A Bad Boy in my life

Fourteen

When Maxon confessed his past arrest and rumors swirled around him, the logical choice would have been to distance myself, to protect my heart from potential trouble. But logic has never been my strong suit.

That's why, against my better judgment, I found myself accepting Maxon's offer for a ride home from school. There he was, finding me on the sprawling lawn just as the final bell rang, and without hesitation, I climbed onto the back of his motorcycle.

However, as we veered off the familiar route, regret started creeping in, fueled by a chilling surge of imagined dangers. My thoughts raced through countless worst-case scenarios, and panic set in.

I tapped Maxon's shoulder, my voice cutting through the wind as I lifted the visor of my helmet. "Hey! Where are you going?"

"Just relax!" he shouted back, a hint of amusement in his voice.

I tapped him again, urgency sharpening my words. "Maxon! Where are you taking me?"

"Take it easy," he laughed, the sound grating on my nerves. "It's not what you're thinking."

What I was thinking involved slamming on the brakes and demanding an immediate exit. "Stop this motorcycle now, or else I'll jump!" I threatened.

"Trust me, okay? I just want to show you something. You'll like it."

"I don't want you to show me anything. I want you to stop the motorcycle so I can get off. And I don't trust you!" My protest carried a bitter hypocrisy, given the choices I had been making lately, choices that entangled me with him.

"I'm not going to do anything to you, Margo. Don't worry," he chuckled, as if I were attempting a joke. "But if you want reassurance, there's a switchblade in the pocket of my jacket. You can take it and use it on me if I try anything against you."

"Just the fact that you carry a switchblade in your pocket isn't something I should be worried about?"

"A lot of people carry a switchblade in their pocket. It has various uses. You can take it if it'll make you feel safer."

Without a second thought, I rummaged through his jacket pockets, my fingers locating the switchblade, which I swiftly tucked into my blazer.

"There. Now calm down because we're almost there," he said, revving up the engine.

Dread washed over me. What had I gotten myself into?

***

As the motorcycle turned onto a narrow dirt road, my heart tightened, and I clutched the switchblade, its presence grounding me in this uncertain journey.

Maxon brought the motorcycle to a halt next to an imposing grassy wall, and we dismounted.

"Where are we?" I asked, my voice betraying a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

He pocketed the motorcycle key and ran his hand through his hair, a nervous gesture that revealed a glimmer of vulnerability.

"You'll find out soon enough."

With a nod, he gestured for me to follow him.

There was an eerie solitude in this place, devoid of any other souls, accompanied only by the soft rustle of my footsteps on the fallen leaves and the distant melody of chirping birds.

Beyond the wall, a breathtaking natural garden unfolded before me, its stone paths guiding us towards a gleaming glass structure in the distance.

"What place is this?" I gasped, awestruck.

"Golden Garden. It used to belong to the Stirling family long ago. Now, it's in the hands of a couple from Texas."

"It's perfect."