Page 12 of Bristol

Sebastian takes a step back, allowing me to slide out of my barstool. My legs wiggle beneath me and I flail like a cat falling into water, grabbing Sebastian’s arm. His hand instantly grabs my side, stabilizing me. A chuckle from behind me makes me feel two feet tall. I’m being laughed at. I want out of here more than ever, now. Joey got me drunk on purpose and now I look like a fucking idiot. Tears sting the back of my eyes and I fight them off. I’ve already cried in front of these assholes too much; I refuse to give him the fucking satisfaction.

Rage burns deep within my soul. Why did they welcome me here if only for me to be the laughingstock of their night? Sebastian’s face is hard, cold even. He glares at Joey and his laughter subsides. He didn’t find Joey’s laughter as amusing as I’d expected.

“Mo, where’s that helmet?” Sebastian asks as we walk away from the bar and get closer to the table of men playing cards.

“It’s on the kitchen counter. The black and purple one.”

Sebastian answers with a nod and never stops, walking side by side with me and making sure I don’t lose my balance. He’s got one arm around my waist and the other holding my arm between us. We walk past a few of the women in the kitchen and they all seem kind, unlike the bitch that I met yesterday. I wonder if this is normal. Is it normal for my brain to be doing this weird thinking thing nonstop while my body moves all strangely? I have control of myself. Kind of. It’s like a delayed reaction. It’s like I’m telling someone to move my arm and then they move it, but it doesn’t quite move the way I intended. It’s the damnedest thing.

Sebastian leads me to his bike and stops when we’re standing next to it. He puts the black and purple helmet on my head and fastens the strap beneath my chin. It’s tight, but it isn’t unbearable. It’s better than any restraints I’ve ever been in thus far, so there’s that. He turns around to crank his bike and put his own helmet on.

“I’m gonna get on, then I want you to climb on. Step here,” he points to a footrest, “then throw this leg over,” he taps my right leg.

“Okay. Got it,” I say, forcing a half-smile. I’m a little scared of riding a motorcycle, but it’s got to be better than being comedy central inside for everyone to see. At least if I do this wrong and fall off while we’re going down the street, then I’ll likely die and be put out of my misery. Now, I’m not suicidal, but I’ve learned there are worse things than death. I will welcome it when my time comes. It can’t be half as bad as half the shit I’ve been through.

Sebastian gets on the bike and turns halfway to watch me. I do exactly as he said. I put a hand on his shoulder for balance, step up on the footrest with my left leg and throw my right leg over. I’m wedged between him and the backrest and my stomach tightens. I don’t know what to do with my hands. I’ve never ridden a motorcycle before, and I don’t want to be overly touchy. Sebastian is my only out, my only anything really. Him and Mo are basically the only two people that I know.

“Hold on,” Sebastian says loudly. I barely hear him over the roar of the engine. I put my hands idly on his sides but when the bike lunges forward, I wrap my arms tightly around his waist. I feel his stomach move with a chuckle and I feel even more ridiculed. I take a deep breath in as we hit the highway. I don’t know where I am, really. I don’t know anything about this town, about this world if I’m being honest.

I remember going to the beach and how much I loved it, but I haven’t been in so long that it’s a foreign concept to me. Vacations used to be my favorite part of the year. We’d go on two family vacations, one in February and one in June. February, we’d spend a week in Salt Lake City, Utah. My dad loved to snow ski and passed that love on to my brother and me. Mom watched from the sidelines after she tore her ACL and ended up on crutches the first time she attempted snow skiing.

The memory of my family tugs at my heart and tears spill down my cheeks. I feel like I’ve just been taken from them all over again. I’m all over the place and I’m positive that the whiskey isn’t helping my mental state. I feel everything so very deeply I’m afraid I may just tear apart from the inside out.

The wind in my face blows the tears dry as we weave through traffic in the busy streets. This place is so aromatic. It’s a sweet and salty blend of the ocean and my pain, entangled together. The sun has all but set and the lights of the casinos shine brilliantly against the darkened sky.

These views make me feel as if I’ve stepped outside of my shitty caged life and inside the adventurous life of someone new. It’s freeing. It’s so fucking freeing. I toss my head back and stretch out my arms, feeling the wind rush all around me. It’s such an adrenaline rush, I can’t help but smile where I was just crying a few seconds ago. I’m giving myself whiplash with the way my emotions are changing so rapidly.

The alcohol’s effects are still humming through my veins and I still don’t have any idea where we are going. I know Maurice said something about bike night tonight but after what happened at the club house, I don’t think that’s the plan anymore. But I could be wrong. Maybe that’s where he’s taking me.

The truth is, I don’t care where he takes me so long as it isn’t another cage. But hell, being locked in a cage with him may be something I could be okay with. We pull up to a set of gated apartments. Sebastian slows to a stop at a keypad just outside the gate and leans over to punch in a few numbers before we zoom through the parking lot. He stops in front of one of the complexes and taps my leg.

“Hop down,” he says.

I grab his shoulders the same way I did before and try to do the steps I did to get on in reverse. I lift my leg and try to step over but my foot catches on the seat and I lose my balance, falling flat on my ass on the hard concrete.

“Shit.” Sebastian is picking me up in seconds, looking me over.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I say quietly. I’m so embarrassed. This day keeps getting worse and I keep making an ass out of myself. I fight back tears for the umpteenth time today and swallow back the lump in my throat. This is stupid. Why do I keep making myself look so fucking dumb? It’s bad enough I’m the outcast girl from captivity, I don’t need any help making myself the center of everyone’s accusing stares, yet here I am.

Sebastian takes my helmet off for me then removes his and hangs them both on the mirrors of his bike. I don’t know why we’re here, or what the plan is, but I think I’m okay with that. As long as I’m no longer the clown of the circus, I don’t care.

“Come on, let’s go inside. I’ve got a recipe for a crawfish omelet that will blow your mind,” Sebastian grins. I think my heart may explode. He’s going to cook for me?

“I can’t wait,” I beam.

The interior of what I assume is Sebastian’s apartment is shockingly gorgeous. The walls are a nude beige, his living room is decorated with a tan sectional that has two recliners in it, a marbled coffee table, and a large sixty-five-inch tv hangs in the center of the living room. The windows have black-out blinds in them, and dark black curtains cover them, I guess in case the black-out blinds let a shred of light in. Maybe he just likes it extremely dark when he’s watching tv.

“Wow,” I whisper, looking around.

There are beautiful paintings dotting the walls of the living room. Paintings of intricate landscapes that look like they could be of somewhere exotic, somewhere amazing. Like Italy or France. Places I’ve only ever heard of and maybe seen a picture or two of. Sebastian stands in the kitchen and I feel his eyes on me. I chance a peek in his direction, and he averts his gaze quickly to whatever he has in his hands on the counter. Probably these crawfish he speaks of.

“What are crawfish? Are they the same thing as crayfish? The fishing baits?” I ask, concerned now that I’ve made a connection. I am not eating crayfish.

Sebastian chuckles. “Yes, but they’re not what you think. I promise.”

I scrunch my nose up in disgust. I am not eating those bottom feeders. Nope. Nuh-uh. No fuckin’ way.

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