Dancing with the Dead ✔

Chapter Fourteen - The Worst is Yet to Come

"Lucky me," he says, concluding it with a soft and rather proud smile.

"Then a couple of years ago, I met someone. His name's Daniel. He was..." I pause and bite my lower lip as I reminisce about the good times I had with him; everything that happened before six months ago. "He was everything I've ever dreamed of. Kind, handsome, smart. We dated for a while and then..." I gulp, hesitating to relive the worst moment of my life. "He proposed."

In the corner of my eyes, I can see the surprised look on John's face. But he quickly calms himself down and pulls himself together. "I take it things didn't go very well?"

"Tsk. Bingo." I smile sadly. "I... I wanted to say yes. But at the same time, I wanted him to know me—the real me; I felt like I owed him the truth."

"So did you tell him?" he asks after a while.

"Yeah. But instead of his acceptance, or whatever it was that I was hoping for, I got the worse possible reaction I could ever get."

John narrows his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"He shoved me to a mental institution."

John blinks repeatedly while his jaw drops to the ground. "I— I ..." he stutters, unable to say a word. "Come again?"

"Yeah! Can you believe it? I mean, even my own parents thought it was the stress or the concussion! But he?" I pause as the anger just comes running through my mouth. "He actually had the nerves to shove me to a looney bin! I mean, who did he think he was?"

We fall into silence for a while. Then, as if drawn by some unknown force, we look at each other. Suddenly my anger and his shock turn into loud, shrieking laughter.

"Gosh. How did you... How did you manage to choose the one person who would shove you to a looney bin?"

I shrug. "I've always been a bad judge of people, I guess."

"Well, you're not wrong about me so far, right?" He flashes his proudest, cockiest smile.

"I hope not." I smirk.

Suddenly, his smile turns into a playful smirk. "So what's the deal with you and that detective? If I didn't know better, I'd say you have a history together."

"What? Hell, no!" I cry. "I've only just met him a couple of nights ago—which is probably the worst night of my life apart from six months ago! I mean, he actually called me—"

Our conversation is cut short as the roaring sound of a bike is heard from afar.

"Speak of the devil," John says, then gives me a teasing smile.

As I stand up, I can see the bike's light illuminates the dark road. As soon as I can see the black Harley Davidson coming in close, I start walking towards the road. The rider wears black from head to toe: black helmet, black jacket, black boots; which are apparently Lucas Wright's preferred outfit.

My, my. He is a biker. Yet he had the nerves to make such a rude comment about me.

He stops right in front of me and takes off his helmet. He puts it on his bike and turns off its engine.

"Doc," the detective says as he steps off his bike. He takes off his gloves and puts them in his pocket. He looks more annoyed than ever, as if he'll choke me to death if I say the wrong word.

I let out a long sigh, not knowing if I should be happy or not with his presence.

Now, what am I suppose to tell him?

The truth. Maybe he's different.

I raise my brows at Evil Me's comment. How is he 'different'? Look at him!