Chapter Text
“Come on, Revs. I promise I’ll get you more juice up at the next station. The good stuff.” You pat the dash, other hand hanging on the wheel.
By the good stuff you of course meant the usual cheapest petrol on offer, which would still hurt your pockets. Pop hums out the radio, windows down to let in the cool night breeze, you fight a yawn, red light washing over your view. Another night you couldn’t sleep. Another night spent driving alone with your thoughts, hoping you might be able to ditch them back on the tarmac behind you. You never do.
You’re sat in the middle lane, fingers tapping on the wheel. You were usually a model driver, wouldn’t usually hog the middle of the road. But at 4am it was like it belonged just for you.
As if jinxing it with the thought alone, the rip of engines peels over the horizon, headlights dazzling in your mirrors and making you squint, eyes burning after being glued to the dark roads all night. Fucking LED headlight assholes. The growl of engines drowns out your music and you roll your eyes, turning it up in objection. The spice girls sing louder as the two cars split to take the lane on either side of you. A yellow lambo rolls up on the left and a red one waits till the last second to slam on his brakes, screeching to a stop.
Ugh. You try not to make it obvious as you glance to each. Sexy fucking cars. Both gleaming and pristine, windows almost black with their heavy tint. It’s just a shame that they’re no doubt carting rich assholes inside of them. Street racers? Joy riders? Guys with too much money to know what else to do with it? Who cares. Probably judging your cute little shitbox patiently waiting for his turn to go in the middle.
You know you should just wait for the lights to change, let them peel off and move over to the other lane but you just can’t help yourself.
You tap your foot, letting out a rev. Snickering to yourself while you take a swig of your redbull. You almost spill it down yourself at the sound of the red lambo’s own engine roaring back. The rear dips as the driver sinks his foot, flashing his headlights like a disco. You want to hate him for it but you find yourself grinning despite it.
Oh yeah? Let’s go. You obviously have no intention to even try to race this guy. By the time poor Revs had even got himself rolling, they’d be long gone, but hey, it doesn’t make it any less fun to pretend.
You sit up straighter and sink your own foot when he’s done in response, flashing your own lights and tapping the wheel in absent apology to your poor car who no doubt wants no part in this. Red is joining in again with the same enthusiasm, not even letting you finish. movement to the left signals that yellow has rolled forward slightly, as if he wants nothing to do with this and is trying to distance himself from both your antics. Asshole.
Green floods the night and you all take off, red still ripping the engine while yellow slips forward without the fanfare. As you knew would happen, they’re peeling away, leaving you in their dust. Almost making a point you already knew. You let them. Still snickering, with a shake of your head. Despite finally making it up past the legal or sensible limit, they’re tearing well ahead and you settle back into your seat, ready to continue your cruise. Rich assholes but at least one of them knows how to have fun with the local peasants.
Red brake lights are twinkling ahead and you snap from your thoughts, foot kicking for the brake but you relax when you notice it’s just the red lambo again, sinking his speed to match you until he’s riding side by side with you. You give him a raised brow through your window, shaking your head again.
“Yeah buddy. Fast car go vroom. I got it.” You mutter. He revs again, pulling forward a bit as if coaxing you to put the foot down more.
You shouldn’t.
You do. Even at 100mph, your car is giving it his all, probably would be sweating if he could but you know the lambo is holding back. Could be long gone if he wanted. But he’s not. You don’t know why but you don’t care. He’s absolutely humouring you, maybe trying to make a point, but it does, even for a moment, feel like you’re racing with him and it fills your heart with glee. Yellow is still ahead but has dropped back too, no doubt unhappy about having to humour his own friend. You roll down your window before you can chicken out, knowing he probably won’t hear you anyway.
“Alright, dickhead! You win. You’re very fast and I’m wetting my seat in awe of you!” The car blasts its horn, flashing its lights again and peels forward before letting off the gas again.
Yellow flicks his indicator and glides into your lane well ahead of you, even though it’s only you three around, to avoid a pile of unidentifiable roadkill and then indicates as he pulls back into his lane. How sensible. He’s still pretending not to be involved in any of this nonsense.
“You see this guy? Your friend is boring!” You yell again and red dips towards your lane, almost like trying to nudge your shoulder playfully. You dip back at him and giggle when he flicks his lights in response.
The sign for the gas station is ahead and you know you can’t leave Revs running on fumes any longer. It was fun while it lasted, at least. One last time, you lean out your window in hopes of being heard over the wind, waving a hand at him.
“Go play with your buddy! Night night, Red!” And you flick on your own indicator, slowing down to make the turn in. The lambo is flashing his hazards at you as you fall back and tapping his horn in farewell. You roll to a stop and watch him sink it to catch up with his friend, horn still blasting even after they’re long out of sight.
You stay in your seat for a moment, unsure what to make of that. They’re still cocky, rich assholes but it was nice. These drives were more for your own sanity than enjoyment. You can’t remember the last time you laughed like that. It itched something in you, to feel like you had a friend. You sigh, climbing out to get Revs the good juice just like you promised.
The station is empty, the night feeling clammy with quiet again. You let Rev slurp up the petrol until the click of the pump tells you he’s done and you wince glancing up at the total. Making your way inside the service shop, the tired-looking cashier listening to some ai slop content out loud on his phone behind the till, you grab a soda. Now you can both have good juice. You don’t have to guess which one of you has the more expensive tastes.
You see him waiting for you exactly where you left him, like a good loyal, jalopy, and you smile, tracing a hand over his bumper as you lean against it.
“Good job, buddy. You know, you didn’t do half bad out there. With a bit of practice I’m sure you’d make the big leagues one day. We could get you on a tight training schedule. He clinks, engine cooling, in response to you and it makes you smile softly.
“Yeah. That’s what I was thinking too.”
When you know you’ve overstayed your welcome at the ghost station, you climb back in, starting him up. Death Grips floods the cabin, making you jump and you throw the volume back down.
“Let’s get out of here, Bud.”
The road is empty again and you reach for the comfort that would usually bring. You feel like you’re on another planet as you lock Revs up and climb up to your apartment. Throwing yourself onto the mattress, you curl up over the covers. Still need to buy a frame. It’s on your mental list, has been for months and it’ll be gone again when you wake up.
Your dreams are filled with red, and roaring, and open road.
“You’re so cool. I like driving with you. Is the guy inside you hot too?” Maybe your friend could just be the car. That feels nice. Safe.
“Wanna see?” The car purrs back and you bite your lip as the window rolls down.
Your grin is wiped. A face you don’t want to see is grinning back at you, his mouth moving but the ringing in your ears like alarms blaring drowns it out. The same face you always see. The one that won’t go. Not even blurred from the years you’ve tried to forget it. Everything too real. You run off the road and wake gasping, clambering to make it to the bathroom before you puke.