#lfds

“You know, sooner or later you have to go back to the track,” Bobby said from behind his newspaper.

“Can we go today?” you asked, feeling the nerves rising in you before you had even said the words out loud.

He lowered the paper to look at you, a subtle smile hiding under his unkempt beard. “Absolutely,” he said excitedly.

You stood inside of your garage, next to your new car, and looked out onto the empty track. It was strange how a place that had given you so much solace over the years now brought nothing but fear. You couldn't see the turn where you had crashed, but you knew that it would take you only ten short steps forward and it would come into view. The sound of Bobby and John's voices drowned out as you took your first step forward. This wasn't just about stepping back onto a track where you had an accident, this was about taking back something that the crash took from you, this was the first step in taking control of your fear.

Bobby and John had stopped talking as they watched you walk onto the tarmac, your head hung low, your eyes focused on the spot right in front of your feet, your hands in your pockets. Your heart pounding in your chest so hard that it made your ears ring, your blood feeling like ice as it made its way through your veins. Never had you felt a paralyzing fear like that before.

With one last deep breath you turned your head to look at the spot where you crashed, and the instant your eyes landed on the turn you could hear the sound of your screeching tires followed by a loud crash in your mind. Both Bobby and John where paying close attention to you and they could see you flinch. It was hard for both men to watch you, but they knew this was something you needed to do on your own.

Your legs felt heavier than they had done during your physical therapy as you walked towards the place where it had all happened. The turn felt like it was a million miles away, but at the same time it was too close. As your legs carried you across the track you tried to keep your eyes on anything but the wall you had landed in. You listened to the birds chirping in the trees, your nose taking in the smell of rubber and gasoline, your eyes focused on the small flowers growing in the grass in between the tarmac on the track.

You used to feel more at home here than in your own apartment, you used to spend more time here than in your own apartment. You used to love this place more than anything and anywhere else in the world. You didn't anymore though.

Now this was a place that nearly took your life. A place that deformed you, both physically and mentally. This place that once felt like home was tainted, ruined, broken. And so were you.

Standing in front of the concrete wall it felt like all the air was sucked from your lungs. In your mind you saw your car hit the wall, over and over again. One hand ran over the creases on the wall that your car had made, stopping only when they hit a spot with black paint on it. You subconsciously rubbed the left side of your face that was held together by steel plates. There where creases on your face just like the wall from the surgical scars, ones that would probably never fade completely.

You had never been concerned about the way you looked, it had always been about the sport for you, about the car and about the race, never about your appearance, but now… the scars on your face was all you could see when you looked in the mirror. In some ways you felt like that was what you had been reduced to, like that had become your new identity, the way the world saw you.

In your mind you where no longer the best female race car driver in America, you where the girl that crashed. And it was literally written all over your face.

You fell to your knees and hid your face in your hands as you let the tears fall from your eyes. How long you sat there, you didn't know, but after a while you could feel a large, heavy jacket being wrapped around your shoulders before a strong hand landed on your back.

You didn't need to look up to see who it was, you would recognize the smell of that jacket and the comfort of that touch anywhere. He didn't say anything, he just sat there next to you and rubbed soothing circles on your back as the quiet sobs raced through your body.

Eventually you sat back on your heels and your eyes met the familiarity and the safety of Dean's emerald gaze. There was a mixture of compassion and worry on his handsome face that instantly filled you with guilt.

“Thank you,” you said meekly, averting your eyes from his as you moved to sit on your ass.

“Anytime,” he said with a slight smile as he mirrored your movements.

He sat so close that your shoulders were touching, and without thinking you leaned into him and rested your head on his shoulder. It felt so natural, so comforting, and for a little while you let your guard down and accepted the safety that he brought you.

I didn't make it into my car that day, or the following week for that matter. I had to find a way to get comfortable just putting my feet on that track before I could jump back in the driver’s seat of my car. I didn't speak anymore with Dean after our little moment either. I just couldn't look into his eyes and pretend like it didn't happen, and I certainly couldn't have a conversation with him about it, so I did the very mature thing, and ignored him.

The next Monday was the first time I got inside of my new car. John and his team had done a terrific job on it, it looked and preformed just like my old car had done which was strangely comforting and terrifying at the same time.

I didn't drive it that day. I sat in the car for about half an hour with the engine running, clutching the wheel until my fingers grew numb, but I could not will myself to put my foot on the throttle. Same thing happened the day after, and the day after that. It didn't feel like it was getting any better, it didn't feel like I was getting any better, and it just fuled my ever growing anger.

It was Wednesday evening and I was back in my small apartment, beating myself up for being such a coward, when Dean showed up at my door.

Dean was looking up and down the hallway as he waited for you to open the door. You were watching him through the little peephole in your door while strongly considering not opening up. Eventually you did though, the curiosity as to why he was there getting the best of you.

“Hey,” he said with a soft smile as you opened the door.

“Hi.” You stepped aside to let him inside, and he took you up on the silent invitation.

For a moment the two of you just stood there, looking at each other in silence as if neither of you knew what to say to start a conversation.

“What are you doing here, Dean?” you finally asked with a sigh. Keeping him away from you was going to be really hard if he didn't stop showing up at random all the time.

“I wanted to talk to you about something,” he said with an apologetic tone in his voice. “I know you don't want me here, (YN), but I just have to get this off my chest. If you just listen to me I'll promise I'll leave you alone afterwards.”

“Okay,” you said while turning on your heel and headed back to your living room. “Can I get you anything?” you asked as he took a seat on your couch.

“No, thank you,” he said.

You took a seat on a chair facing the couch as you waited for whatever came next. This could be anything. It could be Dean yelling at you for how you treated him. It could be about wanting to get back together. It could be about him giving up on you completely… it could be anything and you really just needed him to get to the point already.

“I was let go from my job last week,” he started, keeping his eyes on the floor. “I don't know if Bobby told you…”

“No he didn't,” you interrupted.

“Anyway. I started applying for new jobs and earlier today I got an offer,” he finished, finally looking up at you.

“Well, that's good isn't it?” you asked, confused as to why he seemed so gloomy.

“It's in Florida.”

The last words broke your heart. You had no right to feel that way, it was you that had pushed him away, and with that you had given up your right to feel betrayed right now. Florida was basically as far away from you as he could get without leaving the country. Had you really driven him that far away?

“Wow. That's gonna be one hell of a commute,” you joked, hoping to lighten the mood, but failing miserably.

“They need an answer by the end of tomorrow,” he continued, ignoring your little joke.

“Are you going to take it?”

Dean fell silent for a while after that, his jaw clenching as he searched for words to offer you next.

“Dean,” you pushed softly after a while.

“It's a good job,” he said, getting to his feet before he started pacing the floor, “and it's great money,” he continued to reason.

“Okay,” you dragged. This was it. He was actually going to move to the other side of the country. Your entire body filled with fear as you waited for him to continue his reasoning, your eyes blown wide as you followed his every move.

“And right now I have nothing keeping me here,” he said, his eyes meeting yours for a brief second.

“What about John and Sam?” you asked, your heart hammering in your chest as you screamed in your mind ‘what about me?’.

“Sam is busy with school and Dad is busy at work. Besides, with the pay their offering me I can afford to fly back here every now and then,” he said.

You couldn't get a read on him, which frustrated you. There was no way for you to know if this was something he was happy about, something he wanted, something he didn't want.

“Why are you telling me this, Dean?” Was he there to say goodbye? Was this the last time you were going to see him?

“Because I need to know where I stand with you before I make a decision,” he blurted out, probably a little louder than he intended. “I know that isn't fair to you, and I know that I have no right asking you this, and I know that you’re still trying to get back to normal, but I can't go to Florida if there is even a little sliver of hope for us,” he rambled. “I need you to tell me that I can go, that we are done.”

He looked so defeated as he said the last words and you could feel the sting behind your eyes as the lump in your throat grew. His words confused you. Was he here because he wanted you to ask him to stay, or tell him to go?

“Oh,” was all you could think of to say. It felt like all the air had been pulled from your lungs. Sending Dean away once was hard enough, but twice? Maybe you owed him this though. Maybe this was one way for you to start making up for how you had treated him. “It sounds like a great opportunity,” you said with as much conviction as you could, even if it took all the strength you had.

“Right,” he said with a slight nod of his head like this wasn't what he wanted to hear right now.

“I'm sorry if that's not what you came here for,” you said, getting to your feet and stepping a little closer to him.

“No… it's fine,” he tried to assure, but the hurt in his voice was evident.

“I wish things could be different,” you offered.

“But they’re not,” he shot in before you could say anything else.

The two of you stood there for a moment, eyes locked, just a few feet apart, both searching for lost words. This was it. This was really it. Dean was about to walk out of your life forever. You had wished for this, you had asked for this when you laid shackled to a hospital bed, you had begged him to leave and he had obeyed. He had respected your decision and he had given you space. All of these things he had done because he loved you, because he hoped that if he gave you what you wanted, you would somehow find your way back to him at some point. He was ready and willing to wait for you as long as it took.

  But you had done what you did out of love as well. You didn't want him to feel like he was trapped with you, that he had to stick around because you were going through something so difficult. You didn't want him to feel obligated to drive you too and from your appointments and help you out with day to day chores while you recovered. You didn't want him to have to look at the person he loved and see how completely she had changed, both physically and mentally.

“I better get going,” Dean said eventually, pointing his thumb over his shoulder towards the door.

“Yeah,” you said with a sigh.

You followed him to the door and opened it up for him, leaning against it with your hand on the knob. There was nothing more to say to him, so you remained quiet.

“I'm sorry things ended like they did,” he said, probably surprising himself as much as you.

“I am too, Dean. You were nothing but good to me, and I treated you badly. For that I am sorry,” you said.

“Can I just ask you…. Why did you break up with me?”

“I don't know,” you lied. “I did a lot of things I'm not too proud of,” you admitted.

Dean just bobbed his head as he turned towards the open door again. “Goodbye, (YN).”

You watched him as he passed you and stepped through the door, his head hung low on his shoulder as he walked away from you.

“Dean?” you almost yelled, your voice startling even you. He turned around, his emerald green eyes filled with sorrow. “Don't go,” you whispered, so low that you weren't sure he heard you.

The silence that followed was deafening, and the next few seconds proved to be the longest of your life.

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