Dangerous Love. The Riders Motorcycle Club. Book One.

Chapter Four.

Chapter Four.

It seems my night of freedom is over, as I get out of the taxi, to find my mother at the door, hands on her hips, and a face screwed up so tight, I know I am about to get one of two things. A tongue-lashing that will make my ears bleed. Or, the silent treatment, with long sighs as if I have kicked a puppy. To be honest, I don’t know which is worse.

“Get to bed,” is my only welcome home, my mothers voice as cold as Ice.

I do not argue, or protest that I am now 18, an adult in my own right. Legally allowed to drink, smoke, get married, or even a tattoo, without her, or anyone’s permission. I just simply slip off my sensible shoes and walk as quietly as I can up the stairs, to my bedroom. Exhaustion takes over, and I slump onto my bed, not bothering to remove my clothes. I think about the tattoos in the window, then my mind shifts to the artist who drew them, and before I know it, I drift into a deep alcohol fuelled sleep. My dreams are, well, I am too shy to say what they are, but the tattoo man play’s a staring role.

I awake with a start as my curtains are pulled open, my mother shouting at me to get up, and something about being a disgrace. I feel like someone is drilling my skull, my mouth is so dry my tongue seems as though it has fused to the roof of my mouth.

I do not feel well. Not at all.

My stomach begins to gurgle, as I look down at my still fully dressed body. It seemed I didn’t even make it under my covers. I groan, my face wincing as my mother berates me, but her voice is sounding as audible as Charlie Brown’s teacher. I feel my stomach lunge, and jump off the bed, rushing past my mother, my hand clasped over my mouth, whilst she is mid screech at me, and dash as fast as I can into the bathroom, where I proceed to empty the contents of my stomach into the toilet, only just making it in time.

“You are a mess. What will people think, seeing my daughter arrive home drunk, at nearly four in the morning?” she shouts.

“Look at the state of you!” she continues.

“Get yourself in the shower,” she adds.

“I did not bring you up to behave in this deplorable way. You are not allowed to go anywhere near your cousins again. Do you hear me. Kit and Amy are OFF LIMITS,” the screaming and shouting continues.

After finishing emptying the remnants of last night’s alcohol, I quietly do as I am told, and begin to run the bath, needing to steep the smell of stale alcohol from my body rather than take a shower. I close the door on my extremely upset mother.

As I strip off my clothes, my mind wanders to my night in the club. A small smile teeters on my lips, despite my throbbing skull. It had felt so good to be free, to be me, and not have to live up to expectations. I then remember him. The Tattoo adonis. Damn that man was so gorgeous it seemed hardly fair to females. He just had something about him, that sent a shiver down my spine. Maybe it was the alcohol making him better than he actually was. Then I remember how he refused to do my tattoo. I cannot help but feel a little relieved that I had not gone through with it. Don’t misunderstand me, I still love the idea, but I am unsure of what or where I want the thing, if I do decide to go through with it.

However, seeing his works of art has inspired me, to get out my sketch pad once more, do some designs.

I get out of the bath, and pat my skin, wondering where various bruises on my legs have come from. I don’t recall hurting myself at all. I grab a pair of joggers, and sloppy sweatshirt, and drag them on my body. The soft material on my skin feels like a hug, something I am desperately in need of, given I am feeling a little bit delicate. However, I doubt very much I will get one. I grab some painkillers from the bathroom cabinet and swallow them down, with a long glass of water, before making my way back to my bedroom. I grab my old GCSE sketch book, flicking the pages of the art work I created back then, until I find a fresh sheet. I lay down on my front, grabbing my art pencils which have not seen the light of day since being told I was not allowed to continue my art studies, and I begin to draw a butterfly coming out of its cocoon. Rather than a picture, I make it look a little like the images I saw in the tattoo parlour. The butterfly emerging into the light, feels fitting for me, and if the artist can make my idea small enough, I think I want it high on my hip bone, where it is easy to cover from my parents. Another wave of nausea hits me, only this time, I don’t throw up my insides, just let out a pained groan.

Thank God I am finished school. Imagin trying to concentrate when in this condition!

That’s another thing. My parents have this grand plan for me to go to university. The fact is, I got D’s and E’s in my A’levels, so to get any course they deemed appropriate, at a university they could brag about, would require going through clearing. The facts are, I don’t even know what I want to do with my life. Plus, I do not want to put myself through another three years of torturous education. But time is of the essence, and I need to make some decisions sooner rather than later.

My phone buzzes an incoming call from Amy. , and I quickly pick it up.

“How’s your head?” she giggles down the phone.

“Like a jack hammer is inside it,” I groan. Then wonder how she sounds so bright and cheerful, she had just as much as I did to drink, if not more.

“I forgot to tell you to drink a pint of water before going to sleep. It makes a massive difference,” she tells me.

“How is Aunty Jayne?” Amy hesidently asks me.

“Not happy,” I sigh.

“Look Mellisa. I don’t want to tell you how to live your life. But you must get out from under her thumb. She is too controlling, and I know you want to have some freedom. You don’t need to live up to her expectations all the time. This is your life. The only reason she behaves the way she does is because you allow it. Stand up for yourself girl. You are now an adult. She has zero say in what you do,” my cousin firmly tells me. I don’t deny she has a point. But after years of just doing what I was told and behaving in a certain way, I am unsure if I can ever fully be free.

We chat a while longer, before Amy has to go, and I lay back on my bed. What do I really want to do with my life? That is the issue, I just don’t know.

I reach over to my handbag, to grab my birthday cards, and sort out the kind gifts of money I received from my parent’s guests at the party last night. I need to head back into town and open up a new bank account. One which is separate from my parents. One that only I have access to, then transfer the money from the account under my parents’ control. When I go inside my bag, I see everything is gone. My eyes widen. Hell, was I robbed last night! s**t, there was thousands in that bag. My father’s guests who are all somebody in business were more than a little generous, probably wanting to impress him, and continue their contracts with his scaffolding company.

I am a fool, a stupid fool!

“Mellisa, get down here, now!” my mothers voice shouts up the staircase. I let out a long, lamented sigh, but, as always, do as I am told. Taking a deep breath, for courage, I head out of my bedroom, to face the music. I just hope, my mothers screaming turns to one of her silent moods, to save my poor brain from exploding.

I take a seat on her long leather sofa and brace myself for the argument, my mind still consumed over the lost money. I glance up at the mantlepiece, seeing all of the cards displayed there.

Oh. I guess my mother rifled through my bag. I should be surprised, but I am not, and I know she will have taken the money for ‘Safe Keeping’. Which means it will be placed into the account she controls with my father. I am not usually one to cuss, but… s**t!

“You had your fun last night. But let this be the first and last time you come into this house drunk. You have to concentrate on your future, not run around town with Kit and Amy,” she begins.

It was one night. Just one night, and what if I do want to go out, one or even twice per week? However, I sit silent, not saying a word. I do not even question where my money has gone, because I already know, and to argue is futile.

“Now, you need to sort out which university you are going to go to. Your grades are not that good, so you will have to be lucky if you get a place with a decent degree,” she continues.

“Mam,” I simply say, closing my eyes, because I know I must find the courage from somewhere to speak out.

“I am not going to go to university,” I all but whisper, instantly regretting the words as I look up at my mother’s face scowling at me as if I had said I was going to become a drug dealer.

“Yes, you ARE!” she bellows at me.

I shake my head.

“No Mam, I am not,” I say, firmer now, remembering how free I had felt last night and not wanting to lose that feeling.

“What will people think?!” she exclaims.

I do not know where this courage is coming from, but in for a penny, in for a pound. I am 18 not 8, and Amy is correct. I need to stand up to her.

“Honestly. I don’t care. You might, but I don’t. Also, I am not going to apologise for having a good time with my cousins on my 18th birthday. I am entitled to go out, do what I want, when I want to,” I say, the surge of courage increasing, so much so that I hardly recognise myself.

“What did I do wrong in this life to deserve this! I may as well go throw myself off a bridge!” my mother begins her usual rant to coerce me into doing what she wants.

“Not living in this house, you don’t!” my father shouts, his tone final.

And there it is. The threat, to end her life, and my father reminding me I have nowhere else to go. Well not today, I refuse to feel guilty about wanting to live my own life and make my own decisions.

“Okay, then I will move out,” I simply respond, standing up, and heading up the stairs.

God knows where I am going to go, but I have money, which I have saved up from my allowance each week in that bank account. Being a good girl, with no friends, left me a lot of spare cash, which is now going to come in handy, plus my mother is a lot of things but she is not a thief, and the cash I got last night, I have no doubt will be transferred into that account, adding to my ‘early’ inheritance from my grandfather, he is still alive, but wanted to give me it now, rather than wait for him to ‘kick the bucket’ as he said.

“There is nothing worse than family waiting for you to kick the bucket to get your money, Mellisa,” he had said to me, thrusting the fifty grand check into my hand, a few months ago.

Unsure if I am making the right decision or not, I head back upstairs, my head held high, back into my bedroom, and grab a couple of suitcases, then empty my wardrobe into them, before gathering everything on my dressing table, and before I know it, my room is all but empty of my belongings.

Without another word to my parents, I head out the door, dragging my cases behind me. To where, I do not know, but I don’t really care, because for once, I am actually fighting for my freedom.