Walking barefoot through the woods, I don't know where I am, and I'm half-naked. That prick pushed my button, and I couldn't care less whether his face was messed up or his hand was broken.
That prick Vik tried to rape me.
My vision is blurry with tears. I wipe them away, and then I see the street ahead of me. I climb up, get onto it, and place my feet on the concrete road. It's dark and cold. I look left and right, but I don't know which way to go. I decide to go right, which will lead somewhere. That jerk couldn't have driven too far from town.
My feet and legs are cold, and they are growing numb. My T-shirt is relatively thin, so I can feel the breeze covering my entire body. Then I see a light shining from behind me and feel its warmth.
It's him, but I don't want to turn around.
I keep walking and ignore the sign. Eventually, the bike pulls up beside me. I glance at the rider, who is still wearing the helmet, and continue walking. Suddenly, he rides ahead and turns to block me—not aggressively, but enough to stop me.
I look at him while crossing my arms against the cold.
He removes his jacket and offers it to me. I shift my eyes toward his coat and then back to him. He's wearing a black long-sleeved shirt underneath. I hesitate to take it.
Then he gets off his motorcycle, and I quickly step back. He opens his jacket and puts it over me. I stand still, letting him do it while I'm in his arms without a fuss. I slide my arms into both sleeves. He zips the jacket all the way up to my neck and lets go.
I can feel the jacket's weight. It's heavy as fuck.
Then he gets back on his bike and gestures with his head toward the back seat. He wants me to sit behind him.
I say nothing and walk away.
"You don't know where you're going," he says from behind his helmet. "Your butt will freeze before you get home," he says as he rides after me. "Do you want a stranger to see you half-naked?" His voice echoes with vibration inside the helmet.
Shit.
I turn toward him and stare. He has seen me at my worst and witnessed my humiliation. Nothing can get worse than this.
"Do you want me to carry you, or will you do it yourself?" He asks. "Either way, you're coming with me," he adds.
He saw me lose my shit and is still helping me?
I sigh and walk toward him. "Aren't you gonna give me a helmet?" I ask.
"Heh," he says lightly, making a deep sound.
He offers me another helmet—I didn't even know he was holding it—and puts it over my head. "Nice try," he says, securing it beneath my chin.
I help myself onto the back of his bike.
"Hold on to me," he says, but I don't do as he says. "You're going to fall off," he repeats.
Fuck. I move both arms around his waist.
"I'm not gonna do anything," he says lightly.
Then I decide to wrap my arms firmly around his body.
Finally, he takes off.
He rides in silence. All I hear is the motorcycle's engine and the wind blowing against him. His body is so large that it acts like a barrier, protecting me from whatever comes toward us.
My mind is as shut as my mouth. Am I still in shock?
I ask myself, and the answer is no. I hate and am stunned by what Vik did to me, but not because I broke his hand or his stupid face.
Maybe I'm more violent than I think.
In less than half an hour, he stops his bike in front of my house. I slowly pull my hands back and get off.
I look at him through the helmet, whose visor is a darker shade, but I can still see through it. This must be the view he has of me.
He touches my chin gently, unfastens the helmet, and takes it off for me. I stay still as I look at him. I wish I could see his eyes—the eyes behind the steel mask—not because I want to know what he looks like, maybe a little, but because I desperately want to see how he looks at me, how he perceives me. How much his eyes brighten or darken when he gazes at me.
My vision grows blurry again.
I'm not a crybaby, but this is very fucked up. The things that happened to me and how I handled them were a little—insane.
I'm about to remove the jacket.
"Keep it," he says.
A day ago, I would have taken it off and thrown it into the woods, but at this moment, I don't want to. I lower my hands, open my mouth a little, close it, bite my lower lip, and look at him again.
I have to say it. "Thank you," I say.
Then I turn toward my yard.
"Lock the door," he says.
What the hell is this feeling? I turn my head and nod to him. I walk to the porch, enter the passcode, and open the door. I look in his direction one more time. He's still there, watching me.
Then I close the door.
I go to my room, take off all my clothes, and quickly get into the shower. I clean and clean and clean, washing everything from my head to my toes and beneath my nails.
I don't fucking know what to do next—whether I should go to school or tell Dad or even Irin. Should I tell Tytas?
And I don't even know what happened after I left. Did he do something to Vik, or did he just leave him there?
My head starts working again. I use my towel to absorb the water and dry my clean body, then put on the nearest T-shirt.
I look at the sports clothes and the white T-shirt lying on the floor. I pick them up and throw them into the trash bin. I turn off the light, and before I get into bed, my eyes shift toward the jacket. I pick it up and put it on properly. It's heavy and made of leather, but it's soft inside.
I crawl beneath the blanket and hold the jacket tightly around myself.
It's warm.
I inhale its smell deeply into my lungs. I don't know what has gotten into me. As I exhale, my tears come out too.
"Hic—" I can't hold them back.
I wrap the jacket more tightly around my body as if it is hugging me. It's not just warmth that I feel.
I feel safe—at least in my bed and inside his jacket.