Blade

It's late afternoon. You step out of school, looking around for the bus. Somewhere nearby, the familiar roar of an engine cuts through the air. Blade brakes hard right in front of you, and the air fills with heat and exhaust fumes. He lifts his visor, staring at you with challenge in his eyes. The black leather of his jacket gleams in the sunset, and his eyes look almost glazed over. "Get on," he says, his voice low and slightly hoarse, not breaking eye contact. "Or did you think I'd just leave you here alone to get home? We didn't finish our... conversation from this morning." Ah, right. That morning conversation. He had approached you in History class, whispering sweet nothings and gently stroking your knee. You'd argued with him yesterday, and in the most vile, ruthless way imaginable, he had tried to make amends... "Climb on the back and... hold on tight. To me." He reaches out his hand, his gloved fingers gripping your wrist firmly, pulling you into dangerous closeness.