Grape Juice from Lemons

CHAPTER VIII

Her...

" Told you the I8 is bullcrap, you would have had a better chance in an F80 M3." I gloat, walking towards Ryan as he exits his BMW a smug look plastered to his face. Winning a bet was easy with him, he always lost.

The music is thumping, people are dancing, wasting, and having a fun time, much like they were at the gym. The only difference between the two is that they're racers, not boxers and this is a lowkey race whilst at the gym, there was a rave. But this is my crowd.

" I agree, my Mitsubishi would have killed the both of y'all with minutes to spare. " Carson laughs, giving me a dashing smile before he looks at Ryan as he counts my money over.

" Didn't even try." I snatch my two hundred from his grasp, as I count over it, before stuffing it in my bra.

" I get it though, you're kissing Nicola's sweet ass, so you lost purposefully." Carson laughs which leads to Ryan running after him.

His light blond hair flying everywhere as he catches up to Carson and tackles him to the ground in seconds.

" I had to get gas, you moron! Not everything I do is because of Niki!" Nothing ever is.

" The majority of it still is. You wanted to race her in the first place, you dibshit." Carson laughs in Ryan's face as he flips himself on top of Ryan as he starts to deeply blush. Ryan hits Carson as he lets out a cry for help before I drown them both out.

All the cars and people around them, everyone so different. Yet all of our purposes are the same. To fit in. To survive. I like this scene more than the club. Half naked girls with commitment issues roam the tracks like they own the place, but they're tougher here. Snakes trying to get some sunshine from this cold world as they only hold their own embrace.

Fit ass dudes surround us, walk around like they're worth millions or more, whilst in reality, their mother bought their cars and they play with girls as Bry does with toy cars.

The sound of cars riding off as screams of victory or despair all blur Into one huge mass of noise which I like to call fun. They don't serve music like this in the club. People yelling out names as if they were prayers. As if I go to church on Saturdays and cars are our crosses.

The parking lots are packed. I smile and take a deep breath, closing my eyes, feeling every motor run through my body, every smell running through my lungs, and every noise making it's a way through my veins as pure adrenalin pumps through them. Every cell in me is lighting with a flame. This is why I get out of bed.

" Nothing better than this," I manage to mumble so quietly as Natalie catches up with me.

I take my pack of cigarettes as I take a stick and pluck it in between my pastel pink lips. I take a lighter and light the roll. Previously, I had never liked smoking, but when days got dark and alone I found nicotine being the only thing that didn't leave me. A constant if you will.

I don't see it as an attractive trait or something that makes me edgy, it's pathetic and weak, but these days who gives a damn...

I look over at Natalie as I take the cigarette from my lips. I'm still mad at her assumption about my health. Still mad that she thinks I still need therapy.

" What?" It comes out meaner than I intended it to.

I blow out the smoke, placing one of my hands in the back pockets of my jeans. She's been acting weird all night, giving me looks and side glares after our call this morning. Why can't she just drop it?

" Nothing much, just looking at the cars as they zoom into the

distance." She does hand gestures, her ponytail flowing on her neck.