Every Little Dream(3)
That’s how my new rep formed.
Girls are dangerous. Relationships are dangerous. They bring out the devil in me. Someone I don’t like and don’t want to be. So I’ve embraced my new motto of love ’em and leave ’em.
One more time around and a cold one has my name on it. Jimmy should be off work by now, and we can crack a few jokes while eyeing the girls.
A car horn blaring cuts through the wind in my ears. I glance behind my shoulder. Shit.
I’ve drifted into another lane. With a quick move of the bike, I swerve to the left. The car screeches past. Shit. Cars head right toward me. Only one place to go so I steer straight at the curb, knowing this could majorly fuck up my bike if I can’t get over it.
The last I see is the pale white face of an angel, her eyes large in her face. She’s a vision. For one second, I fear death is calling me home. Just in case she’s a real person, instead of popping a wheelie and running her over, I let the front wheel hit the curb.
I’m weightless, flying. The gray of the cement rushes up. Instinct kicks in and I crash and roll. Pain radiates through my body. I don’t want to move. I don’t want to know if I’ve broken a bone.
The scent of vanilla and honey drifts by, settling over me. A gentle touch is on my skin. Soft words whisper in my ear. It’s my angel, but I can’t quite grasp what she’s saying. I move, trying to shift into a sitting position, but my body is sore. A groan slips out.
Seconds later, the heavenly scent is closer. Breath brushes my lips. More words are whispered. The feathery touch of her lips skim mine. The sensation is so fast it barely registers beyond the burning on my skin from the scratches.
My eyes open a slit and the vision blurs. Her blonde hair is a halo.
“Hey. Are you my angel?” My words are slurred, barely understandable. If she is and I’m in heaven, I don’t want it to end. Her warmth pulls away and I focus on her large eyes, her red lips. “Beautiful,” I murmur.
Car doors slam. Footsteps hit the pavement, rushing all around me. The moment disappears. Shit. I must not be in heaven. They lift my body onto a stretcher. I try to argue. “I’m fine. Let me walk it off.”
The blue uniform enters my vision before the cop sticks his face in mine. “Oh, don’t worry. You’ll be walking it off in jail tonight. But we’ll get you checked out first by a doctor. Your daddy won’t be saving your ass tonight.”
“Hey! I’m not drunk.”
I swear the guy mutters bullshit under his breath. His grip tightens on my arm. “You smell like a brewery.”
Oh, shit. I screwed up. Just one drink was all it took…and my past reputation.
The next couple hours blur. The stark white walls of the hospital close around me. The bright lights are blinding. And then there’s the poking, the prodding, and more burning as they bandage my scrapes. I could’ve walked away but someone called the cops.
The wheels of the bed they placed me on squeal against the floor. I put my arms out to the side. If they think I’m drunk, might as well play it up. “Woo hoo! I’m flying.” I put my lips together and buzz them like I’m sitting in the engine of a two-seater.
The nurse says nothing.
“Oh, look!” I point to the horizon. “The Rocky Mountains. What a view.”
The nurse shakes her head.
I don’t let her realistic view of life bring me down. I’m flying. The wind kissing my face. My dreams are carrying me away. Dreams I’d forgotten about until now. Dreams of flying across the country one summer, viewing the world from the sky.
I ignore the pitying looks as nurses try not to scold me. I’m used to it. I’ve learned to be a clean slate in the face of most people. They look and see nothing but the blank stare of a rebel. They can’t and won’t ever understand my life.
While they do their job, I pretend that I followed my dreams, that Dad never squashed them before they even had a chance to take off. That I’m not here because some asshole forced me off the road.
Soon, they help me into a wheelchair and steer me out to the waiting officer on duty. Minutes later, after a short trip to the station, the same officer is leading me into a cell.
“Hey, I’m sober. My bike’s a wreck. You can let me go. I’ll walk home.”
The same officer who was on the scene, who let me off last time after a brawl, steels his face. I recognize the look. I’ve seen it often enough on my dad’s, the clenched jaw and determined stare of not giving in. This guy won’t crack. I sigh, fading into the depths of the cell, the shadows enveloping me. I ignore the dull ache in my head and my chest. I find the most comfortable spot on the paper-thin mattress to wait out the night.