Bikers, Chains and Bad Boys

Chapter 1

(unedited)

Bikers, Chains and Bad Boys: Chapter 1

Getting up early for a morning run had been my routine since I was fourteen years old. I would wake up at five, put some old clothes on and run for about an hour. Or three miles if time permitted. I would come home, shower, and fix myself breakfast as I waited for my mother and father to make it home from the bar, their nightly routine. Seemed as if routines ran in my family.

While waiting, I would fix my younger brothers, Mark and Luke, their lunches for school and get out their clothes for the day. My parents would come home and I would hand them each a steaming cup of coffee, they'd kiss my forehead and head off to bed.

Getting the boys ready was simple. They would be dressed and in the kitchen for breakfast in under ten minutes. They'd eaten and were headed out the door for the bus in another ten.

Myself? I would've been completely ready before my parents were home, to ensure that I wouldn't be late after I sent the boys off. So, once the boys were out the door, I wasn't too far behind. Locking up and making sure lunch was labeled and in the fridge for my parents was a simple task. I brushed my teeth, grabbed my bag and took off on the short, seven minute walk to Bakersfield Regional High School.

Routines change, though. When we moved out here to Evansville for a 'new start', I still stuck to my routine, but things were different. Although most of the actions were the same, the feeling itself was completely different.

I still got up at 5 AM to run, but my usual changed to five miles a day -- eight if it was a bad day. I would get back at almost seven, be showered and dressed by 7:20 and ready to work on my bike for the rest of the day.

My father got home around 7:30 in the morning. Although he left the gang lifestyle, I guess the times just stayed with him. He had a third-shift job from 11 PM to 7 AM, so he didn't get in til the early morning. I would sit with him while he drank his coffee, talking about the latest machine malfunctions or how Pete forgot how to correctly assemble the line set, pushing the production back another three hours (again). By 7:40, my father would've kissed my forehead and been in his pajamas, snoring away. I would rinse his cup, make his lunch, and be on my way to work on my bike.

Today wasn't really that different, I just had a rough night so it started a bit more rocky than the others.

~*~

My breathing was ragged and I could feel the sweat rolling down the middle of my back. My hair was soaked and I was starting to feel sticky from the previously dried sweat.

I felt disgusting.

I heaved a deep sigh as I reached the sidewalk in front of my porch. I bent over with my hands on my knees and breathed deeply a few times, stretching out my sore muscles. I over did it, again. My arms were too heavy and my legs were shaking so bad I could hardly stand.

Slowly straightening, I became vertical again and began a painstakingly slow walk to the front door. I needed to get past my father without him noticing me. He wasn't supposed to be home until 7:30 – it was only 6:45. The sun was barely up yet.

I made it up to the top step before I heard a voice come from behind me.

"That's what you get for sprinting for almost three hours."

I didn't even care at this point who the voice belonged to. I could run as long as I wanted to.

"Fuck off." I grumbled before slamming the door behind me. Well, I couldn't slam it, I was trying to sneak past my father. I heard some rustling in the pantry in the kitchen, so I sprinted- as best and as quietly as I could- to the bathroom. I had already set my clothes out so I shoved the water on and hopped in the shower to clean my gross-feeling self.