Read Emily Kimelman - Sydney Rye 04 - Strings of Glass for Free Online

front of me, using his size to try to intimidate me. Dan must
be really mad, I thought, because he was making mistakes.
     
“All I want is for you to just fuck one guy at a
time.”
    I looked
up into his grape-green eyes, they were narrow
slits staring down at me. I almost punched him, the anger in my chest balled my
fists, but even through his jealousy and rage I could see hurt in his eyes.
That kiss hurt him. I didn’t need to hit him to hurt him. I’d already done it.
    “You
don’t ask for anything because I never offered anything,” I said quietly,
my voice the texture of cool stone. “You want to be with me,
get used to getting hurt. That’s what you get with me. Pain.”
    I
shrugged into my tank top and grabbing my leather
jacket from the closet, started toward the door. Blue
followed me, falling into line with my hip, sensing my mood.
    “Sydney,
wait,” Dan said, following me out into the
night.
    I kept
walking steadily toward our bike. I needed the speed, the freedom, I needed to
get the fuck away from this mess.
    He
grabbed for my hand and I whirled around on him. Blue let out a growl of
warning. “I’m not some girl, some prize, some whatever. You don’t own me.
I’m not a bitch,” I said through clenched teeth.
    “I’m
sorry.”
    “Yeah,
me too,” I said, turning away. He let me walk to the bike alone. Blue
barked at me when I climbed aboard. “Stay here,
boy,” I said. “I’ll be home later.” Grabbing the handles I
kicked at the crank once, twice, and the third
time she roared to life. I revved the engine feeling the power of the machine
between my legs, then letting go of the clutch sped out onto the road.
    #
    T he
night enveloped me, splintered by florescent tube lights angled on poles that
lit up the green foliage like a movie shoot. The whoosh of wind in my ears
blocked out all other sounds except for the rumble of the Bullet’s
engine and the crunch of her tires on the rough road. I steered through the
village. My headlights caught the reflective green eyes of a stray dog picking
through garbage on the side of the road. A cow meandered out of the darkness
causing me to swerve around it, my heart in my throat. I slowed down, easing
back on the gas. A tightness in my chest rushed me forward though. I didn’t know
where I was going but I knew I wanted to get there fast.
    Through
the rural village out into the open space of the fields, I rode past neatly
lined crops lit by a big moon that hung like a gaping smile in the dark sky. A
fire blazed on the side of the road and I flew through its smoke breathing in
the acrid scent of burning plastic. Three men watched me pass, their only
movement the swivel of their heads as I flew by.
    I hit
the highway picking up speed, maneuvering around trucks, tall and off-
balance looking. “Please” “Horn” “OK” written
across their wide rears encouraging other drivers to announce their presence
with a toot. Which they did in a constant chorus, like the croaking of frogs on
a summer night. Two men on a scooter, both chatting on their cell phones,
smiled at me as we sped by each other, only inches separating our bikes. A taxi
with only one headlight blinded me, swerving into my lane around a truck
holding cases filled with live chickens that squawked their fright into the
night. I honked my horn, skidding around the cab, its driver, hunched, old, and
unworried.
    The town
of Mopsa slowed me down, congestion clogging its tiny roads, unprepared for the
mighty nation they now supported. Giant buses idled in a row blocking traffic.
The drivers yelled, waving their arms, and
shaking their heads at each other and the customers who lined up to board. Thin
men, languid in their movements, walked in groups, their arms slung around each
other. Women, wearing the colors of tropical birds, their heads down, slipped
through the congestion. I pushed through, easing my way between the tight
spaces that the city left me. Fitting myself in.
    One last
traffic