The Biker's Rules

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The rules

*** POV - Damion

Logan drags me – irritated by the whole situation might I add - to pick up his sisters or something. We walk through the school doors to meet her inside, something about wanting to make her angry – I’m not sure, but I follow his lead. All the girls are checking us out, trying to get our attention, but I just ignore them – I’m so fed up with girls throwing themselves at me by now. I fake a bored yawn, feeling even more pissed off at my friend for landing me in this situation. But then I almost choke halfway through the yawn.

The big number 13 on the back of the black jacket … my jacket … the one I gave to that girl. I quickly glance at the sleeve only to find my surname changed to ‘grim reaper’ with a cute chibi cartoon reaper painted where the second ‘M’ used to be … but it’s mine. My eyes scan over the rest of the girl standing at her locker, her blonde hair curling down to her hot as fuck ass in some tight jeans. It demands me to stand up and pay fucking attention.

She slams her locker, seemingly annoyed, before turning around and my heart clenches in my throat. The witchy eyes from the past take mine prisoner and hold me captive. It really is her … the girl from the haunted house, the one that bewitched me. I knew it was my jacket. She must have changed the sleeve to disguise my name. Clever.

I see the recognition slamming her by surprise. I’m surprised she even remembers me. And I am immediately pissed that she can seduce me with just one look. Fucking magic sorcery. I clench my hands in fists next to my body and bite my jaw not to grab her and kiss those sinful full pink lips.

It’s not enough so I push my hands into my pockets, as the low neckline of her shirt exposes the hint of a lacy bra that screams to me. I’m not that 11-year-old stupid boy that destiny sent into the haunted house years ago just to lose his fucking heart on a stupid fucking girl.

No, now I’m a teenager and I want to have her so badly, to satisfy this craving she created in me. Maybe I’ll be content. Maybe I’ll move on. Maybe I’ll break the spell.

Puppy-love. Voodoo. Obsession. Call it what you want, but I believe that she’s a witch that put a spell on me. A spell that will only be broken when I make her mine.

Those ocean-blue windows to her soul display a motherload of paradoxes – you’re hot, I know what you are, I want to kiss you, I’m not going to, you’re annoying, stay away! The innocence I see hiding there turns on my guilt, and I want her to run, my eyes warning her about the unspoken danger.

I get even more pissed at myself as my throat tightens and all I can get out is a stupid “Hello” like a lovesick nerdy virgin.

“You!” she exclaimed surprised, “You’re the boy … “

“I’m Damion,” I interrupt her, trying to act bored and as if I don’t remember her. But I fucking do … I’ve never forgotten. “Nice to meet you.”

I don’t want her to know that she has some power over me … or for Logan to know about the dirty thoughts I have about his sister.

She breaks the passionate lock between our eyes to storm out, while I find the deviant stance in her posture erotic and I’m ticked-off-pissed with myself ’cause I know I’m still possessed. Somewhere in my poisoned mind I know she’s forbidden fruit, that I need to keep my distance, but it only makes me want her more. And I wonder why the hell did I get off my bike that day, why did I go into that house, why does she have a brother, why do I have friends … fuck …

I wipe my eyes to get my head back to the present, but although it was years ago, I can still remember each and every detail of that day. The swaying of her butt, how she tossed her hair arrogantly back. Over the years, the habit of her running away from me became a rather familiar sight, one that I came to appreciate, one that keeps me hypnotized. Who wouldn’t with an ass like hers swaying away for you to feast your eyes on?

But there lies the motherfucking problem - every time I need to hold my stance and can’t run after her. Although destiny brought us together again … there is not even a choice, fate made sure we can’t be together. There are rules – rules I never dare to break! And the most important one is that she’s off-limits.

But tonight I messed up just a tad … I made a mistake. I was not going there to see her, no, not at all.

LIAR - shoots painfully through my brain.

Just thinking about her sends a soft humming of need through my body and after tonight I know the hunt is on. I’m going to have to choose for myself. I want that fucking girl more than anything else on this green earth. She grabbed me by the balls at that locker and she keeps on squeezing them, not letting go. From the first time I saw her, Mel just shook my boat and I can’t get rid of her. And trust me, it’s not because of a lack of trying. I’ve been trying for almost 10 fucking years now and it’s as much as my patience can handle.

I just need to roll between the sheets with her, just once, to drink the essence of her and get rid of my thirst for her. Every reason that previously stopped me from making her mine suddenly seems inconsequential.

Yes, she’s still Logan’s sister, but at least she’s not a minor anymore, and being the hunter for a change seems like fun. And Kiara’s drunken slip-up that she’s still a virgin ... well, nobody is going to pop that cherry but me.

Fuck! That’s selfish, Grimm. I sigh deeply as guilt consumes me … I’m thinking of deflowering my best friend’s sister. Shit. I feel bad for even thinking about it.

But what if someone else does it? Fuck! No way! Just thinking about anybody else touching her … making her cum … creates a pain in my chest; my throat closes up and it feels as if I’m suffocating. No … it would be better for her if it was me; I would do it right … it must be me … I try to justify my thoughts.

I fold my arms underneath my head and stare at the ceiling with hazed eyes.

That day … 1st of March … it was a bad day for me, one of the worst. I went there on my bike … like the previous year. But this time I was alone … I had just put the pink roses on the steps when a bunch of kids entered the house. Silently, I watched them from the second floor when suddenly chaos erupted. But between all the madness of fleeing children, a small girl stood bravely, holding her pierced arm. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. She looked like a wounded angel trying to break out of the darkness. Perfect in any way. But it was her eyes that drew me to her, eyes that would haunt my dreams from then on. Eyes that gave me the strength to rise above the shadows of my life.

For years I thought about the girl, wondering where she was, what she was doing, hoping to meet her again – and then it happened. The universe brought us together once again.

At the start of my junior year, my parents transferred me to a new school. They decided that an all-boys private school would help to distract me from the pressures of my hectic schedule. Not only have I won multiple MotoCross championships over the years, but I’ve also already won Moto3 and have my Moto2 championship in the bag. And starting the next season, I was on my journey to begin my MotoGP career.

Suddenly, everybody was even more interested in me, the press, the public, girls, boys, and sponsors, and the new school was supposed to help me adjust, to rather concentrate on my schoolwork and sport. I know it sounds too good to be true, but since I was young my mom used to enroll me in any sport thinkable to keep me out of trouble. I was such a hyperactive wild child, but bike racing has always been my number one priority. I knew I wanted to be a professional Moto racer since I entered my first race at age 4.

But that’s not the point. I met Logan Blackburn and we quickly became best friends … not realizing that fate is actually pulling a nasty prank on me.

That whole day I’ve been feeling stressed … tensed up … my demons were messing up my head again and I didn’t want to go into that school to fetch his bloody sister. No, all I wanted to do was go race my bike at our usual spot … to do some stunts … to fly through the air, and feel the adrenaline rushing through my veins. That’s what I needed … what I craved.

But picking up some freshmen giggle-brats … not so much a huge priority on my to-do list. You can’t blame me, not to sound like an egotistical asshole, because girls always seem to turn into little fucking leeches as soon as they see me; attaching themselves to my body, begging for attention, draining my energy and sanity and it’s nearly impossible to pry their little claws away. I know, pathetic, right? But that’s what happens – all the time.

Okay, so I may grab some of the opportunities said leeches seem to throw my way from time to time. But to my defense, they always spread their legs as easily as butter on toast – and I’m just a man after all … a horny man like everyone else, so why would I not take advantage of what’s right in front of me? It’s only sex … and I soon came to realize that the moments of pleasure it provides can silence the voices of the demons in my head, at least for a little while.

It helps when I’m not racing … because racing - the thrill; the speed; the death-defying stunts – that will always be my number one way of keeping my demons at bay. When I’m on that bike, my head gets clear and it’s as if the guilt lifts, and I feel lighter, better, almost whole. Although it lasts longer than the adrenaline boost from sex … it’s also still just temporary. The sins of my past drop with heavy force on my soul soon after I leave the track. I guess that’s why I have the rules … to keep control of my life … of my demons.

I stroll over and open the cupboard, the rules stuck to the inside of the door as a reminder, my beacon when I feel like falling down the dark pit of despair. ‘Broken’ is the word most therapists used to describe me, and there were many of them over the years. Guess they couldn’t fix the broken boy, not that I ever let them in to see all of the monsters in my closet. So I suppose it’s my fault … maybe I don’t want to be fixed … or I’m scared that I will forget as soon as the demons are gone. And I have to remember … that’s my prison.

I usually just let them have a small peek into that prison, not enough for them to figure out what’s wrong with me. And through all the sessions I had to endure, the only advice I took was to create a set of rules to help me navigate my so-called broken life. Rules I always try to follow to a T, rules that keep me in control as if breaking them would end in disaster. Maybe it would … maybe it wouldn’t … but all I know is that as soon as I lose control, the voices in my head take over and I start to suffocate - slowly. It’s a tormenting process … one that puts me right in the middle of hell. I read the rules, although I know them by heart.

Rule 1: Never lose control - The start and I suppose the reason for my rules. Very important for a guy who lives on the edge like I do - I can’t afford to lose control in any part of my life or I might just fall over that edge. So to control the squatters in my mind, I must personally get to know each demon and where they come from. And in order to do so, I use guided imagery, a meditation technique where you visualize positive, peaceful scenarios to promote a calmer state of mind and take charge of it. Or if that doesn’t work, I have my three foolproof ways - take my frustration out on a punching bag (or a stupid human); have sex … or go ride my bike - whichever one I’m in the mood for.

Rule 2: Fight to win – Whatever I do, I try my best to win at it … I fight for that win … especially in racing. Some call my maneuvers and stunts wild and reckless … but that’s not how I see it - I don’t go on that track to lose.

Rule 3: Show no fear – If you want to have control in your life, you can’t show fear … not in a race, not in a fight, and certainly not in life.

Rule 4: Never start a fight - Count to 10 or take a walk. No matter how mad I get, I’ll never throw the first punch. I always control the fight, I decide when I fight and when I walk away.

Rule 5: Fuck and leave - My space is my own, so I never ever bring a girl home. I’ll find a spot to fuck and then immediately after, I’m gone. No hanging around, no sleeping over, no cuddling. It may sound harsh, but I always tell the girl before we start, so it’s her choice. Yes, some complain a bit, but it makes life so much easier - no awkward moments, no facing the girl for breakfast, trying to remember her name. And this way, I’m in control; where I have sex and when it ends.

Rule 6: No condom, no sex - This one is very important to me - I don’t want to get any girl pregnant - EVER. And girls are crazy when it comes to stuff like this – they will try anything to hook a guy like me. Whether it’s for attention, fame, or money … and weird as it may sound, girls will try to impregnate themselves with your seed in whatever manner they can. It’s true. I have personally witnessed girls trying to steal used condoms … or even more absurd … spitting the cum in their mouths into a container. Sick, if you ask me, but rather safe than sorry – I always use my own condom, tie it up afterward and discard it safely myself.

Rule 7: Don’t get caught (with your pants on your knees) - This is a tricky one … the press is everywhere and can’t be avoided. But when I’m going to the boneyard, I take extra precautions not to get caught on camera. And I never make out in public places … just behind closed doors. And so far, not a single photo of me kissing any girl … or even holding hands with one has been released on social media.

Rule 8: Trust your gut - If something doesn’t feel right … it usually isn’t.

Rule 9: Exercise - Not only does exercise help to keep me calm, but it also helps me win races, is good for my body, and it’s something I can control.

Rule 10: Never ever fall in love with your best friend’s sister - Okay, this one I added after I found out that the girl from the haunted house just happens to be my best friend’s little sister – and that she’s off-limits. And it might just be the most important one on the list. The one rule I never dare to break but has been broken from the start.

I try to live by the rules, it gives me a sense of security, something I can control in my hectic broken life. As I said, it helps to keep my hellish friends at ease. I drape a blanket over my shoulders and walk out onto the balcony. The sound of the ocean in the dark calms me a bit.

This past year while she was traveling, I’ve kept track of her … stalking her social media accounts to know where she was. I even went looking for her when we happened to be in the same country … watching her from afar … she didn’t know I was there. I thought that maybe things would change over time, that she would flush out of my system, that I would get my heart back … but as soon as I saw her tonight, all the cropped-up feelings came rushing back, even stronger than before.

Over the years, I truly tried to keep my distance from her, struggling to keep control when she’s around. I really did … and mostly succeeded. But once, after putting pink roses on the steps of the haunted house, I let my emotions numb my mind and I dragged her with me to sneak into the zoo. Everything felt so right, it was just amazing – one of the best times on the worst day of my life. I felt so brave … strong enough to face anything.

But after I dropped her off, the shadows appeared from their hiding spots … I got scared shitless – frightened of the control she had over me; like a fucking voodoo doll. I realized that if she stuck a needle in the doll’s heart, I’ll never recover. Not to mention that I’ll have to break my rules, the only thing that keeps me in line, the only thing that keeps me from falling down the dark hole. So, being the dick I am, I made sure that she saw the brunette on my bike the next day. I got back control, but the hurt in her eyes would become another demon in the darkness of my mind. Another guilt-driven burden to place on the ever-growing heap, and I promised myself never to go near her again.

I managed to keep my promise and kept my distance until I won my first MotoGP championship, and all I could think of was celebrating it with her. In a moment of weakness, I went to her school and forced her to go with me. Again, we had the best day ever at the Boardwalk, and this time I was not going to back down … I was going to tell her how I feel.

But when I dropped her off, Jackson was there. He managed to hit some sense into me. Mel was an angel. I couldn’t let my demons suck the innocence from her, corrupt her, destroy her; so for a second time, I scared her heart and gained another guilty demon.

I started seriously screwing around, to rip her from under my skin. Fucking any brunette I could lay my hands on – never a blonde like her. But like magic … each girl I fucked only seemed to expand the spell she has over me; to increase the longing for her.

So, at the start of the season, I realized that it just might be impossible to get Melaena Blackburn out of my blood. Out of my mind. Out of my dreams. And out of my heart. So I stopped. I stopped fucking around. It is undoubtedly one of the most difficult things I’ve done, but I’m trying to find myself … trying to find what I really want.

I can tell you, getting off by hand while thinking about her is not my first choice … but at the moment it is my only alternative. Not to mention that my arm muscles have increased. I swear love without sex is still the most efficient form of hell known to men - that’s just my humble opinion … after being celibate for almost a year now. But it’s necessary … I need to carefully plan my options further … there can be no mistakes. I can’t bear hurting her again, so I must be sure … fully committed.

And after tonight, I know I need to change the situation drastically, or else I’m going to explode – or at least my balls will. I walk back inside and fall on the bed, running the past few hours through my mind.

Almost immediately, I recognized the light hair and I gasped a few times to get the air back in my lungs. Shit, she was even prettier than I remembered. My eyes moved over her petite body dressed in a short patterned dress and denim jacket. The dress accentuated her perfect round breasts. Damn, she looked so gorgeous and I seriously needed to talk my cock down before it got any embarrassing ideas. Her eyes locked on mine, making my little man want to do the hula. Not being with a girl since forever didn’t help either.

But seeing her with another guy, his arms around her, his mouth in her neck, snapped something in me and I wanted to hit something or someone, especially him. The need to kill the guy, rip his throat out, and squash his head was almost overwhelming. It took everything inside me to walk away. I have no right to be, but I was instantly jealous, wishing it was my arms around her instead. And jealousy was a whole new concept for me. Yeh, I may have threatened and even smashed any guy in school that dared to look at her wrong, but it was necessary.

Maybe it wasn’t a very civilized thing to do, but I just couldn’t stand thinking about someone else touching her, and I never cared what the fuck anybody thought about me, and still don’t. I convinced myself that the reason for acting like a pussy-whipped asshole was that I just wanted to protect her from all the other assholes in the world, guys like me. But it wasn’t as selfless as that. No, I just wanted to keep her for myself.

Thinking about how she felt in my arms at the pool table, the look on her face, her lips so close to mine. I could feel those perky breasts against my chest and everything felt so right as if it’s where we were both meant to be. I was going to tell her what she’s doing to me, I was eventually going to say the words I wanted to say for such a long time, and then I was going to kiss her and everything was going to be … fuck.

What was I thinking? Clearly, I wasn’t thinking at all, she’s poisonous, deadly like a fucking rattle-snake. Fucking voodoo magic. Just thinking about her body blows me into a full erection and an iron grip forms around my heart. Something’s got to give, I can’t go on like this. I need control back cause I’m losing it. I get up and hit the wall letting small pieces of plaster shoot out like shrapnel. Hitting stuff is something I got extremely used to since I stopped screwing around.

Guess I’m trying to replace one method of coping with another. I walk to the bathroom in serious need of a very cold shower. The freezing water runs over me while I lean my head against the tiles, trying not to think anymore. I wrap a towel around my body and walk back into the room.

Dad stands on the balcony, leaning on the railing. When did he get here? More importantly, why is he here? I pull on a tracksuit and join him, putting my hands on the barrier.

“Something wrong with the hand?” He asks, looking intentively at my face, and I try to keep any emotion out of my eyes. Dad is way too perceptive for his own good.

“Just collided with the wall.”

“Just wish the walls could repair themselves. Must I send the repairman again in the morning?” He smiles as he pulls up his eyebrows.

“Ye, ye, so I’ve damaged a few walls in my time, okay.”

“It’s a miracle you can still pull the brake with that hand. Damion, you know I love you and I want you to be happy, right?” Oh boy, this is going to be one of those deep emotional discussions. The ones I hate more than losing a race.

“Yes, I know dad. But ..”

“You’re still into this Melaena girl, and don’t try to deny it. I saw how you looked at her, I’m not blind.” He interrupts me. My jaw drops, but I know I can’t hide anything from my father, so I won’t even try.

“I don’t know what it is about her, she just drives me insane. Always has. But she also makes me lose control and I hate it.” He looks back at my bruised hand.

“Yep, I can see that! But getting into 2 fights at the party, was that really necessary?” I give him a stupid smile, feeling like such a fool. How does everybody always know exactly what’s happening in my life? For fuck’s sake, I can’t seem to pee without someone knowing if I’ve missed the damn urinal or not.

“It was necessary, both are dicks.”

“Damion, maybe it’s time to choose, keep on fucking around and hitting walls to stay in control, or take a leap of faith and follow your heart, even if it means losing control. But between you and me – control is overrated.”

“Dad, I’m bad when I lose control. I’m not a good guy and she deserves more.”

“I think you’re pretty darn decent. Definitely in the top 5 in my books, just after Batman.” I smile at my father. He always knows just what to say, but I’m not sure if I believe him. I’m no saint, that’s for sure. I’m a sinner … you can even say I’m a killer.

“Son, I’ve never told you this in the past, but I think you should know. I saw Mel at the hospital when she got shot by an arrow. I saw her wearing your team jacket and I knew she was special. I mean, you wouldn’t give away the most important thing in your life just to anybody. That’s why I’ve sent you to the same school as Logan, hoping that you will find her again. Maybe I should have done it sooner, but with everything that happened, I wanted you to have time to heal, to trust yourself again so you could be ready for love.” I feel a little dumbstruck by the information. I almost forgot about the jacket. And all this time, my father planned our reunion.

“So you are the fucking universe then?” He laughs and shakes his head.

“Just make sure it’s what you want or else you could end up ruining her life. Mel is not just some random girl. First, try and find out what is she to you?” He squeezes my shoulder and walks out of the room, leaving me to think about his question alone. I gaze into the darkness over the ocean. The water shimmers in the moonlight and you can make out the white foam of the waves.

Wondering what my obsession with Mel is really about. Is she just a sexual fantasy that will lose its appeal as soon as I fuck her, or is there something more to this, something deeper? Why would a small boy become so obsessed with a girl with blonde pigtails and bewitching eyes? Must be some Harry Potter shit. All I know is that I’ve never felt like this about anyone. And hell, I’ve been feeling this way since I was only 12 and it hasn’t stopped. So it must be real then. Or maybe it’s just a spell, a fantasy.

I don’t know how long I’ll maintain the self-control to not chase her. And if I start, I won’t be able to stop until I cross the finish line. But maybe dad is right, it’s time to start the most important race of my life, one I have to win at all costs. And if she wakes up from her drunken sleep, she’s going to be super mad at me. I might have punched her dustbag of a boyfriend, leaving him with a broken nose. To my defense, he started it, so I just hit him back … once. But I don’t think Mel is going to care about the truth.

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