Kill Switch: Chapter 11

Seven Years Ago

“Ugh, I hate this!” I whisper-yelled, yanking out my earbuds, tossing them onto my bed, and stopping the audio-text.

No one used algebra.

No one.

I’d have to sign up for tutoring or something. I needed to keep my grades up or my father would pull me out of Thunder Bay and send me back to Montreal.

Why was I having such a hard time with this? All my other classes—no problem. I mean, math had always been hard, but the teacher… She talked fast and relied a lot on her Smartboard, projector, and all the other little gadgets that were of no use to me.

And it was pretty clear she didn’t want to change what worked for twenty other kids for the sake of one. I thought my mom could talk to her—help her get a clue—but I didn’t want my father to find out. He hated me being an inconvenience as much as I did.

I pushed my laptop, calculator, and braille keyboard away and crashed back onto the bed, taking my earbuds with me. I plugged them into my phone, found my music app, and clicked on one of my playlists. “Is Your Love Strong Enough?” started playing, and I closed my eyes, my mind immediately going to the choreography I always envisioned myself dancing to for every song I listened to. I loved dancing so much, and if my mom wasn’t asleep, I would blast some music downstairs and get to it.

When I danced and all I heard in my ears was the music, that was where I wanted to live forever.

I laid there, moving my head in a little figure eight motion to the music, and without thinking, my hands and arms started moving a little, too.

What if he was watching me right now? He could be in my room, feet away, at this very moment.

But, no. It had been a week, and I hadn’t heard anything from him. He was probably at my sister’s party, and it was probably just a prank. A one-time thing and some kind of joke he regularly pulled. I wanted to ask someone about him—tell them what happened—but I had no idea how to start that conversation, and other than the smell of the pool on him, I didn’t have much to go by. He’d whispered and hadn’t said anything personal. Like where he lived, his family, his friends, his age… He was tall, though, and his whisper was deep. He was undoubtedly older than me, if even just a couple years.

I hadn’t told my parents, either, and I knew how irresponsible it was not to, but… I knew the consequences if my family thought I was in danger.

And he hadn’t hurt me, so…

That didn’t mean he wouldn’t, but I didn’t know. If I told, he wouldn’t be able to come back.

And I wasn’t sure I didn’t want him to.

Stupid girl. The guy terrorized me over the course of a half hour, and instead of running for cover, I was drinking the Kool-Aid.

I was always stupid. I still thought I was going to be a dancer, I ignored the pain my father caused, because this house was my anchor, and I kept my intruder a little secret, because it excited me. Because I never had a secret, and it made me feel like… I didn’t know. A teenager, maybe?

The song ended and the calm whir of the next one began to play, but in the moment of silence between, I noticed the smallest, barest vibration underneath my bed. The same one I felt when the garage door opened or the landscapers brought in their equipment to work on the yard and trim the trees.

I pulled out my earbuds and propped myself up on my elbows, training my ears for what it was I felt.

Arion had left hours ago for Devil’s Night, some weird tradition of youth mischief the night before Halloween most of the world had forgotten about except our little town, and my father never came home, probably spending the night in the city again.

I remembered my mother’s words about a mistress he kept, but I pushed the thought away and stood up. Other than me, my mom was the only one in the house, and she went to bed with an Ambien an hour ago.

Walking to my door, I pulled it open a silver and listened. Maybe my mom got up or Arion brought friends home.

But now I could tell the vibration I’d felt was a slow whine, but constant and melodic. Up and down, long and slow.

Music. Someone was playing music.

I crept into the hallway, the pulse under my foot growing strong the closer I got to the sound. My heart beat harder, and I descended the stairs, finally recognizing the song set at a really low volume. A Bush song from my playlist in the ballroom.

I pulled my bottom lip in between my teeth, trying to stifle the fear and excitement raging through me. I should call for my mom. I should wake her up.

But I ignored that voice in my head and pushed through the ballroom doors. The song played from my system next to the wall at a low volume, and I didn’t know if it was the monsters we all feel when we’re scared or some sixth sense I didn’t believe in, but I could feel someone in the room.

I walked to the dance floor and stopped on the marker in the middle, twisting in a slow circle.

“Are you there?” I asked.

The music suddenly cut off, and my breath caught in my throat as my heart jumped.

“Yes,” a whisper far off in front of me said.

I licked my lips, every limb trembling, but the way his voice washed over me… My blood flowed electric.

I had to swallow a couple times to get my throat wet. “You found the snow village for me?”

He didn’t answer. I knew it was him, but hearing him confirm it would have at least confirmed he was at the party—and near my sister—to hear me ask her for it. It might’ve been possible to pin down who he was then.

“Why did you come back?” I asked, keeping my voice low.

“Maybe I never left.”

His whispering was haunting but there was something soft and playful in it.

And the fact that he kept whispering meant I might have heard his voice, and he was afraid of being recognized. Or maybe he just wanted to scare me.

“Who are you?”

“A ghost.”

I shook my head, a slight smile playing on my lips. “I don’t believe in ghosts.”

“Why aren’t you screaming?” he inquired, changing the subject. “Or calling for help?”

I fell quiet, wishing I could answer his question. For my own sake. I might be in danger. At the very least a strange man was in my home uninvited, and he’d been here before, threatening me.

Run. Scream.

“I don’t know,” I answered instead.

I still could scream. I wasn’t ready just yet.

“Why did you come back?” I asked.

“I wanted to see if you’d dance again.”

“How did you know I’d be alone?”

“I don’t give a fuck if you’re alone,” he said. “Just as long as I have you to myself.”

My heart skipped a beat, and I breathed faster and shallower.

I wanted to be like him. Bold.

“I have your shoes,” he whispered.

My shoes?

Oh, my pointe shoes. I’d left them near the stereo when I rehearsed this morning before school.

Dance for him…

I could. As long as I didn’t blast it, the music wouldn’t wake my mother.

What would happen after I danced, though?

What was wrong with me that I liked that he was here?

He liked my dancing. He came to see if I would dance.

It made the world prettier.

I quickly hid the smile that tried to peek out.

I held out my hand. “Shoes?”

He set them in my hand, using both of his hands to make sure I had them.

I dropped to the floor and slipped the shoes on, lacing up the ribbons as I heard him walk away, probably to give me room.

Once the slippers were fastened tightly, I stood up and walked to the center of the dance floor, finding my X, and turned out into second position. Bending my knees in a quick demi-plié to find my balance, I rose up to en pointe onto my toes and back down again.

I should have had more of a warm up, but I was suddenly nervous. Maybe because the last time he saw me dance I didn’t know he was watching or because I still wasn’t sure if he was going to slit my throat or not.

“Track seven,” I called out, my voice shaking a little. “Could you find it, please?”

I heard him move across the room as he did what I asked, and I wished I was dressed. The situation being what it was, I couldn’t believe I was worried about that, but I only had on my sleep shorts, a tank top, and no damn bra.

Ellie Goulding’s sonorous humming and chanting finally started, low and faint at first, but grew stronger, and I walked slowly around the dance floor, making a casual circle and getting a feel. I had only played around with choreography on this track once, and I couldn’t remember it, so I guessed I was winging it.

The music built, haunting and crawling inside my skin, and then her voice gave in to lyrics, echoing and layered with chants as the drums started.

My pulse started to beat harder, and I closed my eyes, marking the tape on the floor in my head as I grazed over it and started moving. I hit the beat, rolling my head, shooting up on my toes, and twirling in a circle, feeling the music.

I forgot about him, and all of my teachers who complained about my technique, and just slipped into my own world where I craved the feel of my body slicing through the air and my hands in my hair and on my neck.

My back arched as I swung into an attitude, and I felt my heart leap in my chest when I twirled and posed in an arabesque. I smiled, biting down on my bottom lip to stifle the laugh I wanted to let loose. I spun and bent and dipped and slithered through whatever I wanted to do, just letting the music tell me.

When it ended, the air felt cold all of a sudden, and I breathed hard, remembering I wasn’t alone.

“Are you…are you still there?” I asked, my mouth parched.

He didn’t say anything for a moment, but when he did, his voice was calm. “The way you move, it’s…different.”

“Different than what?” I stilled, breathing hard.

But he didn’t answer. I’d gathered my teachers were sometimes frustrated with me over years because I improvised. A lot. I appreciated the classical education I’d received, but I didn’t want to do the same things that had already been done to death. I kind of just went on impulse, because it made me happy. Did he not like it?

I found my way to the chair again and sat down, removing my pointe shoes. “Are you still thinking you might hurt me?” I broached.

“I’m not in a hurry.”

I almost laughed. It was a pointless question to ask, because I didn’t expect him to tell me the truth, but somehow, I liked his answer. There was humor in it.

“Why don’t you call the police?” he whispered, and I could tell his voice had gotten closer. He was approaching me.

I bent over, slipping the first shoe off and stretching out the ache in my foot. “Did you like the dance?” I asked instead.

“I won’t stop you if you call for help,” he explained. “Not tonight. Go ahead.”

“It wasn’t choregraphed. I just improvised.”

“I could kill you,” he pointed out. “It would be over before you realized what was happening.”

“I want you to like the dance,” I continued, ignoring his one-sided conversation, because it would mean I would have to have answers for things I didn’t have answers for yet. “My parents think the idea of a blind ballet dancer is ridiculous, but it’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. It can be done.”

“You could die tonight,” he went on as if he hadn’t heard me.

I unlaced the other shoe and slid it off, letting it drop to the floor. “I could die ten times on any given day. I could’ve died when I lost my sight when I was eight.”

I was used to feeling endangered. Every step I took could lead me off the side of a building for all I knew. Maybe that was why I wasn’t as scared of him.

“What happened that day?” he asked.

When I lost my sight?

“I fell,” replied. “From a treehouse. I hit my head twice on the way down. Optic nerve damage. Irreparable.”

“Were you pushed?”

I closed my right fist, still remembering the terrible feeling of the boy’s hand slowly slipping out of it and knowing that was all that was standing between me and the ground far below.

I wasn’t pushed. Not exactly.

“I shouldn’t have been up there.” My voice had lowered to a mumble. “I wish I’d never met him. I wish I’d never gone up there with him. I…” How very different my life would be if I could change that one day and never step foot in that fountain. “I miss seeing things. Movies and the sea.” I paused before continuing. “Your face.”

Not being able to gauge his body language or expressions left me at a disadvantage.

I heard a chair scrape against the floor and then it was placed in front of me before I heard his weight sit down on it. He took my hand, but I jerked back, sitting up steel rod straight in my chair and suddenly alert.

He took it again, squeezing my fingers a little tighter. “Stand up.”

I guessed what he was doing, and I’d gone this far, so… Hesitantly, I stood up from my chair, every muscle still rigid and ready to run if I had to.

His hand was a bit bigger than mine, and his fingers were long and sculpted but so chilled. So cold. He took both of my hands and led me to him. To his face.

“What do you see?” he asked, placing my hands on him and releasing me.

My fingers splayed across both sides of his face, and I stood still for a moment, afraid to move my fingers, because he would feel how much I was shaking. Every inch of my skin that touched his buzzed underneath the surface, and I almost pulled away because it tickled so bad.

“You’re tall,” I said, clearing my throat. “When you’re standing, I mean. Aren’t you?”

I remembered the feel of his body pressed into mine last time, and even sitting now, the top of his head reached just above my breasts.

Moving my hands over his face, I took in the smooth skin, gently brushing his forehead, temples, cheekbones and brow with my fingertips.

“Young,” I continued, painting a picture in my head. “Oval face but a hard jaw. Sharp nose.” I lightly pinched where the bone met the cartilage, smoothing my fingers down the length. “How did you break it?”

It was just a faint curve the naked eye probably wouldn’t catch, but I could feel how it bent just slightly in that centimeter.

“I fell,” he answered.

I cocked my head, reading between the lines. I’d gotten pretty good and figuring out what people didn’t say.

“Yeah, my mom falls a lot, too,” I told him.

He was clearly punched and didn’t want to elaborate. Which meant he was either still pissed about it or…embarrassed and ashamed.

Moving on, I ran my fingers over his straight eyebrows, the cold, smooth ridge of his ears and lobes, and his thick hair that fell over his forehead and in his eyes a little. He was probably dark-haired, since fair people like me often had thinner hair.

I trailed my hands down to his chin, my heart pounding as my fingers danced around his mouth, but then I brought them up and traced the lines of his lips.

His hot breath fell across my fingers, and my whole body warmed. Was he looking at my face, too? Into my eyes? What was he thinking?

“I wish I could see you for real,” I told him. “I want to know what you look like when you look at me.”

He remained silent, and embarrassment burned across my skin. I shook it off, moving on.

“No piercings,” I added. “On your head anyway.”

His upper lip tilted up, and I half-smiled. “And he smirks,” I teased.

Of course, I didn’t need to feel his mischievous smile to know he was a bad boy, but it comforted me to know he had a sense of humor.

“Your neck…” I grazed my fingertips down his smooth skin and throat.

“What about it?”

I leaned in, surprising myself as I pressed my cheek into the skin there. He didn’t move a muscle.

“It’s warm,” I remarked. “Smooth.”

And the house was cold.

I inhaled, smelling his soap and shampoo, far too fragrant to be hours old.

“You just showered,” I guessed.

Pulling up, I took a step closer, holding his head right in front of me and sliding my fingers back into his hair.

“Tall, dark, young,” I commented on what I knew about so far. “Good personal hygiene, likes to fight, long eyelashes, kind of a pretty boy, I’m thinking…”

He snorted, and I smiled, too, but then my fingers grazed something on his scalp but before I could figure out what it was, I felt another one. My face fell, contemplating the raised pieces of skin. As I examined the rest of his scalp, I found several others. All about a quarter inch long.

Scars.

“I fell,” he said again, not waiting for me to ask the question.

I clenched my teeth for a moment. “That’s a lot of falls,” I said. “Do you have those anywhere else?”

“You wanna check the rest of my body?” he asked, sounding cocky.

I dropped my hand, trying not to roll my eyes. Thanks for the offer.

“How old are you?” I asked.

But his guard stayed up when he replied, “Older than you.”

What was he doing here? Really? Was he just a prankster, pulling another joke for Devil’s Night, or did he actually have more sinister intentions when he broke in a week ago, before he saw me dance and got suddenly smitten? What would happen if I refused to dance again? What did he really want?

“What’s one thing you’ll never be able to do but really want to?” he asked.

I nearly laughed. One thing?

“Are you kidding?” I shot back. “I have a whole list.”

“Just tell me one.”

I pondered it for a moment, thinking about how I missed all the things I would never see again. Films, plays, mountains, trees, waterfalls, dresses, shoes, the faces of my family and friends… I didn’t know what it was like to leave the house alone or do simple things like go hiking or for a stroll in the woods by myself. I would never be able to escape, run away, or experience the freedom of a spontaneous getaway all by myself without anyone knowing or being there to help me.

“Drive,” I finally answered him. “My dad used to have this old stock car in the barn at our ski lodge in Vermont, and I would sit in it and shift the gears, pretending I was racing. I’d love to be able to drive.”

He was quiet for a moment, and then finally, he rose, and I could feel him right in front of me.

“Would you really?” he asked.

There was a sneaky smile in his voice that made my heart skip a beat.

“Let’s get out of here then.” And he grabbed my hand and pulled me along.

“Huh?” I stumbled, perplexed but letting him take me even though I had no idea what was going on. “And go where? I can’t leave!”

I remembered my mother upstairs and closed my mouth, shutting up immediately.

“I can take you if I want,” he said, pulling me into the foyer toward the front door. “Or you can scream now and the fun has to end.”

“Who says I’m having any fun?”

“You’re about to.” He stopped but kept hold of my fingers. “Or, if you want, I can put you to bed and go have fun with someone else.”

I rolled my eyes. Please. Like I’d be jealous or something?

“You’re the one I want to play with, though,” he whispered, leaning in.

Yeah, I’m sure. A psycho with a penchant for blind girls who can’t pick him out of a line-up. Was I out of my mind?

“People and music and fires and beer,” he taunted. “Let’s go, Winter. The world awaits.”

I shook my head at myself. I was out of my mind.

“You’ll bring me home?” I asked.

“Of course.”

“Alive and… untouched?”

And he laughed, and it was the first time I’d heard his voice. Deep and smooth and very much humored at my expense. “Tonight. Sure.”

My expression fell, and I hesitated only a moment before I pulled out of his grasp and inched my way over to the closet, feeling for one of my hoodies that was bound to be in there.

Finding one, I pulled it out and slipped it on, digging out a pair of sneakers, too. I wanted my phone. I should bring it.

I turned back toward the stairs, but then stopped, remembering the GPS on it my parents used to track me with an app.

If my mom woke up or my dad came home, would I want them to be able to find me with a boy whose name I didn’t even know, doing something I shouldn’t be doing, and use it as an excuse to send me away again?

But then again, if I needed them to find me, I was going to be damn glad I had the phone, wasn’t I?

Decisions, decisions.

Screw it.

I inhaled a breath, turned around, and reached for his hand.

He took it and opened the door.

“Why don’t you use a stick?” he asked, leading me down the driveway. “Or a guide dog or something?”

Believe me, I’d love to. It would allow me a little more freedom.

“If I need to go anywhere, someone helps me,” I told him. “My parents don’t like me to draw attention to myself.”

They thought people would stare at me. I wasn’t the only visually impaired person in town, but I was pretty sure I was the only full-on blind one, and I knew their fears without even asking. And they were right. It made people uncomfortable. I’d been through enough awkward conversations to know when someone just wanted to be away from me, because they didn’t know how to act around me.

The part they were wrong about was that they thought the world was still the same for me, and I should learn how to navigate it the same way I did before. I couldn’t. People might be uncomfortable, but they would get used to it. They would change. It was a source of resentment that my parents thought that no one should be inconvenienced, and it was my responsibility not to be a burden to others.

It was my world, too.

“You could never not draw attention,” he finally said. “And it has nothing to do with you being blind.”

The way he said it—gentle and thoughtful—made heat rise to my cheeks, and I didn’t know if he meant my dancing or if I was pretty, but I smiled to myself, suddenly warm all over.

I didn’t have time to ask him to clarify, though, because the next thing I knew he was in front of me, reaching back, grabbing my thighs, and hefting me up onto his back. I sucked in a breath, my feet lifting off the ground, and I hurriedly circled my arms around his neck so I wouldn’t fall.

“I can walk faster,” I told him. “I can. I didn’t mean—”

“Shut up and hold me tight.”

Okayyyy. I locked my arms around his neck.

“Tighter,” he bit out. “Like in the closet the other night.”

I smirked but he couldn’t see it. I tightened my arms around his neck, tucking my head close with my cheek next to his. I’d tried not to think about my parents’ fight that night, but I couldn’t not think about him. How his arms, heat, and pulse in my ear made it all go away. How sometimes you have to get the worst to feel the best. It was a nice memory.

He carried me down the driveway, and when his shoes hit rocks, I knew we were outside my walls.

He stopped and set me down, my leg brushing a body of metal. I put out my hands, rubbing them over steel, glass, and a door handle.

I smiled.

Of course, he wouldn’t have pulled up right in front of my house. He’d parked outside the open gates.

I trailed the length of the car, feeling the smooth surface, but not glossy like glass. It was a matte paint, the long, clean lines and grill narrow, sophisticated, and sleek. Definitely foreign.

“I like your car,” I told him and then teased, “What’s its name?”

He breathed out a laugh and then I felt him behind me, his whisper hitting my ear. “My pets all have pulses.”

The hair on the back of my neck stood up, and every inch of my skin sparked to life. How did he do that?

Taking my hand, he led me around to the driver’s side, opened the door, and climbed in, and I heard the seat slide, but I wasn’t sure if he was moving it forward or backward. Something else shifted, too. The steering wheel?

My heart pumped harder, and apprehension made me retreat a step. I don’t think…

“Come here,” he said.

Uh, no. Maybe this isn’t a great idea.

His fingers took mine, and he tugged. “Get in this car right now.”

My stomach sank to my feet as I hesitated, and I felt a little sick.

I could go back to the house right now. I could go to bed with my music and audiobooks and my quiet house while the world continued to spin around me, and the next time I was given a chance to do something wild, stupid, and scary, it would be even easier to turn tail and run… Every day just as predictable as the last.

This was stupid. And illegal.

But he was fun. I didn’t want it to be over.

I closed my eyes and let my shoulders slump a little, defeated.

Fine. I slid a leg into the car, ducking my head as he guided me into his lap, fitting my legs between his long ones. I leaned back a little, so I wasn’t right up on the steering wheel, my back pressed against his chest.

Placing my hands on the wheel, he wrapped my fingers around it. “It’s like a clock,” he instructed. “You’re at ten o’clock and two o’clock right now.”

His fists tightened around mine, emphasizing my position.

I nodded, my belly still somersaulting like crazy.

“I’ll handle the pedals and the stick shift,” he told me. “You just steer.”

“Steer how?” I blurted out, tears of frustration springing to my eyes already. “We’re going to die.”

He snorted. “It’s an empty road,” he told me. “And at this hour, sure to be deserted. Relax.”

I shook my head, still unsure.

“Hey.” He nudged my chin, turning me to face him. “All you have to do is trust me, kid. You understand?”

I paused, feeling his eyes on me and his body behind me.

But the fear melted away. He was in charge, and he could do anything. I did trust him.

I nodded and then took a deep breath and turned my head forward again.

His legs shifted under me, his hand reached underneath mine, and suddenly, the car purred to life as he started the engine.

His right hand settled on the gear shift, moving it into position, and his breath fell on my neck as my fists grinded the steering wheel.

“You’re going to pull up onto the street, just to the left,” he explained. “When you feel all four tires on the smooth pavement, straighten out.”

I swallowed, nodding again. “Not too much gas at first, okay?”

All I heard was another laugh, though. Okay, so maybe I didn’t trust him.

“Giving it some gas,” he warned me, and the engine revved.

I shook the steering wheel side to side, nervous, but he hadn’t taken his foot off the brake…or the clutch or whatever yet, so we weren’t moving, and I relaxed again, feeling stupid.

He didn’t laugh at me, though.

A little more gas, and I felt the tires crunch the rocks underneath. I gripped the wheel so hard I was sure my hands would need to be pried off. The left front tire climbed over a bump, and I turned the wheel in that direction until I felt the right wheel join the other on the pavement.

I smiled, a combination between a laugh and a gasp pouring out of me, and as soon as I registered the rear tires climb onto the road, I twisted the wheel back to the right to make sure I stayed in my lane.

But then the car quickly fell off the road again, back onto the same rocks and grass I just drove away from, bouncing over the bump where the pavement ended.

“Oh, shit!” I turned the wheel left, taking us back onto the road. But I was afraid I would drive into the other lane and shot right again, both tires on the right side, falling off the side of the damn road again.

I can’t do this.

I shook my head, breathing hard as I tried to right myself. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry…”

“Shhh,” he soothed, his left hand resting on my hip. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

My chin trembled, because I was embarrassed and frustrated, and I didn’t want to do this, because I would just make a fool out of myself. I was just going to fail! Why was he trying to embarrass me?

Tears pooled, the car slowed to a crawl, and I closed my eyes, breathing in and out to get my head straight again.

It’s okay. We’ve got all the time in the world.

We’ve got all the time in the world.

I blew out a long, slow breath.

It’s okay.

It’s okay.

He wasn’t rushing me. He wasn’t mocking me. He wasn’t hurrying me.

It was okay if I learned things a little slower. It was okay.

I sniffled, and even though he couldn’t see my face, he probably knew I was crying, but I stretched my fingers and gripped the wheel again.

“Okay,” I said.

He gave it some gas, and I pulled back onto the road, moving the steering wheel smaller this time, swerving the car side to side to find the edges of my lane, kind of like I do when I dance. Gauging the perimeter and counting time to feel for my mark.

The left tires ran over little bumps every few feet, and I realized they were reflectors in the middle of the road, so drivers could see their lanes at night.

That was my mark. How I could tell when I left my lane.

My shoulders relaxed just a little, and I sat up straighter. Okay.

I kept the wheel positioned in my lane, feeling when the right side would dip a little as it did right before it gave way to grass, and feeling the reflectors on the left, keeping me from veering into the opposing lane. My wheel wasn’t always straight, but we were going slow enough I could tell when the road curved just slightly in order to stay between my markers.

“You did it,” he whispered.

I broke out in a smile, my eyes still wet, but feeling a lot better than I did a few minutes ago. He didn’t teach me, either. He didn’t tell me about the reflectors or how to move the wheel or anything. He just waited for me to learn it on my own. It was a nice change and took the pressure off. It was nice not to feel hurried.

“We’re gonna go faster,” he told me.

Faster? And there went the relaxation and confidence I’d just been basking in.

“I’ll let you know which way to move the wheel, okay?”

“Okay,” I replied. It made sense. We’d be going faster, so I’d have less time to correct myself.

His legs moved under me, he shifted gears, and the car picked up pace, making my body jerk against him. Instinctively, I gripped the wheel harder and didn’t blink for a second as I tried to concentrate.

The engine roared, and I could feel the acceleration vibrate under my thighs as we barreled into the night where anything could come out at me too fast for two minds to react in sync. An animal, another car, a person… Jesus. Too fast. Too fast. The car rumbled under my feet, making my heart leap in my chest.

“The wheel is at noon,” he said. “When I say ‘go’, slowly and softly veer to the left, to about ten o’clock.”

I couldn’t swallow or speak, so I just nodded, curling my toes in fear. Shit.

“Go,” he said.

As he instructed, I gently turned the wheel a few inches, feeling the tires run over the reflectors, but instead of swerving in the other direction to correct myself, I found them with the very edge of my left tires and stayed on them. It would probably freak out oncoming traffic with my hugging the middle of the road like this, but I was able to manage the curves of the road all by myself.

“Okay, it’s gonna curve right in—”

“Shh,” I snapped, shutting him up.

I needed to listen.

And then, as he warned, the reflectors twisted right, and I needed to correct the wheel to follow it, surprisingly not going off the road like I half-expected.

“Jesus Christ,” he laughed, sounding impressed. “Okay, I’ll just take a nap. You have fun.”

“Don’t you dare!” I scolded.

We’d eventually come to an intersection, a street light, or a pedestrian. Plus, he worked the gas.

“Can we go faster?” I asked.

I’d been tensing and concentrating so hard, I wanted to be thrilled.

He shifted and accelerated, and if my count was right, we were in fourth or fifth gear.

“It’s pretty straight for the next couple of minutes,” he told me. “You want some music?”

I thought about it, realizing I could feel us running over the reflectors, and I didn’t necessarily need to hear them.

“Okay.”

He turned on his stereo, “Go to Hell” playing, and I relaxed back into him, my heart beating hard with the speed but still studying every little bump underneath us to keep us on the road.

An engine started to rumble from farther off, and the ground under me shook a little harder. What was that?

I turned my head to check with him, but all of a sudden, the wind whipped past us and a loud horn blared as a truck, I thought, zoomed right past us.

I gasped, feeling the car shake with the draft, and my hands shook on the wheel, feeling the reflectors underneath the right tires again. “Holy shit!”

I laughed, and I felt his body shake with his own laughter behind me.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I barked but smiled. “We could’ve died!”

“Fun, huh?”

Asshole jerk.

And yes, it was fun.

“Ready for more?” he taunted.

“Yes.” I bit my bottom lip, butterflies still swarming my stomach, but I couldn’t stop.

“In a minute, you’re going to jerk the wheel to nine-o’clock,” he explained. “I’m not going to slow down.”

“What?”

“In three…two…”

“Wait, you said I had ‘a minute’!” I yelped.

“One!” he shouted in my ear. “Go!”

“Fuck…” I cried out, jerking the wheel left to nine o’clock and gasping. “You!”

The car skidded, bouncing and barreling over the pavement and onto a gravel road, and I felt his hand cover the top of my head as our bodies were thrown side to side, my skull damn near hitting the roof.

“Oh, my God, oh, my God…”

He down shifted. “Straighten out,” he told me.

I did, breathing faster than a bullet as he shifted again and sped up, both of us charging into the night, down an unlit gravel road, to whatever tree we were going to wrap this car around.

But holy shit. Everything on me was warm. Hot. My blood raced, and my arms felt strong enough to make me fly.

I turned up the music, found the window buttons on the door, and rolled down the window, the much-needed cool air whipping through my hair as the music pounded.

I turned my head toward him, his breath on the corner of my mouth. “Can we go faster?”

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t budge other than to press the clutch, shift gears, and punch the gas.

We charged down the road, and I was having so much fun now. But I wasn’t the one who was losing control. My pulse and breathing had calmed. His, on the other hand…

I felt his chest rise and fall against my back as his breath hit my cheek, shallow and labored.

I curled my lips in a little smile. My turn.

“Tell me when,” I said.

“When what?”

“I want to turn again.”

I felt his head shake side to side. “We’re going too fast for that now, Little Devil.”

I held onto the wheel and lifted up my foot, putting it on top of his and pressing it into the pedal, so he didn’t let off the gas. “Please?”

His voice shook. “Winter…”

I nudged the steering wheel side to side, playing. “Left or right? You choose or I will.”

He breathed hard through his teeth, gripping my hips with both hands now. “No.”

“I’m gonna do it.”

“No,” he growled in a loud whisper. “You do what you’re told.”

I jammed down on his foot, accelerating the car a little more.

“Left or right?” I asked, my nose brushing his. “Tell me.”

He panted, digging his fingers into my skin through my sweatshirt.

“Three,” I threatened, counting down. “Two…”

“Okay, okay, okay,” he said. “Wait. Just wait.”

I leaned my forehead into his. “One.”

“Okay, three o’clock! Now!” he hissed.

I faced forward, rotated the wheel right, both of us slamming into the door as the car sprung over the dips and uneven earth on the new gravel road.

“No, four!” he shouted, realizing three wasn’t enough. “Four o’clock! Shit!”

I turned it more, but we knew it was a lost cause. I lost the wheel as the car skidded and spun out, and my body coiled up on reflex to protect itself. His arms went around me, covering my head, and I screamed as the car tipped onto one side, balancing for a moment and threatening to flip over, but then fell back onto all four tires again.

The car stilled, the engine died, and I stayed like that, cradled in his lap, taking a mental inventory of my body.

Other than banging my knee on the steering wheel when I brought it up, and an ache in my shoulder from hitting the car door, I was fine. I popped my head up, bringing my hands to his face.

“Did I kill you?” I asked.

But he didn’t laugh or say anything for a moment. Just breathed.

“My heart…” he said. “Shit.”

I remembered what he said last week at my house. Do you know what I have to do to get it to beat like that?

“I scared you.”

“Not an emotion I’m used to being on the receiving end of,” he mused.

And then his fingers found the pulse on my neck and pressed down. I followed suit, placing my three fingers on his neck, on the side of his throat, and finding his pulse, as well. We sat there for a moment, each of us with one hand on our own neck and another on the other person’s.

It was fast like mine, and I liked that I did that to him.

“What color is your car?” I asked, pulling my hands down from his neck and mine.

“Black.”

Of course.

“When I remember the colors in my head,” I remarked, “I get a feeling sometimes. Pink is how I feel now. My stomach doing somersaults and laughing. Giddy. Squirrelly…” I slid off him and into the passenger side seat. “I don’t know what I feel when I picture black, though. Nothing, really, I guess.”

“That sounds like a challenge.”

I smiled to myself. “You scared me, I scared you, now it’s your turn again.”

He started the car and shifted into gear. “Pull your hood up and put your seatbelt on.”

“Why?”

“Because I told you to,” he muttered, trying to sound commanding, but it just came off as playful.

I pulled my seatbelt on, fastened it, and pulled up the hood of my sweatshirt, my hair spilling out the sides.

We drove in silence, which was fine by me, because he blasted the stereo, and the only time I got to enjoy loud music in the car was with my sister, but she hardly ever had to chauffeur me anywhere, so those times were rare.

Turning my face toward the window, I zoned out, thinking about everything that had happened the past hour. Dancing for him, touching him, the way he was patient with me but also pushed me, to see what I was made of.

And how I wasn’t entirely sure if it was for my benefit or for his pleasure.

His body moved next to me, shifting gears and putting pedal to the metal, but every once in a while, I felt his eyes on me. My heartbeat started to pick up pace, and I was glad I couldn’t see him with my eyes. Glad I would never be able to see him.

He would be the picture he was in my head. A faceless boy with dark hair and fire in his eyes, just how I wanted it.

Forever.

We drove into town—he started curbing his speed, and I think we stopped at a traffic light—and after a few turns, he pulled the car to a stop and turned off the engine.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, taking his keys. “Keep your hood up.”

I didn’t respond, and he didn’t wait for confirmation that I’d heard. Opening the car door, he climbed out, slammed the door shut, and I heard the click of the lock right before everything went silent. Of course, I could still open my door. I could get out. He was keeping anyone else from getting in.

I felt a little traffic farther away, and I could hear the subterranean droning of music coming from the building to my left, but other than that, the village was quiet. I had no idea what time it was.

Why did I need to cover myself? Maybe he was planning on slicing and dicing me, after all, and didn’t want witnesses tracking my whereabouts after the fact?

I almost laughed. I was pretty sure he had no malicious intent at this point.

But then something occurred to me. What if he didn’t want his friends to see me? What if he had a girlfriend?

Nope. Don’t do it. He came to me. He found me. He brought me out. I wasn’t going to look for excuses to end the night.

In no time at all, the door opened, but this time it was my door.

“Let’s go,” he said, taking my hand.

“Where?” I climbed out, following him.

“To see black.”

See black? I loved his imagination.

Confused but intrigued, I remained quiet as I followed him down the street, hearing the sizzling sound of a neon sign with the smell of pizza damn near making me moan with hunger. Sticks. We were across from the park in the town square right in front of a local hangout. A bar that admitted minors, because it had bands and pool tables, so really, people of all ages could be found there. Is that where he ran to a moment ago?

He held something up to me, and I took it, turning it around in my hands and finally realizing it was a helmet.

A helmet?

I heard something move, a key being inserted, and I hesitated a moment, because I was in sleep shorts, and if we fell, I’d have no clothing protecting my legs, my most prized possessions on which I trusted my future in dance.

I groaned to myself. As long as he didn’t expect me to drive, I guess…

Fastening the strap of the half helmet under my chin, I held onto his arm as he helped me climb on behind him. It was a little chilly, and the wind might be too brisk. I brushed the back of his head with my hand, feeling that he wasn’t wearing a helmet at all.

“Whose bike is this?” I asked.

“A friend.”

I put my hands on his waist, but his body shot up and then came down hard, sparking the motor to life, and I didn’t need him to tell me what to do. I wrapped my arms around him, and put my head down behind his back, but I was nervous as hell. I’d never ridden on a motorcycle before.

“Don’t let go,” he ordered me.

Yeah, like, duh.

I tucked my feet up on the footrests and squeezed him tight as we shot off, kicking up gears and picking up pace.

I whimpered, but I didn’t think he heard it.

This was faster than the car. Or maybe it was because I could feel the wind.

He veered left, turning around the square, and the bike leaned so far, I thought we’d tip over.

“Can you slow down a little bit?” I yelled. “Please?”

But once we rounded the corner, he sped off, shooting to warp speed, and I yelped, locking my arms around his body and squeezing him between my thighs.

“I don’t feel…” I laughed for good measure, “Like really secure. Slow down!”

But he didn’t. He veered right, then left, then right again, the weight of our bodies feeling like too much as we tipped from side to side.

There was a dip, my stomach vaulted up and down, and we shot up a steep hill, and I gasped, holding him tighter.

We raced over the top of the hill, leaving the ground and picking up air as we flew over the hump and to the ground again. My heart leapt into my throat, and I felt like I was on a ride I couldn’t control and didn’t have time to think, and even if I could, I couldn’t stop what was happening. My body rushed with heat and energy, terror swelled in my throat, and I couldn’t figure out if I wanted to laugh, puke, or scream.

He sped around a bend, we leaned, and I could almost feel the ground an inch under my leg. I couldn’t stop myself. “I’m gonna fall!” I cried out. “Stop, please!”

And he did. He slowed and halted, and as if by magic, everything was quiet again.

I didn’t let him go.

“This is black,” he said. “Fear, falling, release. Excitement, risk, danger.”

I sat there, hugging him and trying to figure out if I liked it or not. It scared me just like he did when he broke into the house last week. I hated that, but… I didn’t really hate it anymore. Probably because I wasn’t as scared of him anymore. It was fear in a controlled environment. The motorcycle wasn’t.

Or maybe I just needed to try it again.

“I won’t let you go ag—” He stopped and evened out his voice. “I won’t let you go,” he said. “Hold on.”

I inhaled a shaky breath and readied myself for another go. And when the bike shot off again, I lifted my head, making myself not hide from it.

He won’t let me go. He won’t let me go.

The wind cut my face, and I closed my eyes to keep them from watering. After a moment, I found my body molded to his and moved with it as he turned and leaned, sped and broke, and it was like we were one rider.

When he leaned, and I thought we were going to fall, I squeezed my eyes shut and stopped breathing, letting him handle the bike and me and carrying us around in one piece.

When it happened again, I eased my muscles a little more, trusting him and letting him do it. I tipped my head back, feeling the wind and my body move with his, no longer needing to squeeze him so tightly.

I wanted to go all night now, because for the first time in forever, I was seeing things again. And just because I’d lost my sight didn’t mean that I needed to fear getting lost.

Just maybe, it was exactly what I’d been dying for.

The rumble of the motor shook my tummy, and I smiled, hoping for a thousand more nights like this.

He slowed to a stop and put his feet down on the ground. “Fear, falling, release,” he said again. “Excitement, risk, danger.”

“And at any moment, death,” I mused, still with my smile toward the sky.

“Freedom,” he added.

I laid my head on his back again, and he put the stand down and took out the key.

“We’re done,” he told me, sounding a little amused when I wouldn’t let him go.

“I’m cold.” I nuzzled closer.

He chuckled under his breath, and the smell of Sticks pizza wafted through my nostrils again. “Can you show me red?” I asked.

I didn’t want the night to end.

He paused for a moment and then whispered over his shoulder. “Someday.”

“Are you still going to hurt me?” I joked.

But he paused again, his whisper barely audible. “Someday,” he said.