I lift my head and begin staring at myself, through a mirror – what must that person be thinking? Are they judging me? My hands are hooked onto the edges of the sink, grasping onto it I realize — that it is now flooding. I blink, and the water is now red. Oozing and merging with the raging current of water, is my reminder of the price of speeding. But when a pact is made, a price is not a price. I stare as my blood dances with the currents of the clean water, overpowering its shapeless form and fading… my blood is cleansed, but my wound remains open. Drying my hands with my chest plate – I gallop, my left leg cut and bruised – quite frankly I cannot feel it. To my motorcycle, I return, which has fallen over. My Yamaha R1. Its Black glossy paint is scuffed due to the accident I just had. I pathetically picked it up off the ground, as it had picked up my once long face off the ground. Turn it on only to hear what makes my skin crawl, my dopamine spike, and my heartstrings exhale in relaxation. Its engine toys with my moral compass. It fuels me. The beautiful curves and edges of speed have consumed me. Its soft hands, warm hugs, and seductive company are forever insurmountable. Speed loves me. I love speed. A pact was made, and I plan to serve her.

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