Broken Walls

15. Hold Me

So have you been to a place like this?
To see your breath as it paints against the sky
Feeling so right and things will run
The fever is near
I wish you were here.

- Umbrellas.    

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A perfect duplicate of the city reflected over the dark water of the river. Shawn sped across the bridge, the chilly air biting at his cheeks and streaming through his hair. He gripped the handle bars tightly, his knuckles turning white in the cold. The bright glow from thousands of tiny lights burned in the windows, creating a halo around the buildings and acting as a beacon guiding him in.

Camila clung tightly to his back, her fists twisted in his jacket. Shawn could feel her panic in the tenseness of her grip and the trembling of her hands. She held onto him as if he could somehow save her from whatever it was she was about to see. He wished he could.

When Shawn received Hailee's frantic phone call, he'd had no idea how to break the news to Camila. Niall was her best friend. Not that Shawn understood the reasons why—the boy seemed like a total tool to him—but Camila liked him. Probably even loved him. Shawn had been afraid she'd break down, scream, possibly even cry—and he wasn't the best person to deal with a girl crying. 

Surprisingly, though, she hadn't. He should have known. She was a tough girl, and she'd proven that toughness time and time again. Her face had paled, but she'd just calmly nodded and followed him out to the bike. Shawn knew she wasn't fine, knew she must have been freaking out inside, but on the outside she had been stoic.

Traffic slowed to a near crawl, and Shawn gave no afterthought to weaving around the cars and trucks lining the lane. If there were any way he could go faster, he would. He knew Camila wanted to get there, needed to get there. Horns blared and the other motorists cursed at him, but Shawn paid them no attention. He didn't have the time or tolerance to deal with the impatience of Manhattan tonight.

As he drove, Shawn let his gaze sweep over the expanse of the metropolis sprawled out before them. The world-famous skyline fanned alongside the river, its massive buildings stretching into the sky and practically touching the heavens. Vehicles and pedestrians crowded the streets and sidewalks, their incessant hum making the city buzz with manic energy.

There had been a time, in the not-so-distant past, when Shawn had loved the city. There was always something exciting to do, or place to go. He loved the constant movement, the busyness, and the drive that seemed to push everything forward against its will. The city never made excuses for what it was. It never slept, never apologized. It didn't need to. It was what it was, and everyone who came there knew it never changed. They knew if this was the place they chose to be, they were the ones that would be changed. Because the city didn't lie, or pretend, or disappoint. It stood steady, hard, and hazardous, never deviating from its path.

Shawn had always respected it in that. Probably, because in his eyes, he was exactly like the city—unbreakable, proud, dangerous.

But now, the city felt foreign and distant. Almost as if—even though Shawn drove through it, lived in it, and worked in it—he could no longer touch it. It was lost to him. He was lost to him.