Page 18 of Challenge Me

No. No. It was meant to be you.

I growled.

It began low in my engine, a warning rumble, but the sound tore through me before I could stop it. Al stumbled back, his arms raised.

I didn’t even realize I had reformed until I was face to face with him, my throat glowing, my fangs bared, my whole body daring him to touch me again.

“Ghost.” You raised a brow, one hand folded over the head of your cane, your voice calm and stern, like I was being unreasonable. “Al is trying to help.”

WHY AREN’T YOU?

I bared my fangs, my eyes illuminating you. You didn’t squint; you didn’t flinch.

“I can’t help you. Al can.”

Couldn’t you? Why not? You just didn’t want to. You don’t want to soil your suit or your hands. I’d heard you say it before when your students worked on your Toyota Corolla.

‘I don’t dirty my hands. ’

I growled as the words echoed in my mind, spreading like poison through my circuits. I was hurt, and you couldn’t help me. Only it was worse than that, wasn’t it? You wouldn’t.

I took a step back, forcing my engine down from a roar to a shaking growl as Al approached again. He was not cruel. I knew that. He was competent. Familiar with cars like me. Maybe he even cared.

But I could not bear to let him touch me.

It felt wrong.

So wrong.

I wanted no one else but you. Your hands on my fuse box, your breath against my dash.

I wanted it to be difficult for you. I wanted you to fight for me.

Instead, it was a stranger, and I had to bear it.

“Just a fuse,” Al said, reaching under the dash. “Like I suspected.”

He removed a part of me, tossing it casually onto the concrete floor, where it rolled away into the dark. I could barely think as he replaced the blown fuse, and when it clicked, something inside me came alive again.

The radio flickered, and I quickly turned it down before it could resume that dreadful technotrash. A pale glow spilled across my interior.

And I could no longer contain my rage.

My engine snarled loud enough to set off the alarms of the pathetic imports that filled the outside parking spaces. The garage erupted in shrill, panicked beeping.

Smoke curled from my tires as my wheels spun against the concrete. I wanted to shove Al away. I wanted to trample him under my wheels. I wanted him to feel what thousands of pounds of American steel could do to his fragile human ribcage.

But I didn’t.

For your sake.

And for Fox, who had gone uncharacteristically silent beside me.

I held my anger back, burning through it instead. White smoke filled the garage, thick and bitter. My engine shook with the force of my pain.

“Ghost.”

Your voice pulled me back from the madness consuming me. Then I felt your hand on my hood.