Letty remembers Dominic sometimes.
She fucks other men, of course. Mostly they have fast cars (that go faster when she’s through with them) and mostly they have wallets thick with money (that are thinner when she’s through with them). Always she scares away the little girls in skank clothes because she knows cars and danger and is always dominant.
She thinks about him when she thinks about being dominant, because no matter how she thought she controlled him, she’s still left here, scarred and far away from home; when she puts her hands on an engine too soon and it’s still hot enough to burn the tips of her fingers; when she’s in the middle of sex and touches hair instead of smooth-rough bald skin; and when she hears men make promises she knows none will keep. She doesn’t warn the girls, though, because no one warned her and even if she/they did, they/she wouldn’t listen.
Letty can’t drink Coronas anymore and can’t stand the taste of fried chicken. She tried to give up cars, but grease runs through her veins, or gasoline, and she can’t live without exhaust fumes thick in her lungs and the feel of NOS kicking in at the push of a button.
She only uses it when she’s alone these days, driving west across the desert until she comes too close to California. She races her memories into the sunset and tries not to dream about dark skin in Mexico.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Disclaimer: Characters from The Fast and the Furious belong to Rob Cohen, etc.