All Roads Lead to Us (Street Racers #1)

15: Taehyung

I don't know if I did it on purpose. I know to some extent I wanted to do it, but I never planned it until I was driving into that wall. After that evening with Yeeun, I lost touch with reality. Like I wasn't in my body, here, but in a dense soundless void, and things here were happening. but I didn't experience them.

I was detached from myself all this time, doing things on autopilot, and the next thing I knew, I was crashing. And then I woke up in the hospital and cried. I don't know why. Because I was disappointed that I woke up? Because I was glad I survived? I cried for several hours, whether the nurses and the doctors ran around me or not.

And then he came in. When I knew no one was going to come, when my "family" wasn't even bothered to think of me, Jeon Jungkook came out of his way to see me. Because?

Because he knows it wasn't an accident and wants to make fun of me? He didn't. Because he pities me? Why would he? He hates me. He is supposed to hate me. And I wanted to hate him even more for showing up, but the moment he left, I cried. Again, I don't know why. I have cried so much in this hospital I have never cried so much.

Then I passed out.

When I woke up, I was back to this headspace, floating somewhere outside of my body. My body aches, drained. Every joint heavy, bones too dense, eyes too sensitive. It still feels the effects of crashing, but there is more tiredness beyond it. I'm numb. Not sad I am here, not happy I am here. I just am here, feeling nothing at all.

Until I am back to work a week after the crash. I have to work. Because there is no one who will do it for me, and no one who cares enough to help me through it. I would much rather lay by the wall and stare into nothingness until something magically changes, but I can't do it.

I am working on this guy's brake discs, when a middle aged lady brings her car to me. She looks out of place in a long pink skirt, but also lost and helpless. Despite how I act with most people, I'm doing my best to be polite with the clients. Especially those that don't have a clue what's going on in their cars.

She tells me something knocks away in her brakes when she uses them, especially going downhill. When I follow her out of the garage to see the car, I feel something for the first time in over a week. Something on a positive side.

It's a beige Chevrolet Bel Air from 1975, a classic I have wanted to work on for ages, but never found one in a fixable shape and a good price. It used to be her husband's, she says, until she lost him last year. He also was a fan of classic cars. This one is in an acceptable condition. Brakes to fix, rims to wash, bumpers and summer tires to change.

It is stupid that a car makes me feel something. I feel like a child, but for a moment, as we talk about the car, I feel so light, and the tiniest bit of hope is strong enough to make me believe that maybe it is not so bad I am here after all. I'm here and I can work with cars. That's... more than enough sometimes. 

Now that I think about it, this place is the only thing, along with driving, that has kept me going for years. Digging in cars, fixing cars, selling cars, buying cars, driving, racing. In the midst of everything wrong with my life, I have this. I live for this.

Stupid, maybe, but enough to anchor myself in the reality.

It doesn't make me any good, though. It keeps me alive, but amounts to nothing. I am sure my family would agree. They always make sure to mention how useless it is. My job, driving, racing. They either make fun of me after I lose races (however they find out about them), or tell me how much better it would have been if I was like Hyun. Because Hyun is draining their savings account to be a fucking lawyer. Yeah, it would be so fucking beautiful if I could be just like him.