William
The street dim light flickered on and off as I continued to run. The helmet is now in my hands as I let out ragged breath. My heart thumping hard against the walls of my chest.
I have just five minutes to get home before my mother does. And that is all I can think about at the moment as I make my way to the cabin at the end of the street.
Usually, I would be too scared of the damn street as it was no different from being in the dark. The little light that is supposed to light up the quiet street flickers, making every walk down the street feel like a walk through the valley of death.
My sweaty palms clasp around the door handle as I try to pull the door open.
However, as the door opens and reality downs on me.
If Mother is not home, why is the door open? I am too busy thinking about the possibilities that there could be a house invader right inside that it skips my mind to search for the key under the doormat.
Cautiously, I stepped in, my hands gripping tightly on the helmet, ready to throw it at the invader. I've been through a lot to think about the person inside who doesn't want something from me. Could it be them? The men from the race? Did they find out my address? I gulp down saliva as my heart sits on an invisible cliff.
Could it be him? The mysterious stranger. I know it's a ridiculous thought but I can't stop myself from imagining things at the moment.
One step, another step, no matter how silent I try to be, it feels as if my hard beating heart is giving my presence away.
"Will?"
My breath hitches at the familiar voice, and I almost jump as the figure comes into sight.
"Why are you late?" My mother, the same woman I thought would still be at work, is now standing before me with both of her hands resting on her hips as she judges me with her eyes. Well, fuck my life.
I am foolish for not thinking about the possibilities of my mother returning home early, and I am more foolish for bringing the helmet home. My body acts quickly as I sweep the helmet behind me before watching as my mother walks down the stairs.
"Mother, you are back early!" I exclaim, my voice a little higher than I want it to be. But I try to cover it up with a smile, which comes out to be shaky, totally selling my actions away.
"And you are late." She glares at me, crossing her arms around her upper abdomen, and I can't help but swallow in fear about her finding out.
She can scold me for coming late, but finding the helmet in my hands or figuring out where I am coming from…
"It's this what you do when I'm not home, Will?"
I shake my head in disagreement. And I am not lying, I never hang out this late, at least not without her approval. But before the words come out from my mouth, Mother has taken angry and determined steps towards me. Her eyes are on my hands holding on to the helmet at my behind. Hell no.
"Mum!" I yell as she tries to reach out to the helmet I am hiding.
"Then tell me, what are you hiding from me?" Mother pushes, her voice getting higher and harsher.
"Have you started doing drugs? What are you hiding from me, Will?" She continues walking towards me while I take steps back.
"Mum, it's nothing," I try to say, but she's already in full nosey Mother's mode as she struggles to reach the helmet in my behind, but I, on the other hand, am also determined to keep it from her. I don't get why she's still pushing. This is for her, I know how she gets when anything relating to racing is brought up yet, she's still pushing and it's fucking annoying.
"Mum!" I yell when she manages to pull the helmet from me.
And just like that, I witness the world crumble, her disappointed gaze, her mouth wide open as if she has a lot to say yet unable to voice out any words. My heart, in turn, takes a stroll on sharp nails as it hurts watching my mother break down slowly. Her eyes slowly watering while she stares at the helmet like it's some devil tool in her hands.
I hate this, I hate seeing this side of my mother. I rather have her scolding me than breaking down before me. My throat burns from the sight and I take a step towards her but she flinches, dropping the helmet to the floor while she stepped away from me as if I'm some fucking blood aiming to stain her white gown.
How is it my fault? How is any of this my fault?
My chest squeeze tighter as Mother begins to weep. I want to go on my knees and beg her for forgiveness, to wipe her tears and tell her it was all a mistake. You enjoyed it. I want to tell her how sorry I am and will never let myself get swayed again. But I can't take another step when my mother already acted like I am a disease to be stayed away from, like I committed murder, and now she's doubting if I am truly her son.
Instead of saying all those words my heart ached to say, I decide to follow my mind and let my body act on its own accord as I grab the helmet and head for my room, leaving my mother, my only parent, crying at the entrance.
I'm the worst child ever. I know, but this is where Mother and I resemble so much; running away. But father was different. Father was the opposite of my mother, and it is disheartening that aside from the passion for racing, every other feature of mine came from my mother.
My father had lost his life on the race track, and I certainly understand why my mother fears for me to become a racer, besides it was father's dream and when he archieved it, he died. She's truamatized. I am too. There are times I get road sick, there are times my heart takes a flight whenever I see racing motorcycles, but there are also times I want to race, there are times I just want to let go and enjoy the thrill. I cannot deny, racing was a means of clearing my head but that only works sometimes. Like when I'm not recalling my father's death or when I forget about my mother, and just let the adrenaline take over, let the overwhelming emotions that I crave to push out and press them on to the pedal.
I shut my door, tossing the helmet away. Annoyance gripping me as I slump on my bed. I can feel multiple hands dragging me to the well of disgust, voices accusing me of being a cursed child sent from hell to destroy my mother, fingers pointing at me as a disappointment.
Yet in that moment, as I let my eyes shut close, recalling the moment I let the demon take me. To be honest, it was a thrill I needed to feel, to release the pent-up emotions I've held in for years since we moved from the Philippines.
And I wish I could at least relive the moment, at least in my dreams.
I didn't, I can't even recall what I dreamt off, as I'm awakened by a loud banging on the door. Not my door, and not like that discovery makes me less angry. Who the hell knocks that way? Like there are a bunch of criminals living here.
"Argh," I groan as I walk down the stairs, my eyes still blurred from sleep. if I'm to describe myself, I may admit that I'm half asleep.
"Who-"
Mistake. Big fucking mistake.
Mother was right, I should never open the door without knowing who is on the other side, but I had let such teaching slip off, and as the door swings open, I thank the stars that my mother is off for work however, I dread the fact that I might not be able to apologize to her again.
My eyes widen as I step back, but the familiar man on white suit grins, stepping forward and not willing to let his eyes off me.
"H-how-?" I try to question but I am shoved backward, rough hands grabbing my throat as the man who had tossed me an helmet last night has turned to a feral demon and has begun choking with the most creepy grin on his face.
I trash in his hands, trying to move away from his hold but he squeezed tighter, cutting off my airflow. I can practically see everywhere go white and all I can think of is my mother. She will be more broken if she finds me dead, and as much as I rather die than see her broken, I also can't die without apologising to her. I need to fight back.
With the little strength I have, I lift my knee, channeling whatever amount of strength I have left and aiming it at the man's crotch causing him to fold, holding on to his mirror area and I'm about to run out when a familiar cologne hits me, a hard surface blocking me at the door.
It can't be. How can they be together, why are they all coming at me?
"I guess you won't have a choice, kid"