Where Do Broken Hearts Go?

46. Pillion

Leaving him on the other side of the sheer curtains, I back away from the window to grab a cardigan. As my fingers dig themselves into the knitted fabric, I watch the rise and fall of Ella and Poppy's entangled bodies. With the mute confirmation of a nod, I punch my ticket for a midnight ride. Wow... Angel, did– FORGET IT! LET'S GO!

Rushing out of the room, I grant each step two seconds, hoping it won't offer back tattling creaks under socks. Get your keys. Get your keys! Where are my keys? WHERE'S MY KEYS? Through the vaguely lit first floor, I find my way into the kitchen. My keys sit openly on the counter. Thankfully, Adidas sneakers make my life easier by waiting for me by the front door.

As soon as I sneak past the ajar entrance, Marcel throws a victorious fist into the air. If I weren't sneaking out, I'm sure he would have given me a round of applause.

In a worn-out Real Madrid shirt, black leggings, and a brown knitted cardigan, I go jogging down the uneven path. 

How has my life turned into one of those movies where the bad boy picks up the innocent, little schoolgirl as her parents sleep on a Tuesday night?

"What are you doing?" I question, only able to see his eyes behind the open visor.

Reaching out, Marcel's hand comes behind my head to hook a finger on my hair tie. Loosening it, he skillfully shimmies it down and out of its ponytail. After sliding the tie up his wrist, Marcel lifts his spare helmet into the air as I study his rushed, yet calculated movements.

"Come here." He instructs, having me come closer so he can sit the headgear over my drifting hair.

With his uncoordinated track record, I can't help but doubt his cyclist abilities. "Do you know what you're doing?"

"I'm 100% sure you've never snuck out. Get on the bike." Marcel's eyes widen, rushing me once again. 

I don't do well with being rushed. I have the tendency to move slower. So guess what I do... Crossing my arms, my eyes fall into a dull gaze. He sighs, taking the handlebars as he rolls his eyes away from me. 

"Please." He nods towards the open road ahead of him. "And yes, I know what I'm doing."

Dropping my arms, I step closer to the running bike. Oh boy. Am I seriously doing this? Are you insane Angel? You've never been on a motorcycle in your life! What do you think you're doing? What if something bad happens? 

Holding Marcel's shoulders, I throw one of my jitter-wobbly legs over the seat – uncleanly. Stumbling, he catches the back of my thigh with a firm grasp. With how my breath hitches, you would have thought the man wrapped his hand around my throat.

"Do you always have to be so clumsy?" He snickers as he lets go.

"Look who's talking." After taking a seat and getting settled, the quip falls from my lips as I wrap my arms around Marcel's waist.

"Tighter." He requests. Seriously? Sighing, I give him more of a squeeze, then look up to my bedroom window. "Tighter." He instructs in a tone that tells me if I don't comply that he won't be moving this bike. I thought we were in a rush?

Sucking my teeth, I pull my eyes away to give the back of his head a menacing glare. As I roll my eyes on to his mirror. He's watching my grimace of annoyance with a stale stare of his own.

"I thought we were in a rush?"

"Tighter." He bumps a brow, unwavering.

"Marcel."

"Angel, I'm making sure you're secure and don't fly off."

"Whatever. You just like hugs." I turn my face, so he can't see me.