Page 79 of Two Chambered Heart

“No, I’m not into anything like that.” He laughed again, walking her out of the elevator and into the underground.

“Good, because I honestly don’t think I could pee on someone. Well, actually, I could think of a few people I’d piss on, but it definitely wouldn’t be for their pleasure.” There was a sharpness in her eyes, like she was picturing exactly who she wanted to degrade so badly. The possessive creature in him reared its head up at the prospect of hurting someone who’d hurt her.

“Tell me who.” The words were out of him before he could stop himself.

“Ugh, it’s a long story.”

He didn’t push, just walked her around the SUV and the taped-up square hole that she’d made in the metal, and opened the passenger door for her.

“Oh, is he a gentleman?” she teased.

A predatory smile took over his face. “Not even close.”

She bit her lip, and he closed the door in her face, needing to pull back. The tinted windows helped sever her gravitational pull.

Jason’s phone connected to the Bluetooth when he got in, and he put on an album before reaching an arm across the back of the passenger seat to reverse out of the parking spot and exit the underground. He drove the Rover along the city streets, the skies having cleared up somewhat after the storm from last night.

It was a few songs before she spoke again. “What album is this?”

“Hell Finds You Everywhere.”

“Ha, that it does. I like it. Can you get it on my phone for me?”

He nodded his head in confirmation, and she pressed the Seek button on the console, restarting the song that had just ended. He turned his focus away from the road to lift an eyebrow at her.

She blushed. “I can change it if you want. I just like listening to songs on repeat.”

“It’s fine. I do too,” he said, and returned his focus back to the road.

“Sometimes I just listen to one song for hours. Like when I’m running, I just put one song on and listen to it over and over again. The consistencyhelps my brain turn off. It cancels out all the noise. I think because I know what’s coming next, and it just gets better the more times I listen to it. I can pick up more in the music arrangement or the lyrics, and then I know what to expect and get the anticipation of my favourite part. By the hundredth time in a row, it's like it’s downloaded right to your brain.” She pulled her heals onto the leather seat and wrapped her arms around them, hugging her legs to herself. “I don’t know, maybe I’m not explaining myself right. I know it’s weird.”

“No, I get it. I can fixate on songs too.” He enjoyed listening to her talk, all her thoughts spilling out through her mouth, her plush lips shaping them into words that he could hear with his ears and not with his mind.

When the song ended for a second time, he reached out and started it again—for her, but also for him. The lyrics were a healing salve, and the low vibrations of the guitar followed the cadence of his pulse, calming him. Cleansing him.

He drove the Rover into the industrial park where their garage was located. This time, he let her open her own door, but walked her into the gritty atmosphere of the workshop. It was his safe space, just as much as the gym was. This was another place where he could yield to the meticulous focus required to execute his passion.

He switched the overhead fluorescent lights on, and they flickered to life, casting a cool glow over the space. The industrial garage had concrete floors, worn smooth by years of use. The air smelt faintly of oil, gasoline, rubber and metal—a familiar and comforting scent for him, from all the work that they’d done in here.

There was a set of large, metal roll-up doors which lead to the outside. He could open them to let in the natural light, but preferred them closed to maintain the privacy and focus of the workspace.

Several motorcycles dominated the center of the garage in various stages of disassembly. The bike he’d be working on today was up on a hydraulic lift, its engine exposed. He needed to inspect the wiring. There was anotherbike propped up on a kickstand that he’d removed the seat from to put onto the bike he’d be working on. He would need to switch out the suspension, too.

Along one wall was a cluttered workbench covered with an assortment of tools—wrenches, screwdrivers, pliers, torque wrenches, and power drills neatly arranged on pegboards. There was an assortment of motorcycle parts, from chrome handlebars to carburetors and tires, stacked in labeled bins and on shelves.

Jason’s phone connected to the speakers in the space, and he let the music continue from the car. He needed music, always had it playing. It helped him regulate his mood. His brain was naturally attuned to respond to rhythms and patterns. Constant music helped him satisfy his neural circuits. It was the same with working on a bike and working out, the only two other things that brought him out of his mind and into his body in a way he struggled to do on his own.

The girl beside him was quickly becoming the fourth item on that list.

He made his way through the littering of metal shavings, rubber fragments and spilled grease. It likely looked chaotic, but the clutter was purposeful to him. He had everything catalogued in his mind. She followed him through it to the worn leather couch by the far wall, and she took a seat.

He motioned to the fridge. “There are drinks and snacks in there if you want anything. Help yourself.”

“If bysnacksyou mean raw broccoli, I’m fine, thanks.”

He grunted, because she was right. He did keep cut up raw veg to snack on.

She gestured to the bike that was lifted. “Is that the one you’re working on?”

---