Andrew, a biker boy with a rebellious streak and an insatiable thirst for adrenaline, was in the midst of yet another record-breaking ride down the open highway. His long, dark hair streamed behind him as he leaned forward on the handlebars, his muscular arms straining against the leather of his jacket. The wind whipped past his face, stinging his cheeks and burning his eyes, but he didn't care; he was in his element. He glanced down at the speedometer, just to see how fast he was going, and smiled when he saw it flash past the 150mph mark.

He knew that his girlfriend, She, was worried about him, that she thought he was reckless and didn't care about his own safety. He'd overheard her talking to her friends, saying that she wished he would slow down, that she wanted him to be careful. But he wasn't going to let her or anyone else take away the one thing that made him feel truly alive.

The farther he drove, the faster he went, and the more exhilarated he felt. He knew that his girlfriend was probably watching him from the side of the road, her arms crossed and her bottom lip bitten as she waited for him to finally pull over. But he didn't care. Not today. Today was about him and his bike, and the rush of adrenaline that coursed through his veins as he pushed himself to the limits.

Finally, after what felt like hours but was likely only a fraction of that, Andrew pulled over to the side of the road. He climbed off his bike and took a deep breath. His girlfriend, She, walked up to him, her expression a mixture of concern and frustration.

"Andrew," she began, her voice barely above a whisper,

"I'm serious. You need to slow down."

Andrew rolled his eyes.

"I know what you said," he snapped "But I don't see what the big deal is. You're acting like I'm some kind of idiot."

He crossed his arms over his chest, his muscles tensing beneath his leather jacket.

"You just want to protect me, right?" he challenged, his voice dripping with sarcasm