Page 43 of Biker Boo
But the mask, the cracked white one that haunted me, teased me, touched me, it’s only a memory.
My bruises tell another story.So does the bite mark on my neck, the one so deep it’ll take days to fade.My back aches where the wall caught me.My thighs tremble when I stand.Biker Boo was real.
And now, in the daylight, that truth rattles something deep in me.
I walk to the sink and splash water on my face, watching my reflection blur in the cracked mirror.My lips are raw.My neck is flushed.There’s no hiding what happened.
Legend.
It had to be him.Who else could know me like that?Who else could break me open and leave me whole in the same night?
I head outside, blinking in the blinding sun.Halloween’s over, and the town of Hell is cleaning up.Crows peck at discarded candy wrappers.Some kid’s plastic devil horn blinks in the gutter, glitching red.
I cross the trailer park, heading straight for the one person who always keeps his door unlocked, the one who listens without asking, who never judges even when I deserve it.
Royal.
But he’s not in his room.I know where to find him.He’s in the shed again.I hear the scratch of his pen before I see him.Probably working on another sketch or notebook full of words he’ll never show anyone.
When I step in, he doesn’t look up.
“Hey,” I say.“Hell of a party, huh?”
He stiffens.Just for a second.
Then he shrugs, eyes still on the page.“Didn’t go.”
I step closer, arms crossed over the hoodie I’m still wearing, the one I stole off a ghost in the woods.“Yeah, that’s what Legend said too.”
This time, he looks at me.Not with surprise.With something worse.Resignation.
His hands are ink-stained.His jaw tight.He’s got that same look he always gets when I talk about Legend, like he’s trying to bite back a scream.
“Something happen?”he asks.
I try to laugh.It comes out like a cough.“You could say that.”
Royal watches me like he already knows the answer, like maybe Legend told him, and I’m just dancing around it now.
I lean against his workbench.My thighs ache against the wood, and the reminder makes my face heat.I want to tell him.I want to tell someone.
He blinks.Then snorts.Like I just told a joke.
He stands slowly, brushing past me to grab a cigarette off the shelf.“You accusing me of something, pumpkin?”
I move with him, cornering him by the door.My bruised wrist presses into the frame and throbs.“Of course not.”
He lights the cigarette.His hands are steady.But when I look closer, I see it.The tremble in his thumb.The way his lips part like he wants to say something, then seals them shut again.
Royal’s always been good at hiding.Except from me.
“Last night,” I whisper.“The masked man, my Biker Boo took me.Fucked me.Claimed me.”
He exhales smoke through his nose.“And?”
That hits like a slap.
“It was Legend,” I bark.
