- Aarika -
He said to wear jeans, so I did.
I was standing on the sidewalk that rolled around his apartment complex when an approaching roar caught my ear. Grasped by the loud annoying sound; the motorcycle it emit from stopped right in front of me. The biker pulled off their metallic black helmet to reveal blonde locks of hair. My eyes could not be contained inside my skull.
I looked from the midnight blue Harley to Matt.
"What do ya think, Pom Poms?" he grinned, searching my face for some sort of approval.
"Matt, what the... how did you afford this?!"
Knowing Matt, he could have possibly stole it, or, I narrowed my eyes onto him as he brought forth his "serious" expression.
"With my hard earned money," he answered in brevity before caving under my stare, "from idiots in the pool hall, craps tables, black jack, and a little bit of poker.. maybe."
His smile emerged, undaunted by the shake of my head.
"So you buy a Harley instead of maybe... fixing the trash heap that is supposedly a car?"
Or possibly replacing it with something safer, but why on earth would he do that?
"Are you trying to crush my dreams, Pom poms?" Matt interrupted with a fairly jut out bottom lip, "or does this object of my newly adapted affection bother you? Because it's okay," he pat the little bit of pleathered seat that was behind him, "I thought of you too when I bought it."
The blonde haired maniac that was my boyfriend stood from the motorcycle of certain doom and from a rear compartment, produced what I can only describe as a gleaming head-work fatality.
"Matt," I began, unable to contain my amusement at the gaudy looking sight as I ventured closer, "what is that?"
Placing forth another one of his masked perceptions, this time it being the one of slight shock, he said calmly, "Pom poms, it's a helmet, a hard hat of safety to wear when you ride off into the sinking horizon with me."
"Yess," I answered, folding my arms and shifting my stance to one side, "but what is ON the helmet?"
The shreds of purple and yellow plastic looked suspiciously like the pom pons that should have been safely concealed inside my backpack.
The closer he loomed, the more worried he appeared. Lifting his gloved hand to my forehead in a jokingly serious manner he said, "They're pom poms. Those things made of shredded plastic that you shake around when you do those awesome leg lift, cartwheeling routines. Did you forget? Are you having a slight bout of amnesia?"
I pushed his hand away, eying the cheerleading poms that were shooting out of the opposing sides of the helmet in a highly put pigtailed like fashion.
"They're called Pom pons, by the way. You want me to wear that, on my head? Seriously?"
There was a brief look of honest hurt in his eyes before they flashed back undercover, "You mean I've been living a lie this whole time?" his voice was cracking with some weirdly textured tone, "I made it for you but if you don't want to-"
"Would YOU wear it?" I intervened, just to make a point.
"Well, gold and purple aren't really my colors, but," at this, he ripped the colored plastic from it's securely glued spot. Bits of it still clung to the adhesive, the rest flung to the floor.
I brushed aside the strands of hair that were sticking closely to his forehead, a side effect of helmet hair, and kissed his temple; a feat possible only as he sat on the seat of the motorbike.
"Well, it was a sweet gesture," I admonished. I know he tried, at least.
He seemed to accept the reply, his arm snaking around my waist and pulling me closer.
"So you'll go riding with me now?" his gaze turning upward to capture mine.
I pulled back slightly, shaking my head, "Oh no, we never agreed on that."
"Why not? Is it the whole 'Don't trust Matt's crazy schemes' thing again? Because I told you, I have a perfectly spotless record when it comes to safety."
"Yeah, just like the patchwork that's your car, and the metal deathtrap at the construction site," I mentioned idly with a soft snort.
"You can't say you didn't enjoy that," he smirked, his hand running up and down my side. It tingled and made me shudder, just slightly.
Well, fine. The view was amazing, but still getting on that thing had my nerves in twists. Especially when Matt was the one operating it.
"Come on, Pom poms, live a little," he encouraged with a deep inclining tone.
I grabbed the defiled helmet from his hands, "Fine," I said, giving into his peer pressure, "how do I even get on this thing?"
I eyed the motorcycle resting precariously on one simple peg. Without it, it would surely topple over into a crumpled heap of heavy metal. Of course I didn't trust it.
"No worries, I'll show you."
All my deepest instincts told me I shouldn't be trusting Matt with my life, again, especially now as I slipped on the head gear that was supposed to keep it intact in case anything WERE to go wrong.
I swear everything he did was insane, but it kept my heart racing.
"Just lean when I lean," he instructed as he put on his helmet.
"What? Why?" I questioned as I situated myself snugly on the back of the purring motor vehicle. I can see why I had to wear jeans now, I could feel the heat emitting from the exhaust even around my feet.
"Because it won't be pretty if you don't. Hold on tight!"
My eyes widened as I wrapped my arms securely around his torso. I could feel the vibrations of his chuckling even as he revved the engine and we sped off, my face curling closely into his back.
About a minute or so in, I got brave enough to lift my head and look around. My surroundings whizzed by and the cool air brushed my chin and whipped my hair around, tangling it together. I didn't dare move any more though, I didn't know the limits of the leaning rule.
You know, if someone a month ago had told me that I'd be riding with Revonlair on a motorcycle around the city, let alone DATING him, I would have scoffed and asked if they were taking crazy pills.
I don't know how I actually got to this point. I don't think I mind...
When we turned back into the apartment complex, I was surprised to find that I was slightly disappointed that the ride had ended so soon. Even as I got off, I found that I was shaking slightly. I pulled the helmet off and combed and fluffed at my wound up hair with my fingers.
"So what'd you think?"
I could see his underlying smirk waiting to emerge. I didn't want to tell him that it was a little bit exciting and a lot more exhilarating that I expected. It sounded really dumb.
"It was fun," I remarked briefly before adding on, "when did you learn to drive a motorcycle?"
"When I was fifteen, I ran away from home and initiated myself into Hell's Angels."
Following him along the pathway weaving through the complex, my pacing nearly came to a stop, "You know it's really hard to tell by the way you talk if you're telling the truth or not."
Turning around, he began walking backwards; a wry smile settling on his face, "Because I must remain dangerous and alluring so that you stay intrigued."
"Really? You know what kind of people do that, spies," I said.
"Shh, I'm not supposed to let you know that I'm a secret agent," he hushed, playing along with my words.
"Oh yeah? Sent to do what? Chase high school girls and swindle money where you can?"
"I make it look easy, but it's hard, living this kind of life," he sighed dramatically.
Matt stopped to drape his arm around my shoulders, something easy for him since he was a good half foot taller.
"So I guess you'll never tell me your real name," I said randomly, folding my shoulders as I gazed up at him.
"I shouldn't say, in case you use ingenious google tracking skills to find my real identity, but it's Bond, Jimmy Bond."
Laughing, I breezily said, "Uh huh, that twitch in your eyebrow tells me otherwise."
He stopped at the foot of the stairs to focus on my face, "Oh. You're good."
As I smiled at my sly observational skills, he gestured upward, "Coming in?"
"Well, since I'm here.." I shrugged, already taking the steps in twos.
"Hey, where's Mark?" I suddenly asked, looking around the empty living room as Matt turned on the lights. Thinking about it now, I hadn't seen him since I arrived that afternoon. It was now around five, and he was nowhere to be seen.
Matt swung himself into the kitchen and raided the cupboards before answering me, "OH. You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
He tossed me a sleeve of pop tarts, which I happily accepted as I took his words into consideration. I paused and chewed on my bottom lip as I stared back in mockful thought, considering the craziest thing he could tell me was nothing short of lewd conduct in a grocery store. Mark wasn't the crazy one.
"You're right, but tell me anyway," I waved my hand nonchalantly as I ripped open the packet with my teeth.
Matt set his elbows on the counter between us, making sure he had my attention.
"He's on a date," he answered solemnly, locking eyes with me and waiting for my reply.
My breath hitched and I almost choked on artificially flavored cherry jam, "Noo, with who?" I dared to ask.
"Some girl named Trina that's in his calculus class."
"Really?" the tone in my voice was high, and I started chewing my tart to mush.
Hanging out with Matt a lot means that half the time Mark is also with us, which I don't mind at all (but I think Matt does, sometimes). While he goes, and mostly plots most of the crazy schemes, at least he's the more sensible, and I can talk to him like a normal person. I don't see why Heather doesn't like him at all. Considering I hadn't seen him pursue any other girls, I can't see why she considered him to be a sleaze.
But I can't ask her, because since I started seeing Matt, we practically don't speak.
Tags : aarika, pov, wwd