Behind Your Walls

11 | boyfriends

My thumb roams above the contact name called 'Mom' as I struggle to press the call.

I already have a headache, debating calling her at all. It is the afternoon and Panther isn't supposed to be home but what if he is? The moment I call Mom, he will try to find out if I am the caller.

The thought is fearsome; it makes my forehead sweat. My lips quiver as I decide to finally press the call just as the sound of an engine coming closer makes me look up.

The motorcycle is familiar even though I only rode on it twice and never noticed the number plate. The rider stops in front of a lonely me standing on the roadside of my lane. He slides his visor up while I take a moment to imagine what my reaction to this entire situation would have been if Carter was a stranger.

"Get up," he orders, his eyes squinting as the sunlight shines on his black helmet.

"No thanks, I can go alone."

"Is that why you're standing here for the last fifteen minutes?" he asks, a corner of his lips tilting upward.

"I was killing time," I lie.

I did forget the route to his house and had to come back to my own. Had he been following me? What is he? My bodyguard?

He looks ahead of him, his strong legs keeping the bike standing in place as the engine keeps roaring.

"Get up, you're wasting gas."

I roll my eyes, pulling the straps of my bag more firmly over my shoulders. It is a good thing it is small in size and easily fits in my travel bag the other night because Carter would have found me dead here if it was heavier. I reluctantly follow his orders, half glad that he didn't forget about me and half annoyed that I have to play the damsel in distress to his knight.

"Ride slow," I say.

"Not my thing, babe," he chuckles.

"Shut up."

He laughs as he starts the motorcycle, making me jerk and hold on to him tightly. Contrary to my wishes, he rides at a speed unimaginable to me. We soar out of my lane, close to the bus stop and the only time he slows down is when he is taking a new turn.

I close my eyes, waiting for the moment when we are going to meet with an accident and show up in the newspapers tomorrow. More than dying, I worry about the fact that I don't even have a pretty photograph that the press might use for the article. If this is the one thing that is going to make my name famous, I might as well go down with a bang.

The sound of the wind in my ears is deafening. Occasionally, when Carter slows down, I hear the birds singing in the trees and wonder if that's how they will sing at our funeral. My mother will be so disappointed if I die like this and my Grandma Sita will curse my soul for being stupid. I try to picture her face — a fair lady wearing her favorite grey saree, looking at my coffin with a stiffened expression as she chants the verses from Gita to distract her mind from thinking about my death. She will cut off the leftover ties she has with her daughter-in-law, leaving her to continue suffering under Panther's torment.

Poor Mommy

"This is probably the slowest I ever rode, snippy. Just open your eyes and look."

"Liar!" I shout through the sound of the wind.

"It's fifty miles per hour, snippy. If we go any slower, we'll be riding till night," Carter says, his voice lower than mine which is weird because I can hear him clearly.

I open my eyes, breathing fast as I force myself to take in my surroundings as per Carter's words.

He is right. It is not that fast. I can see people on the road, I can see trees, birds, and even a poor stray dog that walks with a limp on one of its legs. I take everything in, although I never let go of the tight hold on Carter's waist.