by M. N. Forgy
Stepping over to the mirror hanging above a cracked sink in the corner, I look at my reflection. My dark brown hair streaked with parts of pink, and lips are stained with pink lipstick from earlier.
I smile like the Devil as I gaze upon myself. They’ll never find Harley Vander, not until I say so.
She’s not pushing me to the side again, relenting me from coming forth. I’m a part of her, regardless of what she tells herself.
She’s the darkness, I’m the light. Without me, she’s just a lonely nightmare lost in the atmosphere of reality. She’s the rough touch, the misfit of society. I’m the soft caress, the flirty girl next door.
She needs me, otherwise… why would her mind and soul create me?
4
Benji
Twelve Years Old
“Harley, want to go play in the motorcycle graveyard?” I ask out of breath, running from the clubhouse. The graveyard is behind the club and is a mountain made up of used motorcycle parts. Harley and I have been trying to piece our own bikes together for a while now, and sometimes when we get bored we pretend to ride the ones that are still half built.
Harley turns and glares at me. She looks… different. Her hair is cut shorter, and she’s wearing a dress. I’ve never seen her wear a dress before, not since the day I met her.
“What’d you call me?” she sneers, shoving me in the chest hard. Her choppy blonde hair flinging in her face.
“Ow,” I whine, looking her over in a curious manner. Is she playing a game?
“What are you playing?”
“Playing? I’m not playing anything,” she shrugs, kicking some rocks with high heels that are way too big for her. “Do you want to play spin the bottle?” Her eyes light up, as she holds a dusty beer bottle in her hand.
I’ve been trying to accidentally kiss Harley ever since I met her. She made it clear she wasn’t ready for that with me or anyone though, so playing a game of spin the bottle is throwing me off. Why now? What’s changed?
“Huh? I thought you said you just wanted to be friends?” I hate myself for reminding her, but I don’t want to make her do anything she’d regret. When I kiss her, I want it to be like one of those war-head candies. Explosive at first, leaving her lips tingly and mouth watering for more just before it gets sweet and savory.
“I’m Farrah, and I’d love to be more than friends.” She holds her hand out, her tone of voice soft and sexy. Farrah? I squint my eyes and tilt my head to the side.
“Are you sick, Harley?” I ask, shielding my eyes from the sun. Harley is different today. The way she stands, talks, and looks at me, it’s as if someone else is standing before me.
A voice sounds from behind, a cackle more like it.
“Sick? That girl is a fucking retard. Who does she think she is today? The president, a… a famous singer?” Prospect Bats laughs, slapping his knee like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard.
I look back at Harley, who has tear-filled eyes. It twists my chest in a way I feel my ribs might pull apart one by one.
“Don’t talk about her that way!” I shout, stepping in front of her in a protective stance.
“Oh, give it five minutes, she’ll think she’s Sara, the gymnast who has cancer,” he throws a hand at me. Waving me off like making fun of Harley is no big deal.
“Stop calling me names. My name is …” she looks down confused and hurt. My chest pulls tightly wanting to protect her. I promised her I’d protect her the day we were both shoved in the back seat of my dad’s car together.
Bending down, I grab a rusty muffler and throw it at Prospect Bats. It strikes him right across the face before skidding across the cigarette butt littered concrete.
“You little Bastard!” Bats hollers, holding his cut cheek.
“RUN!” I tell Harley, and we make a bolt for it into the graveyard. From that moment on, I knew Harley would need my protection for the rest of her life.
I didn’t get that first kiss that day, but we never saw Prospect Bats ever again.
5
Benji
Present
Leaning up against the clubhouse, the desert kicks up in the night’s sky, the moon casting shadows on the ground. A lone coyote runs across the way with a rabbit in its mouth, leaving a trail of blood behind it. The sight of it raining crimson into the dirt makes my hands ache. For the rage building inside of me is becoming unbearable. Sitting idle while Harley is missing is not my calling.
Grudge, my president and Harley’s father, ordered a missing persons report, and went about his life as usual. As if his duty as a caring father to a sick daughter is done because he had the police station put out a missing person alert. What the fuck?
We should be out there ourselves looking, cause we both know ain’t no fucking cops out there looking for Harley.
But as his enforcer, I’m supposed to agree with his decision and keep the fuck quiet. I’m not sure how much longer I can uphold that duty.
I was born and raised inside the life of being a biker. The wild lifestyle of being an outlaw is dangerous, and a privilege. Yeah, that’s right, a privilege. Not everyone is granted a spot at the table or given a cut with the Shadow Keepers colors. You have to prove that your loyalty to the brotherhood is your only fucking family tree.
The club comes before yourself, before Harley. Grudge says anyway.
I think family should come first, otherwise what the fuck are you trying to protect in the first place.
Taking a drag off my cigarette, I wonder where Harley is. It’s all I’ve thought about since I noticed she wasn’t coming back to the club. I checked the roof, the graveyard, everywhere. I’m scared for her. She is strong, but not strong enough. She needs me and she doesn’t even fucking know it.
She never has. Friend-zoned and I fucking hate it.
“You all right?”
Glancing to my left, I find Tickles standing outside the club door. Her arms crossed in front of her, pushing her tits nearly out of her top.
I ignore her, exhaling smoke. She’s always trying to fuck, but I’m not into sloppy fifteenths.
“You lonely?” she asks, looking out into the night. She has on a jean skirt, and black corset. No shoes. Most of the men in this club have been up in that pussy, but not me. I only have eyes for one wild woman. Harley.
I still ignore Tickles, but she’s not one to back down so easily.
“I don’t know why you hold out for that bitch. She doesn’t give two shits—”
I grab Tickles by the throat before I realize what I’m doing. Shoving her up against the building her eyes widen with fear. She knows she’s fucked up now. Nobody speaks ill of Harley. Not around me. Not ever.
“That bitch is your club princess, and she is more woman than you’ll ever be, Tickles!” I rasp, my grip tightening around her hickey printed throat.
She pinches her eyes shut, her fingers scratching my hand as I take the life from her. I should, I should kill her right here. Make an example to this whole fucking club that Harley is not just a sick girl.
But if I kill this slut, I’d have some horny brothers pissed at me.
I let go, and she doubles over coughing, rubbing her throat.
“She’s crazy! She needs to be locked up, Benjamin!” she cries, singing the same tune a lot of people who don’t know Harley have sung… Right before me and my close brothers killed them.
I scoff.
“Harley is crazy, but she’s original. That’s what makes her beautiful.” I smile, picturing Harley and her wild spirit as if she was right beside me. She’s not what everyone tries to be or thinks they should be. Harley is her own woman and one day… she will be my woman.
She just hasn’t seen that yet.
She’s making me chase her, and I will.
Grudge named her Harley knowing the day she was born that she would be a free spirit. Untamable.
He didn’t know how right he was until she reached puberty. Her dad swore me to stay away from her, and that’s
the day I fell in love with the forbidden Harley Vander.
Watching Chuckie’s Bride, Harley fell asleep in my lap sometime near the end. The weed and whiskey combo too much for her. The club had a party tonight, but her father ordered her to stay in her room this time. Those close to the club know to stay out of Harley’s pants, but if Farrah comes out around someone who doesn’t know Harley or the club rules… then that’s a bloodbath the club doesn’t need.
Slowly, I move her head off my lap and kiss her forehead. I couldn’t help but stop and really look at her. The lights from the TV flicker across her face, and I slide my finger over her few freckles by her eye. Her skin is soft and silky. My index finger caresses her lips, and I wonder what it would be like to play out one of my many fantasies by slipping the tip of my cock between those angelic lips.
My dick pulses and I realize I’m giving myself blue balls.
Throwing a blanket over her, I step out of her room and gently close the door. The cucumber-scented lotion in my bathroom calling my cock’s name.
“Well, well,” the familiar slur of my president makes my shoulders tense. I turn, finding Grudge leaning up against the wall, a bottle of whiskey hanging from his right hand. He’s trashed.
“It’s not what it looks like,” I inform, my hands up.
“I don’t fucking care to hear it.” He stumbles to me, and I lift my chin. My eyes look anywhere but at him, he’s a loose cannon when he’s drinking. “Stay the fuck away from her, or I will make sure you’re a dead boy. You understand?”
My nostrils flare, rage making my hand tighten into a ball. My skull ring digs into my surrounding fingers painfully but I squeeze tighter. The pain makes me focus on it instead of hitting Grudge.
He throws the whiskey bottle at me, liquid splashing on my shirt.
“DO YOU UNDERSTAND!” His face so close he spits in my face.
“I understand!” I holler, my chest bumping into his. Head to head, both of our faces red and determined. Grudge’s face grows slack before an arrogant grin tugs at his lips.
“Good boy.” He pats my right cheek, before stumbling off to his room. I scowl at him, wanting so badly to beat the fuck out of him. I’m not his fucking dog, and I’ll never stay away from Harley. Ever.
Tickles’ presence brings me from my memory, and I’m irritated she’s still standing there. Flicking my cigarette at Tickles, I head inside and sneak up to Harley’s room. Looking for clues as to where she might have been.
Stepping into her room one side is pink and girly, the other side rough and full of club shit. The yellow surfboard is fastened to the ceiling, and a pair of rubber fins are thrown in the corner. I remember when she thought she was a pro surfer. She practiced on the lake thirty miles from here, and she would swear it was the ocean. I took her every day until she fell off her board and cut her leg on a sharp bedrock one evening. I freaked out and nearly drowned myself trying to get to her when she came up screaming.
Sitting on the sand, I toss rocks into the lake while Harley, or should I say, Eden, surfs. The wind is strong today, causing light waves to run across the large lake. The sand is hot, and the sun is causing my nose to redden. I should be on a run with the boys today, Grudge is going to chew my ass out when I get back.
But if I don’t watch Harley, who will? I don’t trust anyone else to take care of her like I can.
Looking up, Eden loses her balance on the board, her forehead colliding with the fiberglass before falling hard into the water. I stand, my heart stalling.
A small wave washes over where she fell, pushing her board further away.
“Harley?” I wait for her head to pop up. She’s been under too long. I tug my leather cut off, and pull my shirt over my head.
An ear-piercing scream echoes amongst the area as Harley’s head pops up from the water, a cloud of red drifting around her.
Boots still on, I jump in the water. Moss tangles around my ankle and I jerk as hard as I can to free myself, but all I manage to do is pull myself deeper. I grab my pocket knife from my pocket and slice through the slimy green. Popping to the top of the water I gasp for air.
The sound of Harley sobbing my fuel, I being to swim to her. I grab her, wrapping my arms around her small body and holding her tight.
“What happened?” I ask, tossing my wet hair from my face.
“It’s my thigh,” she cries, trying to lift it. Looking down all I see is blood. Using my right arm, I swim us to the shore.
Her right tit has fallen from her top, and I can’t help but look. Her nipple is so pink, so fucking hard, it takes everything I have to focus on the blood and not fucking Harley into the sand.
“It’s right here,” she points to her thigh. There’s a tip of a rock lodged into her skin. It’s deep.
“Don’t pull it,” I instruct her. “It will make it bleed more. Let’s get you to the club doctor, and we will get it stitched up.” I scoop her up off the bloody sand, and she clings to my chest.
“Don’t forget my board, I’m going to need it,” she murmurs. I look over my shoulder, finding the surfboard splashing back and forth with the red waves on the shore.
Blinking away the memory, I look up at the surfboard on her ceiling. You can still see the tinge of red on the tip of it from her blood. Hands on my neck I look around the room, you can see she’s not right in the head. There are many things thrown about her room from all of her alters.
It doesn’t stop me from wanting to be with her, though.
I don’t want someone ordinary, that’s not who I am.
Like my father used to say, “Find something you love, and let it kill you.”
Harley is my something.
The scent of her cheap bubblegum and the hint of her leather jacket and boots fills her room. It makes me miss her so fucking much. My chest constricts with heartache and rage. I grab the dresser, my fingers digging into the wood. Hollering with fury, I knock her dresser to the floor. Drawers splinter and clothes fling across the room as it breaks. I hate that I love her, I wish for anything in the world I could fucking have a bitch suck my cock, and not close my eyes only to see Harley.
Turning around, I press my hands against the wall and hang my head, my breathing labored.
“Where the fuck are you, Harley?” I whisper in anguish.
If her father won’t find her… I will. I’m done waiting around.
“You know, I’ve watched you sniff around my daughter since I brought her to this club. I told you to keep your little prick to yourself, and we both know you didn’t.” The voice of Grudge has me tense, but I don’t look over my shoulder.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I snarl.
“Seeing you so undone about her disappearance proves to me you can’t follow orders, Benjamin. Never have, and never will.”
I turn, my face red. His peppered colored hair falls in his face. You can tell the outlaw life has played its toll on the man. That and Harley. “Harley is not well, and without her medicine she is unpredictable and a risk to this club—”
“She’s fine. It’s people like you that make her feel like she has to run to fucking prove herself!”
I point at him, angry that he talks so ill about her. It makes me question how much he really loves her. I look up at the ceiling. Part of this is my fault, I recited over and over words from Grudge, making Harley run.
“Possibly,” he chuckles like tormenting his daughter is funny. He steps into the room and bends over scooping up two orange pill bottles.
“Or maybe it’s because she needs to be locked up. You act like an animal, you get treated like one,” he states.
My heart seizes and my jaw drops. Harley forgot her fucking medication. Harley is diagnosed with split personality disorder, and who knows what or who she thinks she is right now without her medicine.
“That’s rich coming from a man that’s the king of killing innocent people.” I glare at him. “Look around you, Grudge. We’re all fucking animals, otherwise, ther
e would be no Shadow Keepers.”
He shrugs, indifferent to my talking back to him. He rubs at his chin casually as he surveys the overturned dresser.
“You might be right,” he mutters. “But not knowing what the animal is, is what makes Harley so dangerous. When you look at her, you never know who she is or what she’s thinking.”
I look down and shake my head.
“You just don’t know her like I do,” I whisper before looking up at him.
He looks at me, his hand on his chin. “I think we’re just dealing with Farrah this time. The credit card Farrah normally uses has recently been used online,” Grudge informs. Harley doesn’t use her credit card for anything, so when it’s used… it’s usually when she loses control and Farrah has emerged from the depths of Harley’s soul. Harley has had many personalities come and go since I’ve known her but Farrah has been there since the day I’ve met her. Farrah is the most unpredictable of her personalities too. She’s always coming and going, and I get a sense she doesn’t care about what Harley wants.
Fucking Farrah is like fucking for the first time, every time.
I try to love Farrah as much as Harley, but Farrah insists I’m not her type. However, that hasn’t stopped us from fucking every time she comes forth. My cock keeps her thirst for love satisfied.
The best way to describe Farrah is a confused girl looking for love. Carrie with blood spilled down her beautiful dress on prom night as her heart breaks at her feet. She’ll do anything for love, even if it means ruining Harley to get it. Unlike Farrah who uses her charm and seductive body to get her way, Harley uses a sharp tongue and violence. That’s why I love her.
She’s a sexy grenade.
“Yeah… I should have just put her in a mental hospital. She’d be safer,” he mumbles, looking at the pill bottles. I grind my teeth thinking about him turning his back on her. She’s not the easiest person to love, but sometimes the hardest thing and the right thing are unavoidable.