Back to my humble board, I haven't noticed the garden my gardener has done. The flowers turn more purple at night. The attraction is drawn from the neighbors' eyes, owls, crows, and some different birds and butterflies, and no one else since no one lives nearby except some beings in the woods.
"Sweet dream." He says,
"You too—drive home safe," I say. He nods and slowly walks back to his car, and I quickly glance at the man with the helmet standing beside his bike.
I watch Tytas leave safely without that man following him. After all weeks, he disappears, and he's back all of a sudden. I'm about to turn myself and push the door, but suddenly, someone carries me up. "AH!! HEY!" I scream out as the man wearing the helmet holds me up under my ass, and he walks to his bike, grabs my thigh to spread them out, and puts me on the seat correctly. He quickly sits behind me and blocks me between his arms, "What are you doing!?" I ask shockingly; as I try to get away, he pushes the button and rides away, forcing me to sit quietly before I accidentally fall off the bike. His body leans forward, and his chest and arms are all over my body, squeezing me like a tiny plushie doll. The wind that blows my hair over my face harshly makes me quickly hide my face away, and I feel his hand, which, wearing the leather glove, covers my forehead, but this hand is big enough to cover my face. He presses my head lightly to let me know that to lean on him and put my face inside his arm, more likely his armpit.
I was kidnapped twice in one semester—different vehicles, different styles, which one I prefer, none of them.
Finally, he stops his bike around the lake with a tiny island in the middle. Tiny when I see from afar but up close, who knows? I have run this street a few times but never ever sat and relaxed and admired the beautiful swans and the calmness of the sparking moonlight on the lake's surface. Late at night, the swans had all gone to sleep, as well as the humans in their houses, except for this biker man who decided to show up whenever he wanted and take me here for no reason.
He takes his right hand away from the handle and lays it on the engine before me. He leans back, moves his butt away from me, gives me a teeny tiny space for me to breathe and relax my muscles.
"What do you want?" I ask bluntly; he says nothing, only the breath inside his helmet. I give him a minute, but no answer, "Can I get off?" I ask,
"No," he says, breathing heavily behind me, "I give you this one—so you wear it to another man." His deep voice is even more profound.
I don't understand what he tries to say, and suddenly, his hand moves from the engine to my thigh. He slowly caresses my thigh through it.
"It's not yours—" I say lightly. He halts his hand, "and why did you care?" My thoughts run through my mouth, and now it sounds like I am the one who cares. I don't know why it's bothering me so much that he's gone after that night.
"I care because it's mine," he says and moves his hand to my stomach, "and I gave it to you—" he pauses—a minute pause that I know that he holds his tongue "it's still mine" and, his hand presses my belly gently but harsh enough to tell that he's upset, then my body's forced to lean to his hard body, "Does it make you mine too?" he says,
"No," I say,
What an illogical thought is that?
"And it's not yours—yours, it's roses—this one is peonies—and it has clips on," I say,
Then, I realized why I had to explain it to him.
I feel his touch gliding down on my hip and slightly feel the thin string attached to my waist. I watch his right-hand motions while another hand grabs my waist, not letting me escape.
"So you wear this to him—" he says,
I turn my face to the side and look at him through the helmet, which reflects my face. "What do you want from me?"
"That boy doesn't deserve you," he says,
I look at him, confused as I see myself through the shield, wondering and frustrated. "And you do?" I ask, turning my face back. Can you just—" I sigh. "What is your purpose here? What exactly do you want from me? You've been watching me, saved me, and you're gone, and then you came back and snatched me out and told me—" I sigh again. "I don't understand."
I take a breath and let my brain take a break, but I can't hear any words from him.
"You're not going to rob me, right? If you were, you would already have done that. And you're not a rapist; if you were, you would have raped me when you had the chance, which you had multiple opportunities—" I pause as he holds my waist correctly, firmly, and my body is fit his hands perfectly. It makes my spine feel the electricity; the lightning runs down from my neck to my hips and backward when he feels my skin through the fabric I wear and all the nerves that feel tickling at the tip of my fingers.
"So you miss me when I'm gone," he says,
And I have some trouble breathing all of a sudden. I bite my bottom lip, trying to stop my thoughts, my adrenaline, and my words.
The inside rush—and I don't think it's from fear.
And I don't feel like this when I'm with Tytas.
"You miss the point." I say, and hold my breath, "You like me?" I ask,
"My action is too obvious, my baby doll—you must be so naive if you think I just like you." He says, "I'm in love with you," I gasp, "Heh, no—" He says and holds my body—locking me in his rigid arms, "Love…can not describe what I feel for you." He says,
"H–ah…" I cry lightly out, not intentionally, after he squeezes my body as his fingers feel the tight strings.
My skin senses his leather gloves.
"I don't want you to be with anyone else—but me." He says,
"I don't even know you," I say as he glides his fingers on me. He pauses when I touch his hand, "And I don't think you know me."
"I know you enough—" He says and holds my hand that is over his.
I turn my body to look at him. "What are you afraid of?" I ask. I look down and see his chest about to pop up from his shirt. I look up again. "Why don't you want to show the real you to me?"
He breathes a long one, and I can see his chest move. His scent and his black shirt remind me of something familiar. Then, he leans his body to me as I lean my body back from him, and I raise my hand to touch his chest to stop him.
"Define the real me," He says, and then, he touches my hand on his chest and holds it, "If you mean the real me is just showing off my face—are you considered real? My intention to get to know you and the intention to make you—want to know me and make you mine—is fucking real." He pauses and holds my hand up from his beating loud chest to his helmet, right in front of it, blocking his sight. "I'm showing the real me to you from the beginning."
Every word that this man speaks drives me crazy. My veins are rushing even faster, and my breath is running through my mouth chaotically.
I admit I feel the sensation between us; at least underneath my dress, it tells me so, with the coldness and chills covering my whole body. I have never felt this way since that night—two years ago—before he left me.
"Break up with that boy." He says,
He wants the same thing as Zygmunt, but this guy is expressly clear that he wants me to himself.
"Then what?" I ask as I look at him.
"If you don't, I'll make it happen." He says,
"So what are we supposed to do? Holding hands while you are wearing the helmet? Watching movies with the black shield on your face? Having sex with you with the helmet on?"
"Heh-Heh," He chuckles, hearing his little laugh inside his throat. It seems like he genuinely enjoys my sentences. "You picture us having sex now—oh god, baby doll, now you make me—" he sighs heavily, "To make you mine, right here right now."
I gasp, "Then why not?" I ask, I challenge. I want to know what stops him and what forces him to hold back if he really wants me that much.
"I want you to give in to me—willingly—from your beautiful and sassy heart." He says lightly with a bit of vibration.
I lick and bite my lower lip, hide my face from the mask, and slowly pull back my hand. "Is there anything else? I want to go home now," I say, turning my face back to the front.
"Heh," He makes a sound,
"I—" before he's about to put his arms to the handle, "I want to sit behind," I say.
And then he gets off his bike. I sit still and try to figure out—Should I just slide my ass to the back or get down first? Then, he puts his hands on my waist and holds me up—easily, like I'm a real doll. I am stunned to speak, and he holds my legs together and lets me sit to the side on the backseat, letting both my legs hang in mid-air. He kneels to the ground, touches my ankles, and puts them where they belong. I watch him doing whatever he is doing. He faces up to me and gets up as his hands glide up my legs.
"Don't wear something like this to another guy," He says,
"But I like to wear them," I say, and he puts his hands beside my hips on the seat. He locks me in his arms again. "I didn't wear them—for them, anyway," I say lightly.
"Still—" He says and moves himself to sit in front of me, ready to take off, but he waits.
Then I realize what he wants. I put my arms around his body, holding my hands together.
"If you want to hold me properly, just ask," He says, chuckling,
I roll my eyes, "Shut up," I say quietly.