simply lovely

You are your own worst critic. It has been trained into you since you were a child. Fix this mistake, tighten that corner up, brake later here, accelerate faster there. You recognize your own mistakes faster than others do, probably.

It's instinct by now, feeling the car slip and knowing that you are the reason for the coming impact. But you are not the reason for this and you know it. You would admit to it otherwise, because you know and understand your own mistakes, and no one else should ever have to carry the fault for them.

But the car slips under you, twitching around the whole time already. You asked if there was something wrong but they told you there wasn't. They really should listen to you more. They used to, months, was it years ago? You don't even know anymore. All you know are the tendrils of danger wrapping around you and the knowledge that another crash, another hurt you're not at fault for, is coming, rushing through your veins.

The gravel crunches under the weight of the car, the dust rising in another cloud, and your knees scream with pain. It's not as bad as the last time, only a week before, but it fucking hurts. You push the pain away and give a last ditch attempt at leaving the gravel trap again. But it has been aptly named, and its greedy hands reach up to hold him in brains, pulling him back, no chance of escape left. The little stones just turn uselessly, even more dust rising up, and you feel a mixture of feelings, a scream rising in your chest.