Riding with the Beast (an MC Fairy Tale)

14 - Sonja

Sonja

The forest teamed with life but none of it seemed human. We were surrounded by tall, immobile trees instead of human structures, a crackling fire, and a relentless, growing cold. It felt, almost, like we were the last two people on earth.

The Beast paid about as much attention to me as the elements did. I could just barely make out his hand putting something in his mouth in the moonlight. He pulled a small, shiny box from his pocket, then leaned forward until he his elbows rested on his knees. There was a soft hiss as his thumb pushed the flint wheel. It took seconds for him to light his cigarette, and in those brief seconds his harsh features were illuminated—a large, crooked nose, droopy lids, and a net of burned skin riding up his sharp cheekbone. Then, he lifted his thumb. The fire vanished and his ruined face disappeared behind the veil of darkness.

I shivered, nestling further into the cotton shirt he’d draped over my shoulders. It smelled like him—a little smoky and surprisingly clean. He used a common, antiseptic soap that smelled like Tea Tree Oil and something woodsy.

The cherry glowed as he inhaled.

“Aren’t you cold?” I asked.

“I’m alright,” he muttered between drags, offering nothing more. And why should he? He’d only given me his protection. The shirt off his back. I had nothing to give him in return—or at least nothing he wanted.

“You’ll need sleep if you’re going to drive tomorrow,” I said.

“Don’t worry. I won’t drive off the road.”

I hugged my knees to my chest. “Are you going to stay there all night?”

The cherry flared again. He didn’t answer.

So I kept talking. “I wish you’d sit next to me.”

I didn’t know why I asked him that. Maybe because I needed a distraction, but that was stupid. I wouldn’t get lost in him—I’d never even truly know him. You didn’t ask men like him about their work. Even if they were willing to tell you, you wouldn’t like their answers. Honestly, asking wasn’t even necessary when you could tell what kind of man he was just by looking at him. There was a history of violence written on The Beast’s skin. He broadcasted his alliances with ink, and they’d been solidified through scars.

But he was willing to risk his life for a girl he didn’t know. You couldn’t see that just by looking at him. And he was kind; you could see that if you were able to look past his appearance and study his eyes. They were dull, plain, and a little sad. More than that, they hinted at the man he’d been before he became The Beast.

I compared these things to the arrogance of the man I’d k—

No. Don’t think about it, I told myself, shivering.

The Beast put out his cigarette. “You got somethin’ you wanna talk about, Sonja?”

I shut my eyes. “Did that man really as bad as you said he was?”

“Yeah, he was. If you need to cry over what you did, that’s alright, but don’t cry for him. He’s not worth it.”

Would you be worth it? I almost asked. “Are you as bad as they say you are?”

“Depends on what they said.”

The silence that stretched between us held all the answers I needed. So he wouldn’t defend himself. I don’t know why I was surprised by that.

The fire had retreated. Only the embers beneath a few charred logs glowed.

The Beast reached into his pocket. For a second I thought he’d light another cigarette, but instead he just stared into what was left of the fire. “I wouldn’t be worth your tears either, though. You’re your own person now. You should save them for someone else, someone you chose.”