𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙁𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙚𝙧'𝙨 𝙂𝙞𝙧𝙡

Ch.19 - The Enemies

Sky diving. Bungee jumping. Cliff diving. Drag racing.

That's what this feels like. That feeling of blood coursing through your veins and surging all throughout the rest of your body. The sensation of being so close to death that you feel more alive than ever before. And right now, there's nothing more perfect for me.

Truthfully, the constant smell of gasoline and fear of a mass group of flying insects splattering into your face isn't something to compare to sky diving. But, allowing yourself to travel over forty miles per hour on a motorized bike definitely is....in my book at least. Considering how the most reckless thing I've done is cut off an eighteen wheeler in traffic, this is expanding my horizons a bit. This is one of those things you have to experience yourself to fully understand. Everything is different. Everything is faster. Everything is closer. And everything feels so open and free. Simple places that I've driven past everyday, now appear different. Every light I see shines brighter, cars seem as huge as giants yet as slow as turtles, and time itself feels as if its decided to fly by.

I grapple myself tighter to Dean and dare to look at the speeding ground below me. The yellow guide lines of the lane pass under and out the bike reoccurring, and the urge to reach down and touch them itches at my fingertips. I bite my lip and pull my eyes away, reminding myself that it would be seriously detrimental to my life if I were to lose a hand. Oh god, just imagine. I lose my left hand, and years from now I'll have to explain to my kids why it is that mommy can't tie her shoes. Great role model material.

The wind frantically whips through my hair, blowing it backwards and sideways, causing a few strays to cohere with my cheek and nose. I swipe at the crazed strands before turning my attention back to my surroundings as the cycle continues forward. Right now, I can't help but wonder. Should I be happy, or scared? I'm on a motorcycle with the shadiest kid in school, on my way to an even shadier gym, full of exceedingly shadier ex convicts. Based on these facts alone, one thing is for certain: I'm definitely certifiably insane. Well, that or I'm a masochist.

At least I get to ride the motorcycle. I never realized I was missing out on something like this, and now that I know, it's quickly becoming my bread and water. Nothing but my grip on Dean is keeping me from flying back onto hard pavement. Something as simple as the slip of the wrist, and "goodbye Patience Phillips" forever. An image of me tumbling back and onto the unforgiving road invades my mind and my entire being shudders at the thought. Hopefully that isn't what people mean when they say "paint the town red".

The bike begins to lose its speed as we approach a red light, and the momentum causes my body to mash further into Deans back. A bolt of lightning instantly rocks through me and I'm shaken out of my adrenaline junkie dreamland. For the very first time throughout this whole ride, I realize just how nonexistent the space between me and Dean is. Has it been that way the whole time? I scoot myself back some to decrease the amount of contact between us, all the while my cheeks are burning bright. Dear god almighty, why do I keep finding myself in situations like this? Don't let this boy notice me freaking out behind him. I'm fine with any of the cars around us witnessing my conniption (well not really), but please, please, not Dean. That's one embarrassing motorcycle ride that I'm NOT willing to try.

Any inch of contact between us, meaning my arms and the small strip of exposed skin on my stomach, becomes highly aware of everything. My arms are still wrapped around his torso, and it's clearly not helping the situation since, thanks to the notably thin grey T-shirt Dean's wearing, I can feel his physique...it's not helping the situation. My unhinged emotions whirl around in a fury and my mind races to the last time we were at the gym. I remembered how flustered I had felt when he was behind me teaching showing me how to throw a proper punch. The same odd emotions begin to swell up again and the fire licking at my cheeks starts to intensify. Why am I reacting like this? Does Dean really have that strong of an effect on me, or is this just my distaste for him confused with....something else?