The Night Rider

The Night Rider

A Story by Carissa Marie

The night is cold but his voice gives me warmth as he speaks to me from behind his sturdy white helmet. 

"Here, put this on" he says, as he hands me over his spare head gear. 

My fingers fumble around the straps of the helmet he offered, my hands too shaky to keep them in place. 

"Turn around, let me" he directs.

I obey his command, and immediately flush at the interaction as his fingers softly brush my nape.

"You're done. Come on, let's go" releasing me to hop on to his big bike. 

I quickly follow him. Careful not to make a fool of myself. I hesitate for a moment, pondering on where to place my hands. My hands itch to wound its way around his body, to embrace him in an unbreakable bond- but he already had his engine going before my hands can even leave my side, and I settle to hold on to his back instead. 

"Your hands are warm," he tells me. And I flush even more. 

He suddenly builds up the speed as we head on towards the highway. The wind hits me in every direction but I couldn't care less. I press my body tighter to his back, not daring to move a muscle in case my clumsiness takes a hold of me and I fall off his bike. 

We zigzag our way in between cars with their glaring lights and loud noises, but ironically I felt at peace.

"Are you okay?" the night rider asks, peeking at me from his side mirror. I nod my head in reassurance and tightens my hold on his back even more. I am better than okay, I thought. 

He glances at me once again, our eyes locking for a fraction of a second. 

And his dark brooding eyes were the last things I see before the deafening noise and the glaring lights engulfed us. 



© 2017 Carissa Marie



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Added on January 6, 2017
Last Updated on January 6, 2017

Author

Carissa Marie
Carissa Marie

About
21. Female. AB Journalism. Philippines. :) Introvert. Weird. Over-thinker. Music lover. Bookworm. Frustrated Artist. Writing is my therapy. "Let my words be your own form of immortality" .. more..

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