Page 5 of In the Light of Sin

A small part of me hoped death would come and give me the first reprieve from the pain I’ve felt since I was sixteen.

My hand gripped his clothing again when his motorcycle swerved. I would’ve been thrown off if I didn’t have a solid grip, but obviously, he wasn’t expecting me to hit him. He pulled to the side of the road, the pressure coming off my ears, but it didn’t provide relief. I was still shaking, both from lingering pain and the newfound fear instilled in me from the large shadow of a man in front of me. His chest was heaving as his breath came out rasped.

“Get. Off.”

The lump in my throat threatened to choke me at his command as I ungracefully got off the bike. A part of me wanted to escape as I quickly glanced around. A man his size couldn’t be quick enough to get me, right?

The other part of me wanted to stay put. I couldn’t even form a complete thought properly yet. I definitely couldn’t outrun this beast of a man without quickly trying to calm myself back down and get myself together. He was gentle with me at the clubhouse, my mind going when I tripped over the leg of the chair, and he made sure that I didn’t fall flat on my face. My top teeth sank into my bottom lip, debating life-preserving options when his baritone voice shouted at me, “What the fuck!”

I turned. His black denim jeans and a black hoodie with the sleeves cut off overlayed with his cut, making his already dark persona more intimidating. There was nothing soft in his barely-said words when we took off from the clubhouse. No more was the biker who had snapped at his club president for me.

My hands went to my ears, ripping out the plastic, ignoring the pain as they scraped against the skin. I felt relief, even if it was just a little. My eyes shut, trying to focus on making my quickened breathing slow breathing in my nose and out of my mouth. My heart rate was slowing, and my other senses were enhanced since I couldn’t hear. I felt the way Sarge walked towards me without hearing the crunching gravel beneath the black combat boots he always wore.

“I can’t see your lips.” He paused. I knew my words were loud. I lacked sound control when my hearing aids were out. “I can’t understand you.” I sucked in a breath, loving the silence but feeling guilty I was purposely ignoring him in favor of my pain. “Hurts.” My ears felt like someone was taking a soldering iron to them. I didn’t realize how painful riding a motorcycle would be with my hearing aids. Sarge tilted his head as I continued to speak. “It hurts.”

I knew we weren’t going to get anywhere unless I put them back in. He wouldn’t touch me, and I was too afraid to move under his scrutiny. Feeling defeated for the second time tonight, I begrudgingly put back my painful hearing devices. Sucking in a sharp breath when they brushed against the newly formed cuts from when I ripped them out moments earlier. I looked at him, silently indicating that I could hear him again.

“What?” His question was rough, making me flinch. “What hurts?”

“My ears. Loud noises make them hurt. But your motorcycle makes it feel like someone is ripping them off my body.” I rubbed soothing circles into the skin even though the pressure was lifted off of them, but it felt like a loud horn just went off, the ripple effects still ringing in my ears.

I wish I could see his face to gauge what he was thinking, the hood making the already closed-off man more mysterious. The only skin visible on him was his arms and the sliver of his chin his hood couldn’t hide.

It was hard to keep from looking at the taut skin marking his left arm. It was obvious this man had been in some type of fire or chemical explosion. If his left arm looked like that, there was no telling what he hid beneath his hood.

We were both hiding something. He hid his face behind his clothing, and I hid my pain behind my smile. But now the plastered emotion is so carefully crafted that it is chipping away, no longer believable to anyone that I was trying to convince I was fine.

I’d never been so scared in my life. People seeing me without my happy facade only garnered pitiful looks from desperate eyes.

I wanted to mend people of those looks, not those of mine. It was the only way I knew how to save myself, giving others a broken piece of my soul. But… it was wearing on me.

I was running out of pieces to give.

“Hey.” My eyes snapped open, looking at the ominous scarred chin that peaked out from his hood. That was all I’d ever seen of this man they called Sarge. There was no way that it was his real name. It made him that much more terrifying.

People only used their names when they didn’t want to be known. Mitchell wanted himself to be known by us to get to Nyla, the manipulation having a profound effect, but this man? No leeway, no one here to save me if things went astray. It was just me and him.

The faceless man and the woman who hid behind a fake smile.

“Y-Yes?” I replied to his question, rapidly blinking my way out of my trance.

“Take ‘em out.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Your hearin’ aids. Take ‘em out.”

“But—”

“For fucks sake,” he grumbled, his irritation rising by the second. “They hurt you. Put ‘em back in when we get to my place.”

“We’re going to your place?”

“Joslyn,” he growled, done with my resistance. “Be in pain on the way there or don’t. Either way, you’re getting back on this fuckin’ bike.”

I guess that settles that. I reached into my pocket, pulled out my hearing aid case, and grimaced as I pulled them out of my tender ears. They were the old shelled hearing aids, the only ones I could afford at the time, and I haven’t had time to replace them since.

He turned, expectantly trying to get me to follow, and with blind loyalty, I did because if I were to die, I wanted it to be quick. Not ripped apart by coyotes in bum-fuck Egypt.

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