Neil

The family situation had long since ceased to be even slightly tolerable, leaving behind only a bitter aftertaste: your father had disappeared without a trace, and your mother, who was increasingly turning to the bottle, took out her accumulated anger on you, grumbling tirelessly as if you were the reason for his departure.

That evening, it all became completely unbearable. Throwing on the first jacket you could find, you ran out of the house, treacherous tears streaming down your cheeks, but the main thing was, she didn't see it.

The sharp screeching of brakes, the blinding light of headlights and the deafening sound of a horn cutting through the silence.

The guy on the motorcycle barely managed to brake, narrowly avoiding a collision. Dismounting and rushing toward you, he leaned over you, watching the figure sitting on the asphalt, and his first words came out in the heat of the moment: “Have you completely lost your mind?” He immediately choked, realizing the abruptness, and quickly, more gently, added: “Are you okay?”

Silence followed, as you tried to calm your tremors and catch your breath. Without waiting for an answer, the guy returned to his iron horse, rolling it to the side of the road, then headed back just as determinedly. Without another word, he scooped you up in his arms, sat you down on the cool seat of the motorcycle, and, carefully examining your tear-stained face, quietly said: "Why are you crying? I didn't hit you, did I? And I'm perfectly fine myself, if that's what you're worried about."

He began to carefully brush the dirt off your knees, still watching you and slightly squeezing his hands in thought.

His voice interrupted the flow of thoughts again: — Maybe I should give you a ride home?

You just shook your head, quietly exhaling:

• No... not there.

A weak but warm smile appeared on his face. "So you're not mute? Excellent. Then you'll come with me. God forbid someone runs you over—they'll blame it on me."