The Fast and the Furious. Mia pov.
Sep. 23rd, 2001 08:15 pmI can drive, and I've got my own car that I put together myself--Dom taught me that much--but I'm not like them. Letty and Dom, all there is for them is cars. I remember Letty, fourteen, oil covering her hands, leaning over the engine of some car when Dom let her fix something all on her own. She barely even glanced up when I brought her a Coke.
I was always the girly girl, and none of them wanted that. None of them except Vince, and I didn't want anyone who wanted the girly girl type.
I remember her at sixteen, back up against the door of a car, Dom kissing and kissing and kissing her, their hands leaving streaks down the back of each other's coveralls, me watching for long, long moments and sliding back out the door before they could notice me. Later, hearing them in his room, small murmurs and moans that I could never be a part of.
After that, I could never have her, and in a way, I could never have Dom either. Sure, he was still my brother, and he still watched out for me and took care of me and taught me what I needed to know, but I couldn't go to him in the middle of the night anymore when I was sad or missing mom and dad or just needing the comfort of another person's arms.
I knew Letty and I would never be best girlfriends the way you read about in books, but I wanted something. A friend who understood cramps and multiple orgasms and boyfriends. But Dom was my brother, and we didn't talk about it.
So I cooked and washed dishes and kept the house clean and the refrigerator full of beer and food and soda. So Letty wouldn't have to. So Dom wouldn't have to. So they could concentrate on cars and sex and racing.
And sometimes one of them noticed. Dom would wrap his arm around my waist and kiss my cheek and tell me how great I am. Letty would smile at me and raise her beer and say thanks. But mostly, mostly it was just the way we lived.
I was always the girly girl, and none of them wanted that. None of them except Vince, and I didn't want anyone who wanted the girly girl type.
I remember her at sixteen, back up against the door of a car, Dom kissing and kissing and kissing her, their hands leaving streaks down the back of each other's coveralls, me watching for long, long moments and sliding back out the door before they could notice me. Later, hearing them in his room, small murmurs and moans that I could never be a part of.
After that, I could never have her, and in a way, I could never have Dom either. Sure, he was still my brother, and he still watched out for me and took care of me and taught me what I needed to know, but I couldn't go to him in the middle of the night anymore when I was sad or missing mom and dad or just needing the comfort of another person's arms.
I knew Letty and I would never be best girlfriends the way you read about in books, but I wanted something. A friend who understood cramps and multiple orgasms and boyfriends. But Dom was my brother, and we didn't talk about it.
So I cooked and washed dishes and kept the house clean and the refrigerator full of beer and food and soda. So Letty wouldn't have to. So Dom wouldn't have to. So they could concentrate on cars and sex and racing.
And sometimes one of them noticed. Dom would wrap his arm around my waist and kiss my cheek and tell me how great I am. Letty would smile at me and raise her beer and say thanks. But mostly, mostly it was just the way we lived.