Page 2 of Chains

I should’ve told him I was busy and instead gone to my friend Emma’s for a sleepover like she’d invited me. But I wanted to see him because I missed him. He’d cancelled a few of our dinners in the past because of his work. I wasn’t going to let him get away with it again. How’s that working for you? A tiny voice invaded my thoughts.

So here I was, sitting alone in the car, waiting for my dad to finish whatever he was called to do. Coming second to his job. Yet again.

Unable to sit there any longer, I wrap my dark blue coat around me and tentatively step out of the car. The absence of anyone to stop me fuelled my determination to snoop around.

As it was evening, it was getting colder by the minute; ice had collected on the ground, but thankfully I was wearing my flat knee length black suede boots, with a tan sweater and jeans. My hair, a rich auburn color that naturally curled into ringlets, was what I considered my best feature. Since it reached my waist and was hard to manage, I tied it up in a messy bun tonight, so it was out of the way. Sometimes, I want to just chop the whole thing off, but then quickly change my mind, as it’s taken me years to grow it this length. Maybe one day.

Wrapping the coat tighter around me, I looked around, ignoring the Harleys parked in the driveway, not because I was frightened, but because it reminded me of Emma’s decision to go to that sorority party, she dragged me to almost six weeks ago now.

I tried not to think about that time, but something, like seeing Harley’s, would remind me of it, and I was back there all over again.

We’d gone to a sorority party with people only Emma knew. Even though I was uncomfortable, I forced myself to have a good time. People were doing drugs and engaging in sexual activity, which left me feeling extremely uneasy.

Emma immediately gravitated towards a guy who seemed a little older than every other boy here. But he did nothing for me. His friend standing next to him, though, was a different story.

The boy Emma was interested in was talking to another brooding guy in jeans and leather, there were at least a half a dozen girls trying to get his attention. I couldn’t help the jealousy I felt at this, even if I didn’t know the guy and had never met him before. His dark tousled hair and sexy dimples in his cheeks were the first things I noticed, but despite our closeness in age, one look into his sky-blue orbs revealed a depth of experience far beyond his years.

His hands were in his pockets, and his eyes were on me. But that couldn’t be right, could it? I discreetly glance behind me, expecting to see another girl, but no one was there.

That was the night I met Bodie Dawson; an exciting bad boy rebel,

He was from another school, which I guess explained why I had never seen him around Briar Creek High. He was visiting his grandmother, or so he’d said.

We’d clicked immediately and spent the rest of the night together. In fact, I enjoyed his company way too much. It was clear he enjoyed mine, judging by his affectionate touches and kisses.

It didn’t take long for me to be smitten by him; I was loath to go home, but by the time it got to my curfew of midnight, I’d had no choice.

I suppressed the burning desire to climb him like a tree; something I had never experienced before and barely resisting it. I would not jump his bones in the middle of the living room of someone’s house, with a bunch of strangers watching, no matter how much I wanted to.

That night was the night that started my love story with Bodie and I guess it would end the same way every young teenage romance began. We’d snuck around behind my parents' backs, and I was well on the way to falling for the bad boy.

But then my heart shattered into a million tiny pieces only six weeks after giving him all of my firsts, and lying to my mom where I was, telling her I was with Emma when I was actually with Bodie all night.

He would drop me at the end of the street on his motorcycle with a tender kiss, promising to call me. After a restless night’s sleep dreaming of him, I would always have my head in the clouds until I could see him again.

And then he just disappeared.

It was the middle of the week before my phone dinged with a message, and my heart rate soared when I thought of Bodie.

While I couldn't check in the middle of class, I swiftly got my phone as I made my way to the next class. His message triggered a wave of sadness, depression, and eventually rage.

Bodie: Little one, we had a great time, but I think I gave you the wrong impression. You were great pussy, and I’m happy to have popped your cherry. But I’m movin’ on and have to leave town. It's better this way, before emotions complicate things. Have a great life, I know you’ll make somethin’ of yourself.

Bodie x

I read the message at least a dozen times and had to wait a few minutes for the fog of betrayal and anger to dissipate from my vision. Ten minutes later, still standing in the empty corridor, school forgotten, I couldn’t believe what I was reading. Bodie, though two years older than me, had been interested, I know he had. And now it was just over? Hell to the no. He doesn’t get to dump and run without an explanation.

While tightening my jaw, I dialled the number he provided, but to my frustration, my call failed to connect. Either he had it disconnected or he had me blocked, and trying to send a message had the same effect.

Shaking my head to dislodge those unwanted memories, I again look towards the house, feeling uneasy being here. Taking a tentative step, wondering what I was bound to find. Holding my tiny purse against me, with the cash I earned by serving at the diner three days a week in town. My mom wasn’t too happy that I had gotten a job, but my father had praised me for showing initiative.

I wonder how he would react if he knew I aspire to work with him someday, and eventually take over the business? Would he try to dissuade me? Probably. But I had a definite plan for my life's path. It may not be the norm for someone my age, but I was determined to make it happen. Both my mom and dad would have to live with it.

I slowly make my way to the front door, turning the filthy doorknob, surprised because it was unlocked. Pushing it open, I freeze at the scene that met my eyes. A woman, possibly in her late forties or early fifties, sat on the floor in a trancelike state, blood flowing from her face. A man in his fifties lies motionless on the peeling linoleum floor, blood pooling around his head. I scrunch up my nose, but otherwise feel nothing. Am I normal? I think to myself. Anyone else would throw up, or run out of there at the such a scene. But not me.

It was the bikers and my father standing around shooting the breeze as if they’d just met for coffee that got my attention. There was a particular biker who stood tall, gripping a large chain. An involuntary gasp leaves my lips.

His face contorted in rage, though I would recognize that face anywhere; he’d starred in my dreams for the six weeks.

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