06-11-2014, 08:10 AM
The ride calmed Jensen. It was like he was six years old again spinning down the track focused on nothing else besides the single most important rules of motocross: don't fall off and don't run into someone else.
He focused on the van's tail lights and keeping close. He could always follow Connor's carrots if he lost his way, but there was something far more assuring of watching the van itself take every turn. The bike represented freedom; with it he could hurl in and out of problems at full speed. Air snaking under his collar tickled the temptation to go faster, to take that corner sharper next time. Keeping control, he couldn't be chased by the demons haunting him; rather, he could out-run them. When the Gift poured through his body, any less composure and it would shred him to pieces as surely as the asphalt flying beneath the tires.
Jensen watched from the side of the road while the van was cleared of personal items and the keys laid on the hood. Outwardly, he was an unreactive pillar of white, yellow and black gear that shielded his body and face from the elements. That helmet swiveled every so slightly when the driver and Connor started walking as Jensen followed their path.
When the destination became clear, he sped off to park much closer. Figures darting toward the van darkened the corner of his eye, but Jensen did not look back.
He parked, anti-theft device activated, and made to join the other two men in the bar. He stood at the door for some moments, but eventually Connor's presence lured him across the threshold.
A few slurred gazes turned to him when he entered. The place was not unfamiliar; he hadn't been here before, yet at the same time, he'd seen the interior of a thousand similar places. Mexico, South Africa, Russia .. they filled with the same bodies, they served the same escapism.
He pulled the helmet from his head and swiped the mussed-up strands of hair from his face. A final look side-to-side and he joined the other two men in time to hear Connor admit their stupidity. The look that followed stabbed deep. He turned toward the bar without response.
His order to the bartender was met with a stern frown. The man begrudgingly slammed a palm-sized bottle of water in front of Jensen, only to charge him twelve-dollars. Jensen paid without word; tip included.
He caught up with his companions at a table. His bottle of water sat plain next to glasses filled with more aromatic, darker liquids. The longing for them, for something to wipe away the embarrassment and guilt was strong. He feared what would happen if he started drinking again. He hadn't had a drop since meeting Doulou. He did envy how the other men swallowed without coughing, though. Liquor burned all the way down; such was the point, he supposed.
Before sitting, he unzipped his jacket, he wore only a plain white undershirt beneath that was still darkened around the neck with sweat. He pulled his bike gloves to unscrew the tiny cap and tucked them away safely in an inner pocket. With all the sleight, small movements, he hadn't anticipated chugging the entire bottle of water in one gulp, yet he did, and yearned for a second when it emptied prematurely.
He was seated across from the driver. Although the man's appearance was far cleaner than Connor's shirt, it could be said he had liters of blood on his hands, but Jensen's mind made the case for his own, far more severe guilt. Despite this man's methods, he saved them. Jensen and Jatinder, the poor boy likely still lay alone in the dirt, would have been dead if not for this man. Connor also, perhaps.
Jensen finally added to the conversation. His mood was as quiet and reserved as Connor's was elated and vibrant. For that, Jensen was glad, the Gift was an amazing conduit of grace.
He looked the stranger in the eye, "Thank-you. You saved me, and others, by arriving when you did. My name is Jensen and this is Connor."
He reached across the table to shake the man's hand.
Of course, as he did, his eyes were lifted to a figure seated at a booth behind Hood. She was pretty in a glamorous sense. Her long red hair lay in enormous curls down her back. Her eyes were heavily blackened with make-up. Her cheeks were razor sharp and plump lips were brushed with bright red colors. She sipped on a highball, and when she realized Jensen finally noticed her, the eye contact followed with a wink on her part. Jensen forced his eyes to return to Hood when she uncrossed and recrossed all-too-muscular legs.
Please don't come over. He begged the universe. The table couldn't possibly get any more awkward than it already was.
Edited by Jensen James, Jun 11 2014, 12:05 PM.
He focused on the van's tail lights and keeping close. He could always follow Connor's carrots if he lost his way, but there was something far more assuring of watching the van itself take every turn. The bike represented freedom; with it he could hurl in and out of problems at full speed. Air snaking under his collar tickled the temptation to go faster, to take that corner sharper next time. Keeping control, he couldn't be chased by the demons haunting him; rather, he could out-run them. When the Gift poured through his body, any less composure and it would shred him to pieces as surely as the asphalt flying beneath the tires.
Jensen watched from the side of the road while the van was cleared of personal items and the keys laid on the hood. Outwardly, he was an unreactive pillar of white, yellow and black gear that shielded his body and face from the elements. That helmet swiveled every so slightly when the driver and Connor started walking as Jensen followed their path.
When the destination became clear, he sped off to park much closer. Figures darting toward the van darkened the corner of his eye, but Jensen did not look back.
He parked, anti-theft device activated, and made to join the other two men in the bar. He stood at the door for some moments, but eventually Connor's presence lured him across the threshold.
A few slurred gazes turned to him when he entered. The place was not unfamiliar; he hadn't been here before, yet at the same time, he'd seen the interior of a thousand similar places. Mexico, South Africa, Russia .. they filled with the same bodies, they served the same escapism.
He pulled the helmet from his head and swiped the mussed-up strands of hair from his face. A final look side-to-side and he joined the other two men in time to hear Connor admit their stupidity. The look that followed stabbed deep. He turned toward the bar without response.
His order to the bartender was met with a stern frown. The man begrudgingly slammed a palm-sized bottle of water in front of Jensen, only to charge him twelve-dollars. Jensen paid without word; tip included.
He caught up with his companions at a table. His bottle of water sat plain next to glasses filled with more aromatic, darker liquids. The longing for them, for something to wipe away the embarrassment and guilt was strong. He feared what would happen if he started drinking again. He hadn't had a drop since meeting Doulou. He did envy how the other men swallowed without coughing, though. Liquor burned all the way down; such was the point, he supposed.
Before sitting, he unzipped his jacket, he wore only a plain white undershirt beneath that was still darkened around the neck with sweat. He pulled his bike gloves to unscrew the tiny cap and tucked them away safely in an inner pocket. With all the sleight, small movements, he hadn't anticipated chugging the entire bottle of water in one gulp, yet he did, and yearned for a second when it emptied prematurely.
He was seated across from the driver. Although the man's appearance was far cleaner than Connor's shirt, it could be said he had liters of blood on his hands, but Jensen's mind made the case for his own, far more severe guilt. Despite this man's methods, he saved them. Jensen and Jatinder, the poor boy likely still lay alone in the dirt, would have been dead if not for this man. Connor also, perhaps.
Jensen finally added to the conversation. His mood was as quiet and reserved as Connor's was elated and vibrant. For that, Jensen was glad, the Gift was an amazing conduit of grace.
He looked the stranger in the eye, "Thank-you. You saved me, and others, by arriving when you did. My name is Jensen and this is Connor."
He reached across the table to shake the man's hand.
Of course, as he did, his eyes were lifted to a figure seated at a booth behind Hood. She was pretty in a glamorous sense. Her long red hair lay in enormous curls down her back. Her eyes were heavily blackened with make-up. Her cheeks were razor sharp and plump lips were brushed with bright red colors. She sipped on a highball, and when she realized Jensen finally noticed her, the eye contact followed with a wink on her part. Jensen forced his eyes to return to Hood when she uncrossed and recrossed all-too-muscular legs.
Please don't come over. He begged the universe. The table couldn't possibly get any more awkward than it already was.
Edited by Jensen James, Jun 11 2014, 12:05 PM.