Never Been Ready

Deja Vu

A/N: So, I honestly am not happy at all with this chapter. I really struggled to write it but I got it all out! It's really rough, not quite beta'd just yet and it was supposed to be longer but I felt like it was dragging so.....here it is. I'm sorry for the delayed update! But it's here! Real life has me incredibly busy. I promise I'll try not to keep you all waiting again. Enjoy!

Driving down the road, the adrenaline running through my veins left, along with the boiling anger stewing at the pit of my stomach. Now there was only the worry of being late for my interview as my eyes kept darting to the clock on the dashboard and to the road again. I was fifteen minutes away from Bob's Diner and even then, I was supposed to be there already. Who knew punching that tattooed idiot driver could cost me a good, decent job?

Stupid, stupid, stupid. I berated myself, the guilt and regret of doing something so foolish eating at me from the inside. I should have let it go and allowed the authorities to deal with it. But just the thought of my boys being in there with me got my blood going; I should have kneed the idiot in the crotch instead. Although considering what I just did, now I had other things to worry about. I didn't want to draw too much attention so soon. But what if that tattooed idiot went to the police with this?

Apparently, my day could get worse. Great, I didn't think of that. Stupid, Sang. So stupid!

Gripping the steering wheel tightly, I gnawed on my lower lip as I sped past a green light that suddenly turned yellow. I just needed to make it to this interview and if I got the job, I could worry about that idiot driver later. However, as soon as I took off down the street after that yellow light, old Barry started spurting until the engine finally gave way. I was ten minutes away from the diner and stuck on the side of the road near some park with my old, beaten truck that suddenly decided to die out on me.

"Please don't do this to me, Barry, I promise I'll give you a nice rub down if you just start for me." I pleaded with my car. But to my abject horror, no matter how many times I turned the key in the ignition, Barry wouldn't start. I kept pressing on the gas to get it going but to no avail. "Shoot!" I cursed, banging a fist against the steering wheel in frustration. "Not now!"

I'd been having problems with it for months now and I knew there was something wrong with the transmission because that tiny light kept coming on. I wasn't an expert but I knew enough about cars to get me by because I couldn't afford to take it in to get it constantly checked out. However, I don't think Barry was coming back from the dead after this.

The boys are going to be so disappointed, they loved this truck.

As my dejected thoughts rolled around in my head, I took another look at the clock on the dashboard and realized with a groan, that I had five minutes to get to that interview or I could kiss it goodbye. I honestly wouldn't blame Mr. Taylor, the owner of Bob's Diner, if he already thought I was an ingrate for being late.

My fist met the steering wheel again, cursing internally at the impact because I was still hurting from that punch I threw earlier. My knuckles were an angry red and there were moon-shaped crescents upon the tender flesh of my palm from where I'd dug my fingernails in. I think I almost broke skin but it was fading away slowly, but surely. Still didn't stop the aching pain though. It'd been a while since I'd been training, as I stopped keeping up with it after me and the boys crossed-country.

If there was one thing I was grateful for, it was the self-defense lessons and training regimes my father put me through as a child. Until he eventually up and left, anyway. Removing the keys from the ignition, I pushed any thoughts of my childhood out of my mind and focused my attention on getting my truck running.