the other half of me - part 1 - wrd 1.6k Juice x f!musician OC x Happy
series master | next see ml for warnings, info, and mood boards.
this is essentially setting the stage, introducing the vibe and violet, part one was originally like 10k wrds i split it up for my own sanity while editing.
im really so so excited for this, quick start for juice, slow start for happy...with some trust, it'll all work out, promise
The atmosphere was hot, heavy, and the wind couldn’t compete. California summers were nothing short of violent. Even at speed the heat was seeping through her layers and clinging to the black fabric, turning her riding gear into an oven.
She zipped through traffic like it was a race without a finish line. In and out of lanes, gripping the throttle with a force to get herself around cars going too damn slow. Each delay only stalled the inevitable, but at the red light keeping her from the swift exit she intended to have, she did consider turning back. The last thing she wanted to do was run, but she couldn’t take another day in the city that held so much pain. Everywhere she looked, a flash of crimson consumed her mind.
The city she loved was no longer home. Her apartment felt like a trap. Everything she thought she knew about herself was wrong and her mind was in pieces. Her whole life had been changed in ways that not a single soul could help her make sense of.
Everything was different, she was different. She had become nothing more than a problem to solve.
Her roommates, Victor and Michael, tried everything to make her feel safe again. Spewing love and support endlessly. Alternating shifts at the hospital, never daring to leave her alone. New locks on the doors, windows, a security guard in the lobby. They asked questions to understand, to help her heal, but she never answered. They gave it everything they could, but it wasn't enough because it just wasn't what she needed.
A battle between her heart and mind, the trio split.
The decision can after another sleepless night, she went searching for comfort. Sorting through old photos of her late mother in the storage unit, she came across a locked box. It took two hours and three bobby pins, but she got it open. Polaroids mainly, maps with faded highlighter mark ups, a few printed photos but only one that stuck out. Her mom, atop a black Harley, hands tossed in the hair, posing just next to a welcome sign.
Charming, California.
She had been considering new scenery. Every loud noise echoing down the ally, every squeal and scream on the sidewalk. Men and the way they linger in her presence. The busy city she once loved watching come to life under the twinkle of the city lights, now terrified her. She was constantly looking over her shoulder, flinching at small gusts of wind, and even developed a nasty habit of biting her nails. She needed something slower, something familiar, somewhere new to call home. Preferably somewhere with drastic change of pace, something to mute the memories clinging to her core.
She had done some research, but information was scarce. The town seemed to be a slice of nothing, in the perfect center of nowhere, and that’s exactly what she was looking for.
She regretted taking her bike about twenty miles outside the city limits of Los Angeles. Her arms were sore from the vibration, hands aching from a steady grip on the throttle, not to mention the never-ending stops for gas. Her Kawasaki was for looks, not cross state.
Black all around, glossy finishes, and custom heart patterned rims. It was for a quick ride, and not one inch of it was designed for comfort. Her body ached from leaning over, her hips were throbbing from the straddle. She checked the gas gauge the moment she crossed the town border begging for a reason to stop. It was dancing on the E-line, rolling just past the very same sign from her mother’s pictures.
She coasted into a right turn, cutting the engine once she reached the parking lot, and walked her bike up to the middle pump. Only one other pump was taken, by another bike no less, which of course caught her attention. She hooked her foot pulling her kickstand down, simultaneously pulling off her helmet to catch a breath of fresh air. Desperate for relief she swung her leg over, stretching each limb nice and slow. She rolled up, circling her head from shoulder to shoulder until she felt a pop.
Then she leaned, just slightly, with intentions of checking out the bike itself, but instead found her eyes on the man. Tattoos scattered up his caramelized skin, arms buff enough to bite. Matrix style sunglasses that just barely hung off the tip of his nose. She tried not to be obvious but sizing up the Harley one pump down in an empty lot was hard to miss. LA was filled with characters, thousands of personalities on display every day, but none like him.
It didn’t take long for her tank to fill, leaving her no reason to stay yet she just teetered, observing the man from her post. He was healthy, she noticed. He looked well fed, fit. Which made her gaze trail back to his arms, muscles tightened the sleeve of his tee shirt to the extent she thought it might just pop a stitch. Then there was the leather. A kutte buttoned and spread tight across his chest, patchwork of an obvious theme, one that matched the black ink on his skin almost exactly.
He was leaned against his seat, smashing down hard on the buttons to his flip phone, so distracted she took liberties with the view. Toeing herself another inch out from behind the pump, trying for a better angle of the tribal tattoos that lined each side of his shortcut mohawk. His body shifted, and her heart plummeted to her stomach.
He felt her staring, of course. He caught her the moment she came up over the hill. Like a bee to honey, attention was immediate. Cataloging each picture-perfect detail. Her legs tucked and squeezing tight as she leaned into the turn. The way her tiptoes walked the bike into a park. How her body rolled down to touch her toes. Each subtle curve to her petite form as her hands stretched up towards the sky, lifting her shirt and exposing a thick pink scar that curved up her abdomen. Everything about her was a hook line and sinker.
His thought was the exact same. He’d never seen anyone like her, not in Queens, and certainly never in Charming. He tried to give the appearance of focus on anything else, clicking the letter ‘A’ over and over pretending to type a lengthy message to no one, but his head shot up when her eyes started to feel like they were burning a hole in his head. Lifting his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose with a dimpled smile. Her head snapped, cheeks rosy from the heat turned bright red. His gaze followed with a tilt. Adding to the growing list of every little thing that made this woman drop dead gorgeous. A mess of chocolate silk strands, braids shaggy with frizz from her helmet. Cherry red lips, smiling at him, for him. Then she spoke, almost too soft to hear. He felt a tickle in his brain, a flutter in his chest, and a twitch in his dick, all at once.
“Nice wheels,” she said quickly, trying desperately to hide the smirk that was dangerously visible. She dipped back behind the pump, mouthing the words to herself, mentally cursing the universe for taking the personality trait that knew how to be smooth.
“I wish I could say the same,” he shrugged his shoulders, holding strong with that cheeky smile, words laced with the remnants of his old life. The faintest hints of New York still slipping off his tongue from time to time.
He heard her giggle softly, and he leaned. Tipping his sunglasses back down the bridge of his nose for a better view.
“Ouch,” she muttered, jiggling the gas handle, quick to tighten down the gas cap. Her eyes fluttered, only sparing him a quick glance before she spun back around. “Mines faster,” she swung her leg back over, a grind to her hips as she adjusted in the seat. He swallowed, hard, breathless at how effortlessly her body rippled. He opened his mouth to speak but her head was shoved back in her helmet before the words made it out of him.
She fixed her gloves, kicked her stand, and warmed the engine with a single rev. She tiptoed herself back into view and twiddled her fingers towards him. Him with his mouth gapped open like he was trying to catch flies. All he had to do was ask for her number, her name, anything, but nothing came out. Nothing but a belly deep groan while he watched the itty-bitty biker disappear into Charming.
It didn’t take long after for her to roll through downtown, and everything was exactly as she expected. Small town charm untouched by chaos.
California’s best kept secret.
She parked against the brick of her new building, taking in the neighborhood with extreme caution. She chose the location intentionally. It was central. Not too far from the highway, near the local shops, and the only available listing that would guarantee a decent response time from the police station. She unstrapped her duffel from the back, weighted with a week's worth of clothes, a month's worth of underwear, and as many sets of socks the side pocket could fit.
Everything about the move was sudden, rushed. But the building manager was happy to accommodate, seeing as she was the only interested party since listing it months ago. The rent was a quarter of the cost she was used to, which was a third of what it actually costs for a half decent loft in Los Angeles. For one-twelfth of the money, she got so much more.
Paperwork went seamlessly, and the front door opened to her new home. It was advertised as a studio, but the bedroom and living space were divided by a partial wall, a beautiful archway giving the appearance of separation. Hardwood floors, a kitchen she had no intention of using, and a master bathroom with a tub that wouldn’t quite cover her knees.
It wasn’t perfect, but it already felt like home. She triple checked the integrity of the door locks, checked the windows, and the closet. After she was sure she was alone, safe, she sat herself in the center of the cool wood flooring, tugging open her bag until the journal of chaos flipped open in her lap.
Day 1: I talked to a stranger.
She stared at the sentence for the better part of the night. Pride thumping through her body, the sting of numbness in her arms almost something forgettable, the comfort she was searching for let her feel something she hasn’t felt in the better part of a year.
Peace.
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