Page 19 of Burn (Two Wheeled Psychos #2)

The ride isn’t cleansing, but it is slightly settling. I take the exit from the catacombs, back out onto the street. The echoes die down and the sound of my exhaust gets lost it the fresh air of the city’s night sky. It’s a ride that means nothing because I can’t get away from the feeling inside of me. Her engine screaming isn’t screaming for me. I’m becoming numb.

The panic, the adrenaline, all of it’s simmering down as I take the streets one at a time, not even knowing where I’m going. I’m lost in all the thoughts in my head, but thankfully they’re all mine. He’s quiet. He hasn’t said anything since “ make me”

and it’s a reprieve that has my heart rate coming back down, and my head leveling out from the back-and-forth blur that was our fight.

Still though, I feel mad, madder than the hatter that dove down the hole. I’m insane, I know this now. And Phoenix must be as well if she wants me the way I am. The fact that she asked me to hurt her, and let me burn her shows that the only person who can and will care about me, is just as fucked up as I am.

I need to see her, I want to see her, but I’m afraid. Though he may be quiet now and has promised to leave her alone since I fried that chubby whore in the tunnels, I can’t trust him, because as he said, he is me, and I can’t trust myself.

The scenery and surroundings become familiar as I ride, with the houses lining the sidewalks becoming ones I recognize, ones that bring me a sort of comfort. Then, before I realize where I actually am, I find myself pulling into the spot across the street from my obsession’s apartment, the one I left a week ago when I ran from her and the thoughts I was having about her. It’s all back to her now and probably will be forever.

The outside looks just like normal, it’s quiet and clean, with the steps flanked by the urns of flowers, and the front windows illuminated by the flickering yellowish light from her ceiling fans that she leaves on all the time to move the air around the antique abode. I can feel the warmth from inside radiating out in that light and it does some weird things to my insides, heating them but not how fire does. It’s different, welcoming, and peaceful.

Staring at her place brings me solace, and a tranquility that I haven’t felt since I was buried in her seven days ago. Before I took my flame to her, when we were in the shower and everything else in the world had slipped away except the feeling of my skin on hers, my hands on her, my cock in her.

I want to go in, to walk right in that door and to claim her as mine again. To act like the past week hasn’t happened, to go back to the way we were before he took over.

Zeph…

“Oh hell no, motherfucker. You promised.”

Okay, fine. Loser. Ha ha ha ha ha.

His voice dies away with his maniacal laughter after he calls me a loser. He’s right though, right?

The front door opens and closes, bringing all of my attention to the sound of her leaving. She looks as beautiful as ever, with her black hair blowing in the night breeze, and her cat-like eyes scanning the sidewalk up and down the street. Her legs are bare below the hem of a crocheted sundress with little straps that grace her slender shoulders. Wooden and sisal clogs adorn her pretty little feet. She looks Boho chic and oh so pretty, almost virginal.

“Where are you going so late, baby?”

I ask her silently in my helmet my words too quiet for her to hear from across the street.

She steps off the sidewalk and crosses the road in front of her building, jogging across the street, then down to the right. Instead of going into the bodega on the corner, she passes it and turns left, going down the side street.

“Something different tonight? Let me guess, you haven’t eaten there since last week.”

I say as I climb off the bike and follow her on foot, leaving my helmet hanging off the handlebar.

I catch up to her quickly, seeing her open the front door of the fifties inspired doo-wop type of diner a block down. The pink and green neon lights from the restaurant’s sign glows on her skin and crown before she disappears through the chrome and glass entrance.

I feel like a crazed stalker following her again, this time with no intentions of allowing her to see me. If she knows I’m here, the whole thing will start over again, and I’m not ready for that. I shouldn’t even be here, watching, following, creeping around her. I couldn’t help myself though, my two wheels just brought me here without me telling them to.

Something to eat wouldn’t hurt, would it?

“Shhh. Not now.”

Come on, go in, sit in the back, she’ll never see you.

“Enough. Go away.”

Whatever.

Shaking my head to clear him away again, I stroll to the diner’s doors and peek in. She’s being seated in a forward-facing booth in the front by a middle aged, blonde, very hard-faced waitress.

Just slip in when she’s not looking and go to the back. She’ll never know.

“Shush.”

The door jingles when I open it, and I curse the fact that every business in this god forsaken city puts a fucking bell on their front door. I know it’s to announce the arrival of people in a city full of crime, where you always need to be aware of your surroundings, but it’s really a pain in the ass for the criminals like me.

She doesn’t look up though as I grab a laminated menu from the hostess station and put it in front of my face, walking between the padded booths to the back of the diner. No one notices me in fact, and it’s a good ten minutes of watching her silently before the same grumpy waitress finally comes up to me.

“What’ll it be hot stuff?”

She asks, her voice gruff, her breath smelling like a week-old wet ashtray.

“Coffee, and some French toast, bacon, and home fries.”

I say, keeping ahold of the menu when she tries to take it from my hand.

“I’ll keep this please.”

“Suit yourself.”

She grumbles, waddling away towards the side counter that’s in front of the window for the kitchen.

Phoenix sits, facing away from me, her hands occasionally fluffing her hair from her face. She takes a phone call on her cell, then sets her head down on the table. She looks tired from what I can see, almost defeated and sad.

You made her sad. You make everyone sad. Look at your mother. Poor woman.

“Fuck off asshole.”

I want to go to her, to hold her, to tell her that everything will be alright, but how can I do that when I pose the greatest danger to her? It would be feeding her to a pack of wolves on purpose when all I want to do is love her.

Love her? Are you mad?

“I think we’ve already established that.”

“What did you say, Sugar?”

The waitress asks, setting down my coffee, and looking at me like I have ten heads.

“Nothing.”

I grumble, taking the mug and swirling it around, looking in its black depths like I’m looking into my soul.

“Whatever.”

She scoffs and walks away again as silently as she arrived, which is impressive for her age and size.

I watch as she goes to Phoenix and delivers her a plate of food, which my angel barely touches. She moves the meat around on the plate with her fork, stabbing at it aggressively, then passively as it grows cold. She’s trying to force herself to eat but doesn’t want to when she raises a forkful to her lips and frowns as she slowly puts it in her mouth. It's painful watching her chew slowly and swallow hard, choking it down.

You did that to her.

“You did.”

I am you, shithead.

Phoenix struggles but she eats most of what’s on her plate ignoring the waitress every time she goes to her table, waving her off with dismissive shoos of her hand, just wanting to be left alone. The middle-aged woman continues to bother her though, and on the fourth time of her trying to talk to her, I can feel the anger brewing up inside of me.

“God, just leave her the fuck alone.”

I murmur under my breath in annoyance.

Hmmm, advice you should give yourself?

“Maybe.”

I’m lost in watching Phoenix, my eyes trained fully on her, my hands idly spinning my mug on the table top, and again I don’t notice the waitress come up to me. The slamming of the plate down in front of me startles me from my daze, and a drop of coffee spills from my mug onto my hand, heating my skin.

You should have left your gloves on.

“Are you going to shut your mouth anytime soon? I’m a little tired of your attitude.”

I huff, wiping the hot liquid away with the white paper napkin on the table.

“Excuse me child?”

The bitchy woman says, putting her hand on her hefty hip, staring down at me with furrowed brows.

“What? Nothing.”

“Didn’t sound like nothing. You have an attitude problem?”

She asks, leaning her fist on the table, bending down to get in my face.

Looking up at her for the first time, and really seeing her, I can tell that she’s a bitch of a person all the time. Her name, Barbara, on her gold name tag even rubs me the wrong way.

“I do not, Barbara. Do you?”

I seethe at her, raising my upper lip in disgust at her.

“Punk kid.”

She snorts, pushing herself away from the table with a dramatic huff.

Bitch. Burn her.

“Now that one I might not argue with you about.”

I chuckle to myself, popping a piece of bacon into my mouth and chewing it slowly while I watch her approach Phoenix for the fifth time.

This time with the same attitude she just gave me, she leans on her table, scowling at her, and I can feel my blood pressure rise.

“Do you want to die tonight, Barbara?”

I mock quietly as I eat my meat first, then take a bite of the French toast smothered in butter and syrup.

“I can make it happen.”

There’s my boy!

“Shut up. I’m getting sick of you.”

You’d miss me if I were gone.

“I highly doubt that.”

I say, covering my mouth with my hand so an elderly couple walking towards their table hand in hand doesn’t see me talking to myself.

I mean even though I am crazy, I don’t need to blast it to the world, at least not just yet. I always pictured myself going out in a blaze of glory, with my head on fire and me streaking through the streets on my bike. I would prefer that, rather than wasting away in some mental hospital because I talked to myself in diners.

“Anything else?”

Barbara sighs as she trudges up to my table, her eyebrows still pinched, the bill already in her hand waving it at me like it’s some kind of fucking flag.

“Yeah, Barbara…”

I say, reaching up and touching her name tag with the tip of my index finger.

“More coffee, and less attitude. Thanks.”

With a dramatic wink, I hand her my cup and shoo her away with the same hand motions Phoenix used earlier. It pisses her off, yet she storms away to fill it like the good little servant she’s supposed to be.

Thank you Barbara.

Even my alter ego is mocking her, and it makes me laugh, a full on deep, chest hurting laugh that draws more attention to me than me talking to myself could. I cover my face with the menu, and laugh hysterically, listening to the voice in my head roar as well. For once we’re on the same page, and his idea of burning her, just for the way she behaves is sounding better and better with each rude word from her stupid mouth. Besides, she’s not only rude to me, a biker, which is understandable, but to my angel, and that’s unacceptable.

I’m the only one allowed to be rude to her huh?

I have to wait for the few people around me to stop looking in my direction, and double check that Phoenix’s back is still to me before I slide out of my booth, throwing a handful of cash down on the Formica table, not even bothering to count it, knowing that it’s way more than a generous tip on top of the bill. I mean, I should tip her before she dies right?

Make sure there’s enough to cover the cleanup costs.

“Good one.”

I say to myself, causing me to pause.

I’m talking to my voice, the man who drives me crazy, and now here I am planning a murder with him like he’s my buddy.

“I really have lost my fucking mind.”

And you love it.