Page 20 of Sin

“So this is safe.” I point to the bike.

“It’s safe, sugar. Don’t you trust me?” Doubt flashed in his eyes. The truth of the matter is that yes; I do trust him.

“Yes.”

“Well then, get on.” He raises his hand again, handing me the helmet.

I grab the helmet and place it firmly on my head, buckling the strap under my chin as tight as I can get it.

“Here.” He grabs me by the wrist, pulling me closer. I can’t bring myself to look into his eyes as he checks the helmet, so my eyes wonder over his shoulder to the clubhouse that isn’t so far from Bianca’s house. Standing in the driveway are a few women. Hands crossed over their chests, hips popped. I knew who they were. Bianca had told me the ins and outs of the club. They were the club whores.

“I don’t think they like me.” I say as he tugs on my strap, making sure that it’s secure.

“They don’t matter. The faster you understand that, the better you’ll be.”

“They can say the same about me.” My eyes fall onto his face.

“You matter. The faster you understand that, the better you’ll be.” He touches the hair that is hanging from under my helmet and runs his fingers through it, making my scalp tingle. I’ve always liked the feel of when my hair is being played with. My eyes flutter closed as he continues. “Are you ready, Savannah?” He asks in a low throaty tone. The sound almost makes me think that I affect him as much as he affects me.

“Yes.” I answer, opening my eyes.

“Then get on, sugar. Wrap those arms around me, hold tight and don’t ever let go.”

Sin sped out of the driveway that day; he whipped through traffic and drove faster than I’d ever done. He showed me the beauty that is New Mexico and I instantly fell in love with the splendor of the desert. The entire day I kept my arms wrapped around his waist, my legs pressed into his and my cheek resting on his back. I had never felt safer.

*****

Bianca has told me repeatedly not to take his lack of presence personally. The club’s been busy, so he’s been busy. Sin is working hard, trying to get Fury noticed, trying to make a name for himself. He wants to be more than just a MC member. Bianca told me that if her husband were still alive, Sin wouldn’t be here, at home. He would be doing anything else other than club business, but loyalty can have a downfall, and for Sin, that is his happiness.

During my time healing, Bianca and I have talked, shared, and had some good discussions. Even though she’s a mom, she’s not my mom, so sharing with her is easy. I don’t live in the fear that I’ve let her down, not that I feel that I’ve let my own mother down. I’ve spoken to my parents. I broke down and told my dad what had been going on with Tyson all these years. As I had feared, he blamed himself for not protecting me. He may have been in bigger shock than my mom was. He really had a hard time believing it. Not that he didn’t believe me, because he did, but I think it was more of the fact that he didn’t see anything wrong or question the changes that were happening in my life. My mother cried again, blaming herself for not seeing it. Putting herself down for not being the mother, I deserved. It’s not her fault. None of this was on her; I’m an adult, a grown woman, one who had a brain. My life and the way I’d been living was one hundred percent my fault and it is my responsibility to change it.

My face is no longer swollen; my lips no longer split and cracked. The bruising has faded, but not quite disappeared. I’m expecting that to happen in the next few days. My body no longer sore.

I haven’t told Bianca or anyone about the baby. I'm not sure what to say, but it’s almost as if she knows. Mother’s instinct, I guess, because without asking she’s been giving me vitamins in the morning with the full breakfast she cooks for me. She watches me and nods when I take the pills. She's probably the most understanding person I know.

Last night when I turned in, I finally looked up my cycle. I know that I should have done it before now, but I felt that knowing the numbers would make my pregnancy more real than I was ready to accept. From what the numbers says, I'm just now ending my first trimester. It says that nausea is supposed to be diminished now, but the thing is, it’s just now getting bad for me. It seems to help if I lie down for about twenty minutes after I eat.

I know that I need to figure out what to do with my life, what plans I need to make and where I am going to live. I can’t continue to stay and be a burden on the people who have saved me. I need to start my own life, now. Live it the way I want. “I think it’s time.” I tell Bianca when I walk into the living room.

“Time for what, mija?”

“For a change.” I play with my hair. “I want to get rid of this color.” I laugh a little. “I know, big step right? But I want to get back to me, and this,” I flip my hair in my hands. "It’s not me.”

“By the darkness of those roots, I can tell it’s not you.”

“Yeah, another example of what I did to try to keep Tyson happy.”

*****

“Blonde, Savannah. That’s what I want. That’s what I want to see when I look at you.”

“That’s not me.”

“It’s you, if you’d let it be. It will be a better you. Don’t you want to make me happy Savannah? Try it. My mother has the best stylist in all of Fort Worth. She’ll make you look stunning.”

I thought I was already stunning in his eyes, but I guess I ’m not stunning enough in my own skin, with my own coloring. It’s juvenile really. Why am I making such a fuss? Who cares what color my hair is? I’m still me, which is something Tyson can’t change. Sure, he can dress me up in designer clothes, make me a bleached blonde, but I’m still Savannah.

*****