full throttle || h.s. ||

three || constructive criticism

the song for this chapter is "Blood In The Cut," by K.Flay :)

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Guess I'm contagious it'd be safest if you ran
Fuck that's what they all just end up doing in the end
Take my car and paint it black
Take my arm, break it in half
Say something, do it soon
It's too quiet in this room

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Finley

    "Don't worry about it."

   As soon as the words left his mouth, the man turned and walked towards someone who was waving towards him, leaving me alone to wonder what exactly he meant. 

  What was he shielding me from? What secret did he deem too dark for my mind to digest?

  I mentally scratched my head and turned towards the still cheering crowds, surrounding the driver now identified as Full Throttle, who seemed not to care about the people praising him at his feet. 

   He was still wearing his helmet and leaning lazily against his car. Clearly, winning was not something new to him, as he seemed about as excited as a person watching paint dry. He seemed pretty full of himself from where I was standing, and so, I stayed there. There was no point in boosting his apparently large ego, I'd just be another voice in the crowd that he didn't care to listen to nor appreciate. 

  My eyes drifted over to a crowd of people arguing and pulling out their wallets.

 "I told you that you should have bet on him, man. The guy never loses," one man chuckled as he took a fistful of money from another man next to him, who didn't seem too happy.

  "Fuck off, man. No need to gloat," the loser of the bet laughed, stuffing his wallet, which was probably significantly lighter now, back into his pocket. 

  Another voice sparked my interest and I turned to see the driver of the Ferrari that has blown a tire arguing with what seemed to be his crew chief, not too far from me.

   "What the fuck happened out there man? You were in the lead! You could have finally beaten him!" His crew chief grumbled.

  The driver yanked off his helmet to reveal his sweat-drenched dark blonde hair, a sour expression on his face. 

  "No shit, Sherlock, I don't fucking know what happened, I just lost control of the car," he muttered out bitterly.

   "You took it too hard on the turns," I mumbled quietly to myself, a small smile on my face as I looked at my red boots, glinting in the street lights.

   "What did you say?" The crew chief suddenly asked, and it took a minute or two for me to realize that his question was directed at me. 

   I tore my eyes away from my feet, and with slightly pink cheeks, glanced over at them.

  "Oh, I-um...nothing," I blushed awkwardly.

     The crew chief shook his head at me, waving me over. 

   "No, no, no...what did you say?" He asked, not mad, but more so intrigued.

   I sighed and begrudgingly made my way closer to them.

    "I said you took it too hard on the turns. From what I saw, you gunned in on the straightaways, which isn't always a bad thing, but in your case, it caused you to have to slam on the breaks on the turn, which wore down your traction pretty quickly. In the future, I would suggest easing into the turns. I know it will feel like you are losing speed, but in the long run, you'll be able to keep your momentum," I shrugged, reaching my hand up and scratching at my forearm sheepishly.