It's strange how you can regret everything you've built for years in an instant, when everything comes crashing down on you, leaving you with a dagger pushing down your throat, piercing your heart. The pain? Unbearable. And the fury—so furious you could take down ten men together. And, of course, the worst of it... questions like: "Was it all a fucking lie?" "Was I not enough?" "Why me?" "Did it all mean nothing?" "Was it all a joke?" "Is it because of me?" Bringing everything back—the insecurities, the agony, the self-doubt, which you thought you had buried for good.
Right. It's so strange for a girl who used to say, "I'm never getting into sappy crap. It's so cliché and cringe. Relationship? Not my cup of tea."
The world had ended in thirty minutes.
That's how long I'd been driving since I found out—the words still tasted bitter on my tongue. He cheated on me. Not just with anyone. With my best friend.
The betrayal sank like broken glass under my skin. My chest felt heavy, each beat of my heart thudding against the wheel as if trying to break free. The car's engine hummed under my hands, and the highway stretched into darkness, offering no comfort.
Tears ran freely down my face, carried away by the sharp night wind through the open windows. Every gust was both cruel and cleansing, stinging my cheeks while whispering a freedom I didn't feel.
The dashboard lit up red. Low Fuel. Of course.
I pulled into the only gas station I'd seen in miles—empty, still, almost eerie in its loneliness. Except for him.
A black motorcycle purred into the lot at the same time, its growl breaking the silence. Sleek, powerful, dangerous. It looked like it belonged to someone who lived on the edge of the world, someone untouchable.
Inside, I barely met the cashier's eyes.
"One pack, please," I said, my voice quieter than I meant.
"Make it two."
The voice from behind me was deep, steady, laced with something I couldn't name. I turned, and there he was—the biker.
Up close, he was magnetic. Sharp features, hair falling into his eyes in a careless way that only made him more striking. His presence carried weight, the kind that made space bend around him.
The cashier rattled off the price. I reached into my purse, determined to keep some control of my night. But his hand came first, brushing mine aside with a firmness that made refusal impossible. He paid without hesitation.
He was stronger. And I couldn't stop him.
Outside, the night air smelled of fuel and asphalt. I lit a cigarette, the flame flickering in shaky hands. Smoke curled into the air as I inhaled, trying to cage my thoughts. He walked out beside me, saying nothing, only the steady thud of his boots breaking the silence.
"Why did they do this to me?" The question echoed in my skull, sharp enough to break me.
"You live around here?" he asked suddenly, his voice rough but not unkind.
"Yeah, nearby," I lied, gaze fixed anywhere but on him. Truth was, I'd just been driving aimlessly—no destination, no plan.
He tilted his head, smirk tugging at his lips. "Really? Never seen you before."
"Oh, I just don't go out that much," I muttered, exhaling smoke.
"It's a small town, though..." He chuckled. "You're a bad liar, princess."
My head snapped to him. "Excuse me?"
He chuckled again, softer this time, amused. "You're lost, aren't you?"
"You don't have to be a genius to figure that out," I shot back, smoke curling from my lips.
Another low laugh. Maddening—yet strangely comforting.
"Need help finding your way?" His voice carried a hint of mockery, but something steadier lingered beneath it.
I hesitated. Pride twisted against the raw ache in my chest. I didn't answer.
He took my silence as a yes. "Alright, princess. Hop on."
"But... my car."
He gave it one quick glance, then back to me. "It can wait." His tone was simple, final. He gestured to his bike. "Trust me, princess, it'll be faster this way."
Maybe it was the exhaustion. Maybe loneliness. Or maybe I just wanted to feel something else. Against all reason, I climbed on.
My arms wrapped around his waist—unfamiliar yet grounding. I didn't know him—yet here I was, pressed against him, carried into the night on the back of his black machine. We were strangers. Yet at that moment, we weren't.
The wind tore through me, wild and free, lifting some of the heaviness in my chest. A sigh escaped me, unbidden. But with it came fresh tears, sliding hot against my cheeks. I clutched tighter, grief spilling raw onto his back.
He didn't turn, didn't speak. Instead, he reached back, covering my hand where it gripped his stomach. His hand was warm, solid, steady. A silent gesture of comfort.
I clung tighter. He said nothing. And somehow, his silence was louder than words.
The road unfurled endlessly before us, headlights carving a path through the night. The wind washed over me, a strange baptism, and slowly, I felt the pain bleed out of my body, even if just for a moment.
Occasionally, he glanced back, subtle but careful, making sure I was still holding on.
Eventually, the world shifted. He turned onto an old dirt road, weaving through trees until a clearing opened like a secret. He stopped, killed the engine, leaving only the chirping of crickets and my thundering heartbeat.
He turned to me then, gaze lingering on my tear-streaked face.
"You alright, princess?"
"Yeah... sorry."
He shook his head. "You don't have anything to be sorry for."
He climbed off, offered his hand—warm, calloused. I took it, and he led me to a fallen tree trunk. I sat, bark rough beneath my fingers. He sat beside me, close enough that our knees brushed.
And he didn't let go of my hand. His fingers laced with mine, thumb brushing slow, soothing circles against my skin.
"What's your name?" I asked.
His smirk returned, playful. "Finally decided you wanted to know my name, princess?" He chuckled softly. "It's Sky. And you?"
"Faith."
He repeated it, as if savoring it. "Faith. Pretty name." His gaze deepened, as though memorizing me.
For a long moment, the night wrapped around us both. Stars blinked overhead, the wind sighing through the trees. Then his voice broke the silence.
"Can I ask you something, princess?"
I nodded.
"Why were you crying when I pulled up?"
The answer clawed its way out. "An ass cheated on me with my damn best friend."
His expression darkened, fury flickering behind his eyes. His grip on my hand tightened—not painfully, but protectively.
"Damn. That's messed up, princess. I'm sorry."
"It's not about the relationship, you know," I whispered. "It's about friendship... makes me question all of it... damn, it hurts like hell."
"Yeah," he murmured. "Betrayal cuts deep. Especially from friends."
His hand rose, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. The intimacy startled me, but I didn't pull away.
"You deserve better," he said quietly. "You don't deserve that bullshit."
"You don't even know me," I scoffed.
He chuckled, shaking his head. "True. But I don't need to know you to see that. Nobody deserves to be treated like crap." His voice lowered, almost a whisper. "And I can tell—you deserve better."
The air between us tightened, charged with something unspoken.
I broke it with a half wry-smile. "So what's your story, Night Rider?"
His brow lifted at the nickname, and for the first time, his smirk softened into something real.
"My story, huh? Not sure you'd want to hear it."
"Try me."
For a moment, silence stretched. The night was heavy, but it wasn't suffocating. His gaze drifted upward, away from me, toward the endless spread of stars. When he finally spoke, his voice had lost its teasing edge.
"I'm just a guy with a bike, some tattoos, and a hell of a lot of demons, princess. Grew up rough, you know? Lost my folks young, ended up on the streets for a while. Became a son of the streets. Made some bad choices, got mixed up with the wrong crowd." He chuckled humorlessly. "Spent a few years in prison, you know, just for some stupidity. Not my proudest moments for sure." A pause. "But I did confront life and realized that people wear masks," he said slowly. "Everywhere I go, that's all I see. Smiles that don't mean anything. Words meant to cover wounds instead of heal them. I guess I got tired of it."
I listened, cigarette burning low between my fingers. His words carried a weight I hadn't expected.
"Riding..." He paused, searching for the right phrasing. "That's the only time the world feels real. No lies. No noise. Just the wind, the road, and me. That's why I keep moving. Some call it running. I call it breathing."
I tilted my head, studying him. His profile looked carved by shadows, equal parts fierce and fragile.
"So you're telling me you ride to escape your demons?"
He chuckled lightly, but it wasn't a happy sound. "Not escape. I don't think anyone really escapes their demons. I ride so mine can't catch me for too long."
Something in me cracked at that—because it felt familiar. Too familiar.
I dropped my cigarette, crushing it into the dirt with my shoe.
"Those demons though, they are relentless. They've got a mind of their own, you know? Sometimes they're just whispers easy to ignore. But sometimes... hell, sometimes, they're a goddamn hurricane, ripping through everything in their path. And no matter how strong you are, princess, they have a way of finding your weaknesses, your damn vulnerabilities." He continued, and I listened.
"How do you do it?" I asked.
He knew what I was asking; he could see the turmoil in my eyes. He sighed, running his hand through his messy black hair, frustration and thoughtfulness tangled in the gesture.
"You wanna know the truth, princess?" He leaned back against the tree trunk, gaze fixed on the endless sea of stars above us. "The truth is... I'm good at pretending. Like, really good at pretending." He chuckled humorlessly, the sound echoing softly in the night air.
"Doesn't it crack? The mask..." I asked quietly.
The question hit too close. He tensed. That mask, the facade he'd perfected for years, had its cracks. And damn it, I was seeing them, peeling back the layers one by one.
He forced a smile, defensive. "Oh, princess, you're good at asking difficult questions, aren't you?" A pause. "Yes... yes, it has cracks, threatening to widen any moment and break completely. Revealing the secrets and regrets we've hidden." His voice dropped to a whisper. "It's just about... how good you are at hiding them. Some of us are better at hiding than others."
I could see it then—the exhaustion in him. Not physical. Deeper. Mental. Emotional. His walls were strong, but hollow, threatening to collapse any moment.
"Guess that makes two of us then," I said softly. "Different roads, same ghosts."
For the first time, he turned to me fully. His blue eyes, stormy under the moonlight, looked like hidden oceans catching the light—soft but piercing, gentle but infinite.
He didn't speak. He didn't need to. He just reached out again, covering my hand where it rested on my knee. Warm. Steady. Present.
And then he said the simplest thing, the kind of thing I hadn't realized I'd needed to hear.
"It's okay to hurt, princess."
The words hit harder than I expected. My throat tightened. I didn't want to cry again—not in front of him—but the tears came anyway. Silent, raw, real.
He didn't flinch. He just pulled me closer, his arm wrapping around me, holding me against his chest. No false promises. No pity. Just quiet strength.
The world around us dimmed. The cicadas hummed, leaves rustled in the breeze, creating a natural symphony. Above us, the stars burned indifferent and eternal.
For the first time that night, I felt safe.
At some point, exhaustion dragged me under. My head rested against his shoulder, and slowly, without meaning to, I drifted into sleep.
When I stirred again, the sky was changing. Streaks of pink and orange laced the horizon, the promise of dawn bleeding into the night. Painting the sky in quiet promises, faith living in its warmth and endless hope in its glow. I blinked groggily, lifting my head.
"I... I fell asleep."
"Yeah." His voice was softer now, morning rasp lacing his tone. "Didn't want to wake you."
I rubbed my eyes, embarrassed. "I must've been heavy—"
"You weren't," he interrupted firmly. Then, more gently: "You looked peaceful. Haven't seen that look on your face since you stepped out of that car."
The words silenced me.
We sat there for a moment longer, watching the first rays of sun climb over the trees. A new day. A strange one. But it felt different, lighter somehow. He turned toward me, my face lit by the golden light of the rising sun, the shadows of the night slowly fading. Something in his expression shifted, his chest tightening with a strange rush.
"Looks like a new day, princess."
My gaze lingered on him, taking in his features, his sharp jawline, those sapphire blue eyes, the unruly mess of his hair that seemed to catch the sunlight like a damn halo. He was like a vision, this fierce yet vulnerable man who had bared his demons to me through the long night. He noticed me staring, that infuriating smirk tugging at his lips again.
"What? Something on my face, princess?"
I tilted my head, just a subtle action, but it made his eyes flicker with something unreadable. "No mask."
I gave him a toothy smile. He stared at me, expression unreadable, as though he was trying to figure out what I meant—or maybe, as though he knew exactly what I meant but didn't want to admit it.
Eventually, he stood and extended a hand. "Come on. Let's get you back."
Something had changed in the night. A shift in the air, a shift in me. It was silent but undeniable, a moment of understanding neither of us had to name.
The powerful bike, its black frame gleaming in the morning light, roared to life again, shattering the stillness of dawn. I climbed on without hesitation this time, arms wrapping around him naturally, instinctively. The ride back was quieter, calmer. The night's grief hadn't vanished, but it no longer felt like it was crushing me.
When the gas station came into view, my chest tightened. My car sat exactly where I'd left it, looking smaller than before, like a remnant of a past I wasn't ready to return to.
He parked beside it, cutting the engine. Silence fell heavy.
I slid off, hesitant to let go. He turned to face me, helmet under his arm, eyes steady on mine.
"This is where we part, princess."
Something inside me wanted to argue, to ask him to stay, to not let this just be a passing moment. But the words tangled in my throat. All I managed was a faint, "Thank you... for last night."
He smirked, but there was no mockery in it this time. Just something softer. "You needed someone. I was there. That's all."
I wanted to tell him it wasn't just all. That his presence had kept me from drowning. But before I could, he leaned in, close enough that his breath brushed my ear.
"Remember this, Faith," he murmured. "You don't need anyone who makes you feel small. You hear me? You're stronger than you think."
And then he pulled back, smirk flashing one last time. "Until we meet again, princess."
With that, he mounted his bike. The engine roared, the sound echoing through the quiet morning. I watched as he sped away, black silhouette melting into the horizon.
I stood alone in the rising sun, cigarette box still in my hand, his words etched into my bones.
For the first time since my world had shattered, I took a deep breath.
The pain was still there. But so was something else. Something new.
Hope.