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𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 : 𝙈𝙪𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙜 𝙎𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙗𝙮 𝙒𝙞𝙡𝙨𝙤𝙣 𝙋𝙞𝙘𝙠𝙚𝙩𝙩
⇆ㅤ ||◁ㅤ❚❚ㅤ▷||ㅤ ↻
01:06 ━━⬤──── 04:05
Monroe was proud to say that she knew her way around a gear shift. Though she did have an infinity for motorcycles her one true love had always been and will always be cars.
Well, besides planes of course.
She knew why she liked them. It was the same reason why she liked flying. She loved the speed, the power and the danger but she especially loved how when it came to driving or being in the air she was always the one in control.
If she crashed and burned it was due to her own error. Her life was in her own hands. No one could control her when she was in front of a steering wheel and for someone who felt as if they never really had any control over their own life growing up it couldn't be any more appealing.
Which is why she didn't mind spending her only day lying flat on her back, her eyes fixated on the chassis of the car.
She was finishing fixing up Betsy. Her old as hell midnight blue 1965 Mustang. She had been gift, a graduation gift to be precise, from a certain guilty god-father with an affinity for all things blue and a love for his spunky god-daughter. She'd had Betsy since she was eighteen and nothing would stand in her way from getting her baby girl back to drifting around corners and skidding across highways. Monroe was almost finished, her hands covered in oil, her hair twisted atop of her hair in their consistent pile of curls.
Betsy was almost ready for a test drive,
Monroe couldn't wait.
Blindly listening to one of her murder podcasts she tinkered away only to stop by the sight of a pair of rather ugly boots staring back at her. She knew those boots. She hated those boots.
"What the hell are you listening to?"
Rolling from out from under the car, Monroe squinted her eyes up at him.
"Dateline. They have a podcast now."
He huffed in disbelief.
"It's eight-thirty in the morning and you're out here listening to gruesome murder stories while playing with your car?"
She only continued to stare up at him from the floor a little annoyed that he had disrupted her blissful day off. Okay, scratch that, she wasn't a little annoyed. She was royally fucked off.
