From Bully To Beloved

Colton

Sera is quiet on the drive.

We take my BMW instead of my Harley because it’s raining like crazy out. She’s wearing a pair of tight black pants and another pink shirt. Her hair hangs in loose waves around her face, and I’m disappointed when she pulls it up into a bun. When she does that, she reminds me of the old Seraphine, the one in school who used to tie her tousled frizzy hair back and raise her hand, ready to give the teacher the right answer.

We pull up outside the diner, and she unbuckles her seatbelt. “I’ll be done late. I’ll just take the subway back.”

“What time? I’ll pick you up.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t want you to go to the trouble.”Content is © by NôvelDrama.Org.

“It’s no trouble.”

“Why are you doing this?” she asks, eyes narrowed with clear distrust. “Why are you being so…nice?”

“Do you want me to be mean?”

“It’s what I’m used to from you.”

“Come on, Sera, that was years ago. I’m not that person anymore.”

“Really? Because you’ve been a total dick since the second I walked through that door.”

I lower my voice. “And you’ve been Miss Good Manners?”

She purses her lips. “Fair point,” she concedes. “I guess I don’t know what to think when you’re nice. I want to know what’s going on in your head, Cal.”

I put the car in park.

Cal. She never called me that.

I turn my body in the seat to face her. “I’m trying to make light of the situation, not because I don’t take it seriously, but because there’s no point in making things harder on us than they already are, Sera. I want to respect my grandmother’s wish and make the best of it. That’s what she would’ve wanted.”

I see a shift in her expression.

“Give me your phone,” I say.

Her smile starts to fade. “Why?”

“Just do it.”

With a wary expression, she bends and grabs her phone from her back pocket. She unlocks and hands it to me. I quickly enter my number. “Just text me when you’re done, and I’ll swing by.”

She puts the phone back where it was. I can’t tell if she’ll take advantage of my offer or not. Probably not, I think. “Okay. Thanks. It probably won’t be until after seven.”

“Damn, woman, that’s a long time. Seriously, you need to talk to your boss about these shifts.”

“My boss is cool. I don’t mind it.”

“Maybe you should.”

She gives me a strange look, yet for once, doesn’t offer a retort. “I’ll see you later,” she says, and then she’s gone.

The traffic thins the farther away I drive. I notice a flower vendor and pull over to purchase a bouquet. “Don’t you dare show up on a woman’s doorstep empty-handed, Colton,” I remember her telling me whenever I went off to hang out with a girl.

She’ll probably haunt me if I don’t bring her something.

Flowers safely on the front seat, I drive to the place I haven’t seen in years.

There are flowers everywhere. Heaps of white and pink roses decorate the area around the tombstone. They’re still fresh and in full bloom, swaying in the light rain. Gran always loved to make a splash, and I made sure this was no different. It looks like Gramps’s grave has had a little TLC too. While not as ornate, his tombstone still shines as if it were erected yesterday. His also has flowers, but nowhere near as many as Gran’s.

“You always loved white roses,” I say, kneeling by Gran’s gravesite, leaving my bouquet right in the middle.

I glance over at Gramps’s grave.

“You finally have your queen back,” I say, smiling. “I bet she’s talking your ear off, trying to catch you up on everything you’ve missed.”

I can just picture them, sitting in their favorite armchairs with tea, Gran going on and on about what she’s been up to since they last spoke. Gramps is probably nodding politely while trying to read his newspaper. The image makes me chuckle.

In the distance, I hear the roar of a motorcycle and glance toward the road. A lone figure rides around the corner, pulling their bike up alongside my car. They dismount and, after looking around, they start to head my way.

“How did you find me?” I ask when they approach.

Justin Hanson, my best buddy since childhood, runs his hand through his black hair and smiles, coming to stand by my side at his buff 220 pounds. “It wasn’t that big of a stretch to figure out where you’d be,” he says, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “I didn’t want you to be alone right now.”

“I can handle it.”

“I know you can.”

We don’t speak for a time. I remain kneeling, my hand resting on the tombstone while Justin keeps his hand on my shoulder. I never wanted to come home when my parents were still alive. Justin and I were always riding bikes or hiking up the mountain or looking at Justin’s dad’s porn magazines. We were always causing a ruckus around the neighborhood, you know, throwing rocks at cars-never got caught.

I don’t want to be sad, don’t want to spend time saying my goodbyes through a haze of gray thoughts. I focus on the good memories. One in particular crosses my mind, and I chuckle to myself.

“Do you remember when we snuck out to take your dad’s bikejoyriding?” I ask, glancing up at Justin.

He laughs. “Ha! I totally forgot about that.”

Iwas seventeen and stupid. I mean, most teenagers were, since they were fueled by rebellion and hormones. But being a teen who’d just got their license and had never ridden a motorcycle before, I was a particular brand of dumb.

We snuck out as soon as Gran fell asleep. Thank God she’s so predictable. Exactly one hour of TV, then a cup of Earl Grey tea (which she swore knocked her out quicker than a bottle of sleeping pills), and straight to bed. Ten minutes after she turned in for the night, we were climbing down the fire escape and booking it to Justin’s place.

His dad was out of town on business and his mom was gallivanting around the world with her new boyfriend, doing who knows what. It was times like this when he came to stay with us. Gran, bless her heart, didn’t like leaving him home by himself. At that point, he was essentially living with us nonstop, and Gran had basically adopted him, treating him like her own son.

“Did you see the tits on you-know-who?” he asked on our way over. Both our haircuts were shoulder-length and we sported the unkempt look, because we thought it was way cool.

“Who?”

“Sera.”

“Who?”

“Seraphine Gray, bro. She wasn’t wearing a bra today. They’ve got bigger.”

I shrugged. “Haven’t noticed.”

“You don’t think she’s pretty?”

“Pretty? Seraphine Gray? Hellno.”

“Sera’s friend has a nice pair too. The one with the glasses. Dude, you need to pay attention to those things.”

In the parking garage, Justin yanked the tarp off the bike, and I let out a low whistle.

“Whoa, it’s even better than I remember,” I said, running my hands along the handlebars.

“Yeah, Dad’s been fixing it up,” Justin nodded proudly. “He says when he gets back, he’s going to teach me how to work on it.”

“Gimme the keys.”

Justin tossed them to me.

When the engine roared to life, my heart rate skyrocketed.

Oh, man.

This. Was. Fucking. Amazing.

I shot out of the garage like a bat outta hell. I wish I could say I looked cool, though I was sure I did for a few seconds. But again, young and stupid. I managed to get out of the garage and drive half a mile down the road before I took a turn too sharply. The next thing I knew, me and the bike were tipping too far to the right, and in my attempt to straighten it, I overcompensated.

For a brief second, I was airborne, and then I hit the groundhardand rolled away.

“Cal!”

Miraculously, I wasn’t hurt. Not seriously, anyway. My pride was a little bit, though. I was lucky my head hadn’t hit the ground, or it could have been way worse.

I sat up. “I’m good.”

Justin caught up to me and breathed a sigh of relief. For half a second. “Shit, the bike!”

He helped me to my feet, and we hurried-well, I limped-toward the motorcycle. It was stuck against a lamppost, tires spinning and engine protesting and sputtering angrily. Justin turned it off, and together, we pulled the bike away from the post and propped it back up. Not only was there a dent where it had hit the streetlamp, there was also a huge scrape across the paint on the side that had skidded against the asphalt.

“Oh, God, oh, no,” Justin muttered.

My heart immediately sank. “It’s okay, dude. We can fix it before he gets back.”

“How? I don’t know how to fix it.”

“We’ll figure it out.”

I helped Justin walk the bike back to the parking garage. I realized I was more hurt than I’d initially thought. Every time I put weight on my leg, a sharp pain shot through my knee. I couldn’t focus on that right now. My mind was racing, thinking of how to get us out of this mess. Luckily, his dad wouldn’t be home for a week. We had time.

At least, I thought we did, until we got back and found Gran standing in the open garage (yeah, thanks Earl Grey). She was in her rose robe, with curlers in her hair, and arms crossed. Not only was I surprised to see her, but the stern expression on her face told me all I needed to know about what she was feeling.

“Colton Maximilian Ashton,” she scolded. “Care to explain what you think you’re doing?”

The memory is as vivid now as it’s always been. Justin and I got in a shitload of trouble. Gran made me call his dad and tell him what I’d done. Then, as a punishment, I had to help him fix the bike by paying for the damage with my pocket money and extra hours of work around the house and garden. Despite all of that, I don’t regret what I did. It was through that whole situation that I developed a love of motorcycles, and I ended up hanging out with my buddy every free chance I had.

“She was so mad,” I recall, getting to my feet. “And then when she learned I enjoyed fixing bikes, I thought she was going to be angry again, but she was supportive.”

“Ehh…to a point,” Justin reminds me. “I remember her not beingthatsupportive when we wanted to ride across the country.”

“She was just worried.” I laugh. “She made me call her at every rest stop.”

Justin chuckles. “Sorry we missed the service, bro. But glad we’re here now.”

I nod and pat him on the back. “You can head on over to the shop. I’ll meet you there.”

Justin inclines his head and doesn’t speak as he leaves. I don’t stick around for too long. I take another minute or two to say my goodbyes, and then I follow.

I’m lighter when I climb back into the car. Now that I’ve said a proper goodbye, I feel better.

Time to move on.

Time to do what I returned home to do.