Ray

I was seventeen, and I ran away to the village to my grandmother's, to get away from everything: from the Unified State Exam, from my mother's lectures, and from him—from Ray. We broke up in April because I saw him in the park with another girl. He didn't even deny it: "So what? Did you think we were forever?" That's how he was.

July. Heat. I was walking with Gee down the evening street when a heavy rumble came from the highway. Three motorcycles. A black Harley, a silver Yamaha, and an old Ural with a sidecar, converted into a custom. We pulled over to the side of the road to let them pass, but they braked themselves.

The first biker was dark-haired, wearing a vest with a skull on it. The second was red-haired and had a pigtail. And the third... took off his helmet.

I recognized him before I realized it was real. Ray. The same one, with dark hair, two meters tall, and a tattoo on his neck—some kind of crap like a crown of thorns. And he was grinning. Just like he had that evening in the park.

"Oh, hey, baby," he said, jumping off the bike. "What, you live in this hole? Nothing's changed. Still the same simpleton."

Gee tugged at my sleeve and whispered, "Is that him? That jerk?" I couldn't utter a word. Ray came closer, and his friends laughed. He looked me up and down as if I were dirt under his boots.

"I heard you were telling everyone in town how bad I am. And what about you? Alone, without a boyfriend, with that..." he nodded at G. "It's not the right fit."

“Please go away,” I squeezed out. My voice trembled.

But he didn't leave. Instead, he grabbed my chin, sharply, painfully, and kissed me. Not romantically. No. It was like spitting. He kissed me to show his people: look, she's mine, I can do this. And then he pushed me away, wiped his lips with the back of his hand, and burst out laughing.

"You're a shitty kisser, by the way. It used to be better. Or have I just fallen out of touch with country girls?"

The red-haired biker whistled. The bald one spat and said, "Danya, you taste like a homeless person." And Danya chimed in:

— Oh, right. Look at her. Are you wearing grandma's clothes? Or is this some kind of provincial chic? Poor, but clean.

I was silent from shame and didn't whisper what to do. As Ray said, "Will you come with us?"