The floor was cold. That was the first thing i noticed after waking up. Cold, hard concrete pressing against my face, smelling like the cheap whiskey I'd used to try and drown out the noise in my head. I didn't want to open my eyes. If I did, I'd have to see the garage—this big, empty space that used to be full of sponsors and fast cars, now just a graveyard for parts I can't afford to fix.
My left leg was throbbing. It's always throbbing nowadays.The doctors put enough metal in there to build a small engine, but it doesn't change the fact that I'll never be behind the wheel again.
I reached for my phone since it wouldnt stop shacking from the constant messages, my hand shaking. One new message. From Rex.
I should have deleted it. I should have smashed the phone right then and there. But I'm an addict, and Rex is the only drug I have left. I hit play.
It was a video of him and Sarah. My ex. But I didn't look at her. I didn't care about her hands on him or the sounds she was making. I was looking at Rex. I was looking at the way his back moved, the way his muscles tensed, the way his dyed blue hair fell into his face and the way he looked so smug and satisfied. I felt this sick, heavy ache in my chest that had nothing to do with jealousy. I wasn't mad he was with her. I was mad that I wasn't her.
I've spent my whole life trying to be the "man," the bully, the racer—anything to hide the fact that when I look at a guy like Rex, I feel a pull that makes me want to leave everything behind and be with him. It's a specific kind of torture, wanting the person who ruined you.
"This could be us, Ash," Rex's voice came through the speaker, low and mocking. "If you weren't such a fucking coward."
I threw the phone against the wall. The screen shattered, and for a second, I felt a tiny bit of peace. I hate him. I want to put his head through a windshield for what he did to my career, to me. but the truth is, I'm just a guy who's terrified of his own skin of his own feelings.
I needed to get out of this house. I grabbed a black mask so that people wouldnt recognize me that part of my life was over even if I didn't want it to be over.
When I thought my day couldn't get worse I saw her Lucrecia
She was on a massive billboard, looking perfect and untouchable. I felt a bitter, acidic laugh hit the back of my throat. Something happened that night—something so big, so disgusting, that we had no choice. We had to bury him. And yet, here she is, a celebrity, while I'm counting out change for a drink. I hate her for surviving so well. I hate her for the way she loved that freak more than herself.
The next morning
The hangover i had was brutal but i still had to go to my garage to do the obly job i had left.I dragged myself under a 1969 Mustang, I was lying on my back, the cold metal of the undercarriage inches from my nose. I had the car up on a hydraulic lever—a heavy, rusted piece of equipment I should have replaced a year ago.
I was reaching for a bolt when I heard footsteps...They were quiet almost as Rhythmic
"who's there" I barked.
No answer.
I tried to slide out, but I could only see a pair of black boots. They were standing right by the release lever.
I felt a cold, sharp shock go down my spine. This reminded me of the time in the orphanage when Wolf as we called him would stand in the doorway of the dorms, just watching us sleep. He wouldn't do anything. He'd just be there. I never admitted it but it scared me more when he was silent.
"Hey! Get away from that!" I yelled. My heart was hammering against my ribs
The boots didn't move instead. A hand—pale, with a silver ring on the pinky—reached for the handle. I couldn't breathe. If they pulled that, the Mustang would turn me into a red stain on the floor.
The handle clicked. The hydraulics hissed. The weight of the car began to drop.
"Wait! Stop!" I scrambled, my bad leg catching on a tool chest. I hauled myself backward, my skin scraping against the floor, my heart bonding with fear.
I rolled out from under the bumper just as the car slammed down. The sound was deafening. A roar of metal hitting stone that made the whole garage vibrate.
I scrambled to my feet, grabbing a heavy wrench, my chest heaving. " what the hell dude who the fuck are you "
The garage door was open, the sunlight blinding me. I didnt hear anything No footsteps No retreating engine. I ran to the security monitors—the ones I pay for with money I don't even have.
Black. The feed was dead
I walked back to the car, my knees shaking so hard I had to lean against the hood. My eyes caught something white tucked into the wiper blade.
I pulled it out. It was a piece of yellowed paper.
"GAME ON, ASHER"
I felt like I was going to vomit. That was my phrase. Every time I tried to bully him, every time I tried to prove I was the "man" and he was the "freak," I'd say it. Game on.
He is back. Wolf is back
He's been watching the whole time. He watched me lose the racing career. He watched me lose Rex. He watched me destroy myself.
I fumbled for my phone. And went to the group chat—the in which all five of us were in.
I typed the message to the group, my hands trembling.
ASHER: I think Wolf is back..
Then I called ciara