We had to run a couple of blocks and around the corner. I wasn't typically fit, but I kept quick pace because of the recurring thought that I'd made the worst decision of my life by running out that door to look for Archer. He was a liar, but I was still certain that he was my best friend when we were younger. I couldn't understand why he would want to hurt me, unless I did something to hurt him. I needed to remember more.
Nigel had stopped a block ahead of me, standing next to a small, silver Vespa and holding up two black, open-faced helmets. I walked to him and took the helmet.
"Does my lady wish to go anywhere specific?" He asked.
"My house," I replied as I slipped the helmet over my head.
He eyed me carefully, like he didn't know whether or not I was being serious. "Are you sure that's a bright idea? Come on now, you aren't as clever as me, and I say that's a bad idea."
I rolled my eyes at him and he put his helmet on, buckling the strap. It looked goofy with his bent glasses. A string of dried glue was hanging down where the arm meets the glass frame. He must have been trying to fix them all night. He kicked up the stand and sat on the scooter, one foot on the platform and the other on the road. "Your house. Final, confident decision?"
I nodded. "Indeed it is." I hopped on the scooter behind him. I'd often ridden on the back of a motorcycle because riding was one of Connor's favourite pastimes. Before I'd even completely sat on the pillion seat, Nigel had taken off and we were flying around the corners. "Slow down!" I yelled over the wind and engine.
"Nah!" I heard his muffled voice shout back, "that's no fun!" We zipped around corners with our knees barely safe from grazing the road.
Archer's basement was in the next suburb over from this one and it took only 10 minutes until we were zooming up my street. I felt sorry for the person to had to clear all these streets of snow. It was still freezing and the sun was out this morning, but dark, angry clouds loomed to the edges of the sky, threatening to send us into darkness again.
We pulled up by the kerb and I swung my leg around the back of the scooter before walking calmly to my door. I hadn't expected a thing out of place since Nigel had spent the night, but neat was not what I was greated with. Either Nigel had become violently frustrated when I walked out on him, or he had not spent the night as I assumed. The shattered glass from the entertainment unit was sprinkled widely through the carpet and the lounge was tossed backwards, one corner leaning precariously on the bottom stair. As I walked into the kitchen, there was more shattered glass, ceramics, tossed cutlery, drawers torn and thrown from their homes under the bench, appliances were submerged in a water-filled sink that was still running and the kitchen table was split in half. I spun around to the doorway, where Nigel was standing rigidly with a complex expression- somewhere between disbelief and completely mortified. It was one of three things: either he did this and is frightened that I found out, he did this and the expression is a cover up, or he genuinely did not do this. I stare at him. Yesterday, Nigel was someone I was deeply fond of, but now I can't bare to imagine myself liking him. I am afraid of Nigel.
He looked directly into my eyes. "I'm just going to get something out of my scooter," he said and pointed over his shoulder at the front entrance. I nodded once in his direction and spun around to the window, analysing my yard. I was not entirely sure as to why my eyes were keen to look for an escape, but the adrenaline coursing through my veins told me that I was in the wrong place with the wrong person. I did a double take over my shoulder to make sure he was gone, and slid open the window. Our back flyscreen has been jammed for 3 weeks, so the window was the only way to go. The problem I currently have with terraced houses is that there are no side gates. I kicked a hole in the fence into the backyard of the house behind ours, but I didn't crawl through. I'd be trapped by another row of terraced houses. The hole was in direct view of the still-open kitchen window I crawled through, so Nigel would notice I was gone, see the hole and crawl through to look for me. I hid in a bush near the window and waited for Nigel to return.
I heard a wail of frustration from inside the house, and there was a banging on the door. The flyscreen flung out off it's hinges, landing and balancing precariously at the edge of the the concrete slab that made our al fresco area. Nigel stormed out clenching fists and basically dove straight through the hole in the fence. At least I didn't have to crawl back through the window.
The front door was also left open. Was he born in a tent? I ran out into the street and the storm clouds grew larger and darker. I didn't have a plan, that was until I saw the helmets hanging off the handle and the keys still in the ignition of the scooter. My heart rate picked up. I was about to steal something, and ride a motorised two-wheel form of transportation. There's a first for everything.
I turned the keys in the ignition and the scooter juttered to life. I made quiet little rumbles, so it wouldn't attract Nigel's ears. I stepped through the platform in front of the seat and placed my feet firmly of the ground. I threw Nigel's helmet to the ground and fastened my helmet. I didn't have a licence, or even know how to ride one of these. I anxiously fastened my helmet tighter and gripped the handlebars with brutal force. If I have to die, it's not going to be today.
