“Come on,” he said, holding her hand.

"Where?" she asked as she got out of the car, but without protest, she followed him.

“Let’s see black.”

Black. The fear, the decline, the release, the excitement, the risk, the danger. She would know black.

Confused but intrigued, she remained silent as she followed him down the street, listening to the buzz of the neon signs, as well as feeling the the smell of pizza nearby – which made her groan with hunger. They were on the other side of the park, in the city's central square, in front of the party spot. It was a bar that allowed minors to enter, as some bands played there; There were also pool tables, which ensured that people of all ages could hang out here. Is this where he came in a little while ago?

He handed her a helmet and there was movement, a key being inserted into the ignition, she hesitated for a moment, because she was only wearing pajama shorts, and if they fell off the bike, she would skin her legs – her most precious and necessary possession. for a career as a dancer.

Grunting softly, she fastened the helmet buckle under her chin and held onto his arm as he helped her onto the pillion, she noticed he wasn't wearing a helmet. It was a little cold, and the wind could be quite harsh.

Resting his hands on her waist, his body rose and lowered abruptly, making the motorcycle come to life. He didn't need to tell her what to do. She wrapped her arms around him and rested her head on his back, but she was nervous as hell. She had probably never ridden a motorcycle before.

“Don’t let go for anything in the world” he ordered.