“Have you ever been on a motorbike?” He walks up to the infernal machine, runs his long fingers over the seat, over the black curves, and eventually settles on the handlebars.

The immaculate bodywork is illuminated by rays of light piercing through the leaves. I cross my arms in front of me, leaning from one foot to the other. My chest is gripped by fear. Just like when I was a kid and I didn't want the doctor to take a sample of my blood. I knew it was inevitable, yet I was reluctant to go through with it. As a child, I had no choice.

But now, it is my decision. I can still walk away without risking my life for another fifteen minutes with him

Fifteen minutes... Ridiculous; half an hour by car at best.

But at least I can be with him until then. With a man who cares about me, and wants to take me home.

His soft laughter shivers down my spine.

Could the fear show so much on my face?

“Well, you'll see, it's not that horrible.” He holds out the black helmet, but I hesitate to take it. “Don't you trust me?”

His innocent smile and dark eyes are begging. Kindly, friendly, like a kitten clamouring for food, impossible to say no to. I swallow my anxiety, and take the helmet.

Slowly, his hands rise higher, moving closer to my face and lift the glasses from my nose.

“You can put the helmet on now.”

I obey, but as soon as it's resting on my head, a sinister feeling takes over.

“Wait; if you give me this, what will you wear?”

“Nothing.” His voice is confident and calm.

“And what if you get fined?”

“Then I'll get fined” He shrugs, with a natural lightness, as if I had warned him that he would get wet in the rain without an umbrella.

His blurred silhouette leans closer, opens the transparent part and pushes in the glasses. I can't breathe as the plastic stems slip between the lining of the helmet and my scalp. They're a little high, but they gradually descend. He does it slowly, gently, careful not to hurt my ear. Finally, he adjusts it to the bridge of my nose.

I tingle. Is he so attentive and gentle in bed too?

I've had several people try to help with my glasses in my life, but so far he's been the closest to perfect. Stable, relatively comfortable and the slippers don't irritate my eyes either.

It's so... unreal. I have a renewed sense of mistrust.

“What if we have an accident and you die?” I look for excuses, but my voice is low, my mouth dry.

“I don't die easily.” He folds down the darkened plexiglass with a smile on his face, yet an oppressive confinement settles over me. It's as if he'd closed the lid of the coffin while I'm still alive.

He sits on the bike, kicks off the support, leans on the handlebars.

“Come on.” He nods towards the short, narrow section behind him.

I crawl even closer, hoping to find a wider, safer passenger seat. But there isn't one.

That tiny thing is the passenger seat!

Oh, my God... I might not even fit.

“First of all, you always get on and off from the left side because of the exhaust. You can damage it, or burn yourself.”

I nod.

“Grab my shoulder.“ He takes his hair forward to the right, then when he realises how low I am, he leans forward, but even then I can't reach him comfortably.

“You can also grab my arm. Then put your left foot on the footrest, swing over and sit down.”

My hand shakes as if I am supposed to touch his naked body. Apart from David and my dad, he's the first man to let me get this close. He doesn't just let me; he instructs me. Kindly, without the slightest sign of embarrassment, yet firm. It seems I have no choice; I'll do it.

Even through the fabric of his jacket, I can feel hard muscles tensing underneath. I swing my legs over, sit down, as far away as possible... and almost find myself on the ground.

Anxiously I pull myself closer, my knees touching his narrow hips.

My face bursts into flames. I put my shoulder bag between us. I'm sure he wouldn't want me to...

He reaches back, grabs my wrist and pulls me on him.

“There's no handhold; so if you don't want to fall, you'll have to hug me…” He draws my arms around his waist. “...especially when accelerating. And when braking, lean on the tank.” He smooths my palms over the bulging frame between the handlebars and the seat. My hand presses between the cold metal and his warm hand.

He leans over the handlebar again.

Shyness urges me to pull away from him immediately. Yet I don't. It feels so good to be close to him. I inhale the spicy scent of his perfume. Cinnamon and cardamom. Anyway; it's just his waist. But if my hand were any lower...

“Try to relax. Don't sit stiffly, with your back straight, and don't turn around. If I lean, you lean with me, otherwise we'll tip over. Get off only when I tell you. Do you have any questions?”

“N-none.”

“Hay Square then?”

“A little before it, Winter Street opens up to the right. If you drop me off there, it's perfect.“

“All right, grab on.“

I can hear the smile in his voice. There's something about it that makes me uneasy. Something wild and bestial…

He starts the engine. It's loud, but it's not half as deafening as I expected.

We are off at high speed and I start to slide backwards. I'm going to fall... My embarrassment evaporates immediately; I snuggle into his back as if I want to melt into him. The books in my bag dig into my stomach. My desperate hand gets caught in Devin's soft turtleneck, right at the muscles I admired so much yesterday while he packed books. Now they don't arouse me.

I must survive.

The wind catches my hair dangling from under the helmet, whistling through my sweatshirt.

By the time I see a pedestrian, we've already passed it. Then another... and another.

My heart is pounding in my throat.

Is it legal to drive at this speed in a pedestrian zone? He doesn't seem to care; he slaloms between them like they're road marker cones that it's fine if he accidentally sweeps them away.

A slight bump signals the end of downtown, the beginning of the main road.

The engine roars as he gives it more throttle, the air resistance pushes against my shoulder. Every muscle in my body tenses to keep me on the seat. An icy hurricane rips at the tendrils of my brown hair, my sweater swells behind me into a storm-flapping sail. The cold pierces the fabric of my jeans with a thousand needles. Devin's hair envelops me like a cobweb, its shifting strands obscuring my view.

Cars whiz past us. They stay behind as if we're speeding against traffic. Below us, the white sections of lane marker merge into a single line, while the trees, shops and lampposts lining the road flow into a surreal mass.

I'm trembling.

My fingers grip Devin's sweater tighter. Grasping tightly, just as I'm holding on to my life.

I want to get off. I want to run. Now.

But how?

If I put my feet down, the asphalt would tear it off.

How fast are we driving?

I gasp for air, my breath forming a thin fog on the lens of my glasses.

“What if you get fined?”

“Then I'll get fined.”

The memory of his kind smile turns into a demonic grin. Maybe it never was kind , just I wanted it to be...

And I got on his bike. A stranger's motorbike.

A complete.... Stranger...

I don't know anything about him.

Am I really so lonely? Would I throw my life away for a few more minutes together?

Tears sting my eyes, but I blink them away. I can't cry now...

He brakes. Just as suddenly as he started a while ago.

I slide forward, my hand caught between the tank and Devin. It hurts, but once we stop, the pressure eases. The white curtain of hair falls away, the street and traffic take solid form. Beside us, a concrete building towers with a logo of a red rooster.

The slaughterhouse. I know this place!

Ahead of us, the light for the railway track flashes red, the level crossing blocks the road.

This is my chance to jump off and run.

“Get off only when I tell you.”

My breathing quickens, the fog thickens.

No, no! Now I won’t be able to see anything! I'll be completely exposed!

I already am. We could have an accident anytime. I could die.

No, that's not possible. Surely he's an experienced biker, he is looking after me. He has to; if something happens to me, he'll be held responsible. After all, I'm still a minor; he must have seen it on my library card. However, if my life is in danger, so is his. He wouldn't do anything like that.

Or would he? After all, he gave me his helmet.

"I don't die easily."

I wrap my arms tighter around his waist, feeling his muscles rise and fall in a coherent, hard block. How tight...

He’s like a predator ready to pounce. But why? The light is red.

My heart is racing wildly.

I bite my lips, but it's no use; the fog thickens.