going home was out of the question.

So she decided to follow him.

She climbed on.

Roan guided her unsure hands until her arms were wrapped around his chest.

She understood the unspoken instruction.

Hold me tight.

And she did.

Tighter than she had ever held anything in her life.

They left the garage. The rain lashed against them like shards of glass. Through the storm and her pain, she closed her eyes, clinging to him as the bike soared through the night.