Manic
Page 64
"I'll talk to Ronin and see."
When Ronin and Ford wake up they are stunned silent by the artwork on my body. It's all in shades of black and red, just like Spencer's tattoos. The back piece, I can see in the mirror, is a bold Shrike Bikes logo. There's a crouching blackbird silhouette with red Shrike Bikes lettering inside the body and the whole thing is surrounded by a perfect red circle.
But it's the front piece that takes my breath away. It's a beautiful composition depicting a Samurai warrior and a blackbird sitting in a cherry tree. For the first time, in all the paintings Spencer Shrike has competed on my naked body, my girly parts are not emphasized. The painting flows flawlessly over my curves, hiding every inch of skin underneath. The blossoms take me back to the first day I arrived at Chaput Studios, broken, scared, and barely holding myself together.
And a gentle man named after a masterless warrior pushed me in a swing and started the healing.
But that moment in time was fleeting, just like those flowers.
That girl blew away in the wind and this girl took her place.
If I thought the catsuit made me feel beautiful and fully dressed, this is a hundred times that.
I feel like a goddess.
And when I get to town, I walk down that Sturgis strip with my head up, feeling loved and pretty.
And no one whistles or talks to me rudely. They say hello, they compliment Spencer's talent, they take pictures with me, and they treat me like a piece of art.
I see him in the crowd. Watching me, following our progress down the street, but from the opposite side. Trying to be stealthy, I guess. And a small part of me wonders if he's the real reason I took this job so quickly. I knew as soon as I saw the motocross transport trucks on the highway he'd be here. So did Spencer.
He comes to the show that night too. Stands right in front. Here the crowd is more rowdy, they are all drunk after all, but Wade stands still, his eyes never moving from me while I'm on stage.
He was my first love. I thought he was the one. I cried over losing him for years after his mom sent me away.
But when he finally lifts his hand to wave I don't wave back.
Because I'm not a runner anymore.
I'm a chaser.
When Ronin and Ford wake up they are stunned silent by the artwork on my body. It's all in shades of black and red, just like Spencer's tattoos. The back piece, I can see in the mirror, is a bold Shrike Bikes logo. There's a crouching blackbird silhouette with red Shrike Bikes lettering inside the body and the whole thing is surrounded by a perfect red circle.
But it's the front piece that takes my breath away. It's a beautiful composition depicting a Samurai warrior and a blackbird sitting in a cherry tree. For the first time, in all the paintings Spencer Shrike has competed on my naked body, my girly parts are not emphasized. The painting flows flawlessly over my curves, hiding every inch of skin underneath. The blossoms take me back to the first day I arrived at Chaput Studios, broken, scared, and barely holding myself together.
And a gentle man named after a masterless warrior pushed me in a swing and started the healing.
But that moment in time was fleeting, just like those flowers.
That girl blew away in the wind and this girl took her place.
If I thought the catsuit made me feel beautiful and fully dressed, this is a hundred times that.
I feel like a goddess.
And when I get to town, I walk down that Sturgis strip with my head up, feeling loved and pretty.
And no one whistles or talks to me rudely. They say hello, they compliment Spencer's talent, they take pictures with me, and they treat me like a piece of art.
I see him in the crowd. Watching me, following our progress down the street, but from the opposite side. Trying to be stealthy, I guess. And a small part of me wonders if he's the real reason I took this job so quickly. I knew as soon as I saw the motocross transport trucks on the highway he'd be here. So did Spencer.
He comes to the show that night too. Stands right in front. Here the crowd is more rowdy, they are all drunk after all, but Wade stands still, his eyes never moving from me while I'm on stage.
He was my first love. I thought he was the one. I cried over losing him for years after his mom sent me away.
But when he finally lifts his hand to wave I don't wave back.
Because I'm not a runner anymore.
I'm a chaser.
