Locked up with the Badboy.

I take a seat on the floor in front of him, "What?"

He combs a hand through his dark hair and sighs, "This is a maximum security prison, the people here have killed babies, shot up schools , killed multiple partners and run crime rings and you, are saying that I'm mean? "


17. Bikes.




This is real, I think, Oh-man-oh-man-oh-man, this is real.

Without looking at me Ben gets out of the car, and indicates like I should follow. “Come-on Clara,” I whisper, opening the door and trying to focus on what’s happening.

“Hey Clara,” Ben says as I catch up to him, he doesn’t ask what’s going on, he’s good like that.

“I’m just creeped out by the fact they call everything an emporium around here.” I reply trying to make a funny.

Ben laughs as an eager sales-person strides over to us, “What can I do you for folks?” he asks with a hundred dollar smile.

Ben looks at me, “We’d like two bikes, fast, powerful. Maybe a Ducati or a Harley.”

The man nods, “Ahh, I see you’re a serious rider. Come right this way.” We follow through aisles of bikes to their top-end, top-price models, “Here we are, quality rides for American Tarmac.”

As the guys discuss leather seats, trim tyres and the length of their rods I lose focus and start peering down various rows. There are three wheel bikes, dirt bikes, fat-boys and then I see it on the third row I visit stands the hottest thing on two wheels.

Hot pink colours the whole bodywork, blended with light blues and a red, the bike stands out like anything, the seat dosen’t look like a treebranch and it looks sleek, like a

A female employee appears beside me, “It’s great isn’t it.”

Nodding, I poke the seat, “I think this bike is the only thing in here with a decent seat.”

She nods, “Guys just think they have to rough it all the time. Believe me sister at the end of the day when everybody’s walking like a cowboy you’ll be skipping without a care.”

Her name-tag says Kim, “Can I try?” I ask Kim.

“Sure, take a seat, see if it matches your body type.”

I swing one leg over the seat and place my hands on the grips, “It’s perfect.”

Together we find Ben who’s trying out one of the top-end bikes with rocket boosters or whatever that they attach to make it look cooler. “Hey Clara,” he says, “We found one for you.” Smiling like he’s awesome Ben points to the low to the ground Harley Davidson Fatboy that looks like something Gangstas ride. “I rode on one of them once,” he says  “It’s seat is a bit like a block of wood, but then the seat doesn’t really matter does it?”

“Well actually,” I say with a hand on my hip, “Kim and I found another bike.”

Ben’s sales-man looks around, when he sees her he narrows his eyes just a fraction, “Well done Kim.”

There seems to be  some sort of rivalry going on because she smiles sweetly back at him, “Care to take a look?”

“Oh no,” Ben says when we reach the bike.

“Oh dear,” says his guy salesman who’s nametag reads Derek.

“Clara…” Ben begins as he sits down on the bike, “I know that it’s got a comfortable seat…”

“And It’s hot pink,” I add. Behind us Derek is whispering furtively to Kim, who just looks like she pity’s him.

“It’s a girl bike,” she says to Sam, “It has everything that we want.”

“And what’s that?” Derek almost sneers, “A comfy seat?”

“Yep, She then lifts up the seat to reveal a compartment underneath, ”And somewhere secure to put shopping, and ergonomic hand grips so we don’t bend over like old geezers when we’re finished, and best of all it won’t break- so no maintenance.”

“What do you mean it won’t break?” Ben asks looking at the under seat compartment like it’s a technological revolution.

“Well guys like the whole maintenance thing,” she explains, “So back in the day when Ducati or whoever realised there was a way to make Motorcycles last for months without wear and tear they made a whole batch of them and sent them out to the young motor-heads.

Of course riding a bike is all about the style to guys, and when all their fellow bikers were complaining about how so and so ripped them off on a repair job or how their front wheel flicks stones into their faces the guys who bought reliable bikes didn’t have a leg to stand on.

 Because it’s about being art of the crowd, they sent the bikes back and from then on guy’s bikes were made with a flaw that exposes itself once you get past a few thousand miles.”

“So you’re saying the bike I’m buying is just a piece of style on wheels?” Ben asks.

“And fast,” She says, “The faster a guy’s bike is, the better.”

“What a load of Baloney,” tries Derek, but we’re only half listening to him so when no-one turns around he shrugs his shoulders and walks off, leaving us to purchase two hot-pink bikes.

“Real-Bikers are going to go mad when they see these,” I giggle as we wheel our bikes around to the car.

“At least we’ll look groovy,” he says shaking his hips with a laugh. On both of our handlebars are pink helmets.

We reach the car, and pulling out clothes, money and false Id out of the car we repack everything into the space under our bike seats. I pull on my leathers and feel awesome, since I last wore them they appear to have shrunk at the seams and now cling tight to my body, almost acting like a second skin.

Ben wolf-whistles,  “Hey hot-stuff car or bike?”

I look at the soon to be deceased Maserati and feel a little sorry, “Car I guess.”

We wind our way a few miles east until we reach the edge of a massive gorge-canyon-pit of death, that has warning signs plastered all around it. Having removed the last of our identification Ben switches the engine on and with the drivers window still open selects drive, tossing a large rock onto the accelerator.

Out faithful car speeds up a mound and it throws itself into the gorge. Scraping sounds fill the evening air. Moments later a wall of heat rises from the canyon. 

Wrapping his hand in mine Ben and I stare at the canyon for a long time, both thinking our own thoughts. “Poor supervisor,” Ben whispers.

 Eventually, as the sun is just setting I climb on the back of Ben’s pink motorcycle, wrap my arms around his torso and rest my head on his back. With hair flying around my face and the two of us  riding into a golden evening we make our way back to the motorcycle shop.


A/N: Hello!! It's been so long and I'm really sorry for the delay, I gave up on this story. Just decided to write another but while I was trying to put together something new I logged on here and saw all the amazing comments y'all have left and it made me so happy (and a little guilty) that I've started writing again. 

To kind of remember where I left off I re-read everything and while some of it sucked I really like the whole Ben-Clara dynamic (Seriously is there a Ship we could start, Bara?, Clen? or perhaps Mt Ben? XD). 

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