A Bad Boy in my life

Twenty three

The weight of $15 thousands hangs heavy in my mind. It's an enormous sum, and I can't help but wonder what Maxon could have done to accumulate such a staggering amount of debt. When he returned home injured, I knew he was in trouble, but the idea of him being buried under a mountain of debt simply doesn't add up.

As we make our way back through the cemetery, Frank's ironic words echo in my thoughts. When we reach the gate, I can't hold back my curiosity any longer.

"You must really love your bike," I remark, breaking the silence.

Maxon's response is solemn, almost directed more to himself than to me. "More than I love myself," he mutters, his gaze fixed on the bike.

I find myself pressing my lips together, contemplating the gravity of his statement. The question lingers on my tongue, begging to be asked.

"What makes a pair of wheels so special that it's worth your life?" I finally manage to voice my query.

Turning towards me, Maxon leans against the bike, crossing his arms as he lets out a sigh before speaking. His tone carries a mix of nostalgia and vulnerability.

"My mother left me the money from the house and all her assets. She told me to spend it on something I've always wanted, no exceptions," he explains, his voice tinged with both gratitude and sadness. "If I wanted to spend it all on drugs, I could have. But she always knew how much I loved motorcycles."

I furrow my eyebrows, trying to grasp the depth of his attachment. Maxon gestures towards the bike as he continues.

"This bike represents everything she left for me. It's one of the few things I have that doesn't rely on my father's wealth. It's something he can never take away from me, something that's truly mine," he says, his words carrying a mix of defiance and determination. "In a world where everything feels transient, this bike is a symbol of permanence, a testament to who I am."

I nod slowly, captivated by the profound meaning and personal significance this bike holds for him. It's far more than just a means of transportation; it's a tangible connection to his past and a declaration of his identity.

My curiosity returns, and I feel the urge to delve deeper into his intentions.

"Why did you bring me here today?" I inquire, seeking to understand the reasons behind his sudden decision.

He takes a moment to gather his thoughts, leaning back against the bike.

"When we left home, I didn't plan on bringing you here. But something compelled me to share a glimpse of who I am with you," he explains, his voice laced with a mix of vulnerability and determination. "I thought it would be fair for you to know a little about me, to see the fragments of my life that have shaped who I've become."

I absorb his words, acknowledging the significance of this unexpected detour. Uncertainty lingers in the air as I contemplate our next steps.

"Are we going back home now?" I ask, wondering if this impromptu excursion marks the end of our journey for the day.

Maxon shrugs, a flicker of anticipation in his eyes.

"Do you want to stop somewhere on the way?" he offers, leaving the decision in my hands.

Biting my lower lip, I consider his proposal. The rumble in my stomach hints at my hunger, and I nod in agreement.

"I'd like to grab something to eat," I admit, the thought of food becoming increasingly appealing.

Maxon takes a deep breath, as if fortifying himself with patience, and gazes up at the sky.

"But if you'd rather head back, we can do that too," I add, making sure he knows I'm open to either option.