Page 31 of Fang
Class sucked today.
Not only is it a class I share with douchebag Zak, but I feel like I tossed and turned all night, which made me feel cranky. Everything has been setting me off today. From my shirt getting caught while I was trying to get it over my head to the rock that somehow ended up in my shoe.
I even got irrationally upset at the lock on my door not turning right.
My period must be coming. That’s the only time I feel this on edge.
Nothing a little nap can’t fix. I just need to get home first.
Another reason I hate this class, it’s not on the main campus. It’s on a satellite campus across town. Had it been on the main campus, I could have walked to class and would already be home.
I’m humming to some pop hit on the radio when there is a slight pause between songs.
That’s when I hear it.
The tire doesn’t sound right. The car has been a little wobbly this morning, but I was hoping if I ignored it, it would go away. Pulling over to the side of the road, I step out and check over my tires. I see the problem immediately.
One of my tires is going flat.
“Fuck,” I groan.
I really wanted that nap.
Pulling out my phone, I search for a video to change my tire. It doesn’t look too hard, I’m just not sure if I have the tools to do it.
Opening my trunk, I look for the most important thing. The spare tire.
When I bought the car, the salesman did tell me there was a spare in the trunk, but I never looked at it. I’m regretting it now as I stare down at it.
There’s no way I can use this tire. Even I’m not dumb enough to think it’s usable with the way the rubber looks cracked.
It’s always pouring in my life. It never just rains.
I let out a guttural scream as I feel my nerves on the surface of my skin. If little things upset me before, this is about to send me into a nuclear detonation.
I take a few deep breaths to try to calm down. Losing it won’t help me.
I’m considering my options when I hear a motorcycle pass me. I didn’t even bother to look, so depressed as I stared into my trunk.
Then the motorcycle comes back. This time I do look up, surprised to find Fang.
He stops in front of my car, kicking the kickstand to hold the bike up as he walks toward me. That shouldn’t be so attractive to me, but it is. He is.
“You have a flat, huh? I can get it changed for you.”
I suck in a breath trying to keep the tears at bay.
“You could if the spare wasn’t also fucked,” I tell him.
He comes to my side, looking into the trunk. He winces.
“Dry-rotted. How long has it been in here?” He asks, no judgment.
That helps settle my nerves.
“It was in here when I bought it seven months ago. I never looked at it. Rookie mistake, I guess.”
He pats my shoulder. “No worries. I’ll get it taken care of.”
