Aida

Argent and I have been motoring down the highway for an hour, and I have no clue which direction we’re even going. I’ve had my face buried in his jacket for the last half hour. Partly for the sense of comfort and calm it gives me and partly because the further we go, the more the feeling of dread takes over me.

As we speed past yet another gas station and fast-food place, I feel a soft buzzing coming from his pocket that stirs me from my sleepy state. That’s lucky, or else I may have been in serious danger of sliding off this bike.

Argent starts to slow...