Guns and Mirrors

NINETEEN

♕Harley Anderson♕

I adjust the jacket that covers my body, using it as a makeshift blanket while Danté runs a hand up and down my arm.

Despite our apartment being a few feet away from us, I still can't manage to get myself up and walk over there. Instead, Danté and I sit in the back of his car, my back pressed against his chest as I sit between his legs, our clothes being used as a blanket after being removed from our bodies. It's a tight fit- sitting in the backseat with Danté. His legs are too long and he has to slouch slightly but I don't complain. It means that I get more skin contact.

I take the moment to appreciate the peace. Just being in Danté's company is enough to lift my mood and it's even better when we don't even have to say anything to convey exactly what we want and how we feel.

"Are you ready for your race?" He asks me softly and my heart drops a little. I was enjoying the moment of not having to worry about such things however, I know that there's no point in avoiding it so I shrug.

"I don't think I'll be able to answer 'yes' to that question." I confess and Danté rubs his thumbs in a circular motion on my forearm.

"I don't see why amado. You ride well."

A smirk tilts my lips up and I laugh under my breath. With what we just did, he's definitely using the wrong words. Realising what he said, Danté lets out a snort.

"Not like that, Harley. You know what I mean."

I turn around in his arms slightly so that I can look up at him and I plaster the best offended look I can muster.

"So you're saying that I don't ride you well?" I ask, placing a hand over my chest. Danté rolls his eyes although he smiles while he does so.

"Oh you know you do, but stop deflecting."

I turn back around, pleased with his response but also slightly disappointed that I failed to avoid the topic.

Sometimes I feel like I don't love racing as much as I thought I did because if I did, I wouldn't be afraid of dying right? I would be willing to just get in the car and race. In all the times that I've sat in the car while Danté has raced, I've never once seen him scared or fearful of what may happen. His love and passion for racing outweighs his doubt and fear and he embraces death with open arms. How come I can't do that?

"Hey," Danté shifts so that he's looking more directly at me. "What are you thinking up in that head of yours?"

I sigh, looking down at my chest. "About how I can't love racing if I'm so scared to do it."

"It doesn't work like that Harley." Danté responds, eyebrows drawn together as he looks at me, "I love you and that scares me. Does that mean I don't love you?"

Silence is my only response because I don't know what to say. His analogy is true.

"You can't measure your love for something by how much you fear it. Do you think that I was fearless about racing from the start? Of course not, amado. I learnt to let that part go as time went by and my love grew. But you can't give your love for it the opportunity to grow if you only ever stop yourself from going ahead."

My heart yearns to do that- to just get behind that wheel and give myself a chance to do something I've enjoyed every time I have given myself a chance to do it. But even though there's a voice in my head telling me to do it, to say 'fuck the odds', get behind the wheel and race my ass off, there's also another voice, one that talks with much more conviction. And that one tells me to leave it. To give it up. Just because you love something doesn't mean it was made for you, meant for you. I might love racing but maybe it doesn't love me.