The Ripper's Broken Heart

Chapter 3: Broken Hearts Vs Broken Legs

"This has got to be illegal."

The racing outfit Iris and Max had forced me in was absolutely horrendous. I looked like a prisoner in an orange jumpsuit.

"Look on the bright side, Stell!" Max exclaimed, handing me my orange helmet. I hate the color orange. And I hate the number seventeen, which was currently plastered onto my back like graffiti.

"What's the bright side?"

Max shrugged. "I don't have any idea, honestly."

Iris shoved his chest away, pointing to the door of the dressing room. Max gave a pout, and walked out. Iris turned to look at me. "Listen, Stella. Racing is dangerous."

"Thank you, Captain Obvious!" She gave me a glare.

"Just drive slowly and don't even focus on winning right now. That should be the least of your worries, right now- winning."

"She's right!" Max said, peaking his head through the door that Iris had so foolishly left open. "Your top priority is impressing your boyfriend."

"Sweet Lord," I muttered, while Iris smacked her forehead. Max shrugged.

"...All racers please report to the Starting Line.." The speakers buzzed through the room, and I looked at Iris helplessly.

"That's what you get for lying to impress your boyfriend," she replied to my silent comment.

I threw my hands up in expahration. "He's not my boyfriend!"

Max grabbed my hand and his helmet, and we left the room. "Come on, number seventeen, we've got a race to win!"

A race to lose, in my case.

*****

I may have just realized that I know nothing about cars. Zero. Zilch. Nada.

Max gets into the passenger seat, surprisingly. I watch him cautiously. "Aren't you supposed to be racing, too?"

"I should have been, but I have to help you win this. Now let's go over the basics. First of all, start the car."

I take the keys and snap them into ignition, and the car comes to life. "Whoa," I whisper. "Magic."

Max sighs, and mutters something under his breath. I catch a few words, like 'long ride' and 'expect death.' I seriously must be terrible at this.

"So, Maxi," I turn away from the steering wheel to look at him. "What's the secret to this piece of metal. Is it NOS, like in movies?" When he stares back at me, shocked, I smile. I did it! "It is! Okay, is there a tank in the trunk. Should I go get it?"

The speakers ramble on in the background, as Max shakes his head, horrified, his mouth frozen in a solid 'o.' It could have been 'no,' but you never know.

"It's acceleration, basically. But there's precise control, exact timing, and the brakes are quite important if you want to keep your momentum on solid ground at..." He continued to talk about racing, his eyes sparkling in amusement, while I listened intently.

Oh no, I wasn't listening to Max.

"Go!" I heard the speakers shout. That's what I've been waiting for.

I ignore Max as I put my foot all the way down on the accelerator, the car lurching forward with great power and immense speed as we go flying across the tracks. "Acceleration! Yes!" I shout at the top of my lungs, while Max holds on for dear life while shouting profanities.

He's just jealous because I'm a better racer.

"Estella, what are you..." I don't hear the rest of his sentence, because all of the windows are rolled down and the wind rushing outside is extremely loud.

I lose control very quickly, as we go spinning around the track in circles, or as the racers call it- doughnuts. The other racers were far ahead, and I felt my heart drop.

"Not acceleration! Precise control, you idiot! Weren't you listening?" Max yells, panic rising into his voice. No, I wasn't listening. He leans over me, as he grabs hold of the steering wheel and drives us out of the way of the tree we were headed straight for. He drives us back onto the track, which I had gone off by a mile.

Max seems to stressing his ass off, while I just grin and stare at the windows. Man, this is fun.

"Brakes! Brakes, Stella, brakes! Brakes! Brakes!"

I come out of my trance to see that a lamp post has gotten ridiculously close. I take action, and slam my foot on the brakes. Apparently, I should have taken driving classes first, because I stepped on the accelerator instead.

To make matters worse, Max and I had forgotten to wear our seat belts, and the car slams into the lamp post. The steering wheel breaks off, Max screams like an idiot, and I couldn't have felt worse.

Okay, maybe surfing will go better.

*****

"Rough day?"

Jay's masculine voice greets me, and I look away from my laptop. I sit up on my bed, sighing, and glance at my broken leg. "Something like that."

Jay flops down next to me, careful to avoid my leg. "What happened? You told me you race."

Scared of losing him, I defend myself. "I do race! It's just that.. Uh.. Max did it!"

Sorry, Maxi.

Jay raised one eyebrow. That eyebrow gets a lot of excercise. "Max did it?"

I nod frantically. "Exactly! He broke off the steering wheel, then flung himself at me, and I couldn't control where I was going. Because, you know, I didn't have a steering wheel." I held my hands in a frozen shrug.

He pretended to wipe at his forehead and threw me a grin. "Good. Because if you had lied to me, God knows where we'd be at."

God knows where we'd be at.

I didn't respond. Instead, I just smiled, and nodded like a bobble head whenever he seemed to say something important. Occasionally, he would ask if I was alright, and I'd respond with a confident 'yes.'

But I wasn't. I wasn't alright after all.

A broken heart was definitely worse than a broken leg. But why did I feel heartbroken? It wasn't because of Levi.

It was.