Barefoot

Part One

He sighed, closing the door behind him. Thank god that was over with.

You see, his mother, as much as he loved her, worried too much. After the incident last year, she decided it would benefit him to go see a therapist. She wanted her son back, and he just didn't have the heart to tell her that he wasn't the son she wanted anymore.

He adjusted his jacket, put his gloves onto his hands, and slid his helmet onto his head, flicking the visor down to shield his eyes from the sun. The engine of his Harley motorcycle roars to life and he flies off down the road, squeezing through the narrow places between the other cars.

He sees a dirt path off the the side and throws the tires in that direction, driving towards his place. His secret: a rocky riverbed, once overflowing with water, but now it's a bit more than a trickle. The stones on the bottom are worn smooth, but the top ones are still rough.

He always goes to this spot whenever he want some time to himself to think. It's where he goes to cry, to burn off his anger, to hide from the world, and where the police found him last year. It's where he lets everything out after refusing to let anyone reach him.

He parks the bike just inside the tree line of the forest, putting the kickstand down and setting the helmet over the handlebars. He shakes out his hair and enjoys the cool breeze that caresses his sweaty neck. Wearing the heavy gear necessary for safely operating a motorcycle is no fun when it's about a hundred degrees outside.

Slowly, he treks to his spot. He climbs over fallen tree trunks and steps knowingly to avoid holes and branches and vines. He trails his hand over the rough bark, enjoying the feeling that comes with his calloused fingers on the bumpy surface.

His boots step over weeds and vines, knowing exactly where to step to avoid harming any of the land. It'd lost its beauty to him long ago, but he couldn't help but remember how it used to be, and he wants to keep it looking the same as it does in his memory.

He sees his spot, shrugs off his heavy, hot leather jacket and tosses it over a rock. He rolls up the bottoms of his pants and slips off his shoes, putting them on the ground next to the rock that's holding his jacket. Then takes off his socks, sticking them into his shoes before walking across the smooth rocks on the bottom of the creek.

He stops midway through, relaxing his body and exhaling slowly as the cool water trickles around his ankles and cools his burning skin. He sees a small glimmer against a group of pebbles and leans over to pick it up. It's a small golden necklace with three interlocking hearts on it. The chain is thin and frail, yet it survived its journey downstream. It clearly hasn't been here long; it's still perfectly shiny and no damage from the rocks or the water, and plus, he would have noticed before on one of his other trips to the spot.

He pockets the necklace and then scoops the water in his hands, throwing it onto himself as he cools down. He soaks his white t-shirt and his jeans are quickly becoming wet, but he doesn't care. Slowly letting everything he had bottled up, he lowers himself until he's on his knees in the water, his hands clutching his head as he fights his memories.

A nearby twig snaps and he jerks his head up, just barely quick enough to see a flutter of white fabric and reddish-brown hair. "Hello?" He calls softly.

The reddish-brown hair comes into view again, peeking at him from around the tree. Hands hold onto the trunk hesitantly, as if debating whether to stay and talk or to disappear back into the forest.

"Who are you?" He asks, trying not to seem too cold.

She steps from behind the tree into his line of sight, rolling one of her feet nervously in the mud. She's wearing a light, flowing white dress that reaches her mid thigh and has thin white straps to hold it up. Her hair is long and soft-looking, reaching well past her shoulders.

She's beautiful, his heart shouts at him, and he's shocked by the thought. It's been a year since his heart did anything but the beating necessary to survive.

"Hello," she says hesitantly, fiddling with her fingers. Her pink lips curve into a welcoming smile, and before he knows what's happening, his are curved up too.