Island of Pain

Home : Stories by Catw00man : The Chase 2006 : Island of Pain

Summary: Sometimes you have to cross the line.

AUTHOR: Catw00man
EMAIL: catw00man@cryptoffic.com
RATING: PG-13
SERIES: The Chase 2006
CHARACTER: Clint Bowyer, Kevin Harvick, Dale Earnhardt Jr, Clint POV
PROMPT: Taming the Muse #114 (#89 for me) - Seychelles
COMPLETED: October 15, 2008
WORD COUNT: 2,412
DISCLAIMER: I own NOTHING and am affiliated with NO ONE mentioned here. Not the drivers, not the teams, no one. This is all fiction and fun. In other words...NOT REAL, NOT REAL, NOT REAL. ;-)
AUTHOR'S NOTE: It’s a Clint you’ve never seen...at least from me. ;)
AUTHOR'S NOTE2: This series takes place one year after the events of The Chase. Kevin is leading the points in the Busch series en route to his second title.
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Chase Race #1 - New Hampshire International Speedway: September 17th, 2006

It’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen.

The way he shows up, every damn time, over and over just to be shot down.  Honestly I don’t know who’s worse, him for showing up or my idiotic teammate for turning away.  But that’s another story altogether.  Watch them in Victory Lane, Kevin celebrating for the second week in a row, and Junior hanging around the outskirts like he did last week.  He’s done the same thing all season and I can’t believe no one’s caught on. Or maybe they have and don’t care.  Either way I think it’s ridiculous.

See them make eye contact as Harvick’s champagne bottle runs dry and for the hundredth time I wonder if he’ll get a clue.  But the look only lasts for an instant because then DeLana’s there, throwing her arms around him, and like he always does he turns into her and leaves Junior standing there like a fool.  But he’s not the fool.  Ok, maybe he’s a little stupid for hanging on like he obviously is but he’s not the one I want to strangle.  No, that would be my fucking teammate.  The one who has everything.

I swear the bastard must either be the most oblivious jackass on the planet or maybe he’s just stupid.  The moron has absolutely everything and I swear he doesn’t even see it.  Sure I got a shot at a ride and I’m damn well going to make the most of it even if I am getting my ass kicked for rookie of the year...unlike Harvick.  No, that lucky bastard took that honor along with his first Busch Championship.  And now the asshole’s gonna take another Busch ring.  I’ll be shocked if he doesn’t take the fucking Cup too.

How can someone be so damn blind?  Absolutely everything he could ever want has been dropped in his lap and he doesn’t even know it.  He acts like he’s entitled to it the way he swoops in and steals win after win.  How many fucking times do I have to come in second to him on Saturday?  How many times do I have to play the good teammate and come congratulate my “mentor,” the one who’s “helped me along?”  I’m sick of it.  Every time it leaves a bad taste in my mouth and I don’t know how much more I can take. 

Shake my head as I watch Junior shove his hands in his pockets and turn to walk away before the crowd thins.  It’s obvious he’s lingering, but he’s played it safe.  Even during the Busch races, he’s stayed on the outskirts and now’s no different.  Watch him take a step back, then another, his eyes still watching Victory Lane before finally turning and walking off towards the motorcoach lot.  Look at him until I can’t see him anymore and then take a deep breath to face the reason I’m here.  To congratulate my teammate.

He’s in the middle of the “hat dance” and I narrow my eyes at his annoying “Happy” grin.  Apparently it was that smile that gave him his nickname, but I don’t see how anyone can look at it and think he’s genuine.  Stupid smug ass doesn’t have to work for anything.  He’s got wins, titles, the best fucking car in the shop and a beautiful wife who runs a damn race team with him.  But all that still wasn’t enough for him.  He had to go and take down Earnhardt to add one more piece of iron on his mantle.

And I hate him for it.

Force a smile on my face because I can’t wait any longer and make my way through the crowd and around the obnoxiously orange Reese’s car.  Tap him on the shoulder when I reach him and he turns around, still with that annoying smile plastered on his face.  He’s probably the fucking points leader in both series now and I won’t be surprised if he rubs my face in it.  But I don’t let him see my irritation.  I never do.  I’m not losing my ride because I can’t get along with Childress’s bad boy.

“Shifty, hey,” he greets me and it’s all I can do not to glare at the “nickname.”  So what if I missed a shift once and lost a race?  Does that mean he has to remind me of it every damn time we talk?  Force a chuckle and grin at him, playing the good little country boy he thinks I am.

“Way to go, Harvick.  Shouldn’t this be getting old by now?”  He laughs and I swallow down my anger.  He fucking swept Richmond last week and now wins the first Chase race.  I don’t even know why I bother coming by to “congratulate” him anymore.  But Mr. Childress is here and I know it doesn’t hurt to play the “team unity” card.  He’s already dumped two drivers for not being able to get along with Harvick.  I won’t be the third.

“Yeah right,” he tells me and gives my shoulder a playful shove. “Pity we weren’t running yesterday, right?  Coulda been two for two.”  Smug ass.  I knew he’d have to make some kind of a comment like that.  As if he’d be guaranteed a win if Busch hadn’t had the weekend off.  Cocky shit.  One of these days his luck is going to run out and I hope I’m there to see it.

Smile and nod, make some agreeable comment I don’t mean and then take the first opportunity to get out of there when some local media want to talk to him.  They can have him.  I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to make some snarky ass comment to make their day.  It’ll give them something to write about all week.  They can have it.  Right now I’d like nothing better than to crawl under a rock so I don’t have to hear about it.  But I don’t really have to go that far to hide, do I?

Storm into the motorcoach lot and the very sight disgusts me.  Everyone likes to talk about what a family NASCAR is.  How we’re one big community who takes care of each other in a traveling circus.  What a load of shit.  It’s more like a group of islands drifting from place to place because we sure as hell aren’t a community.  Everyone has their own private little world we’re all so careful not to invade, no matter if we can see everything going on.

Take last year when Harvick started fucking Earnhardt and his wife started screwing Gordon.  We all knew it.  There’s no hiding who’s sneaking into whose coach.  But ask anyone and they’ll deny it.  That’s one of the things that floored me when I got into the Cup series.  Everyone has secrets, some very destructive, and no one says a God damned thing!  Course we aren’t going to blab to people outside the sport but these idiots don’t even talk to each other.  Just like right now, Earnhardt is living in a continent of misery and the only one who seems to give a damn is that whore Truex, and there’s no wondering what that’s about.

Pass by Junior’s white coach covered in flames and almost stop when I see him standing outside.  He’s got a beer in his hand and his bag at his feet and I can’t figure why he won’t just go home or go inside.  Everyone can see him.  Everyone can read the agony on his face and he doesn’t care, probably because he knows there’s the invisible wall to protect him.  Reach my coach and turn to head inside but I can’t take it anymore.  I can’t live in this idiotic world of pretending not to see.  So maybe I’m breaking the unwritten law of the land but I don’t give a damn.  This is so fucking stupid.

Spin around and stalk back towards his coach, shaking my head when I have to pass Kevin’s first.  The idiots still park next to each other even though I haven’t seen them talk in months.  Guess it’s that invisible wall again, or maybe they’re just fucking masochists and like to see how much pain they can take.  It’s stupid and I have to know why.  “Why do you do it?”

His head jerks up when I stop a few feet in front him and he looks at me with confusion plainly written on his face.  He swirls the beer in hand, then raises the bottle to his lips and I wonder if he’s going to answer me at all.  Who knows, maybe he’s going to pretend I’m not even here and maybe I’ll have to remind him I am.  This is so fucking stupid and I want a damn answer even if I have no right to ask.  I don’t care.  I want to know why he’d destroy himself over someone who doesn’t get it at all.

“Dunno what you’re talkin’ about, Bowyer,” he says as he takes another long drink from his bottle and leans back against the door of his coach.  He’s trying to pull himself together.  I can see it, but he’s failing miserably.  See him glance over his shoulder and it hits me what he’s waiting for.  He’s dressed and ready to go, but he’s waiting…for him.  He’s waiting to see him come by one more time before he gets on his plane and leaves for another week.  Dear God, could he be more pathetic?

“You’re an idiot,” I tell him bluntly before I can stop myself.  His eyes widen and I won’t be surprised if he tries to deck me.  I have no right to get in his life.  I’m nothing but a stupid rookie running my mouth, but someone has to.  Someone has to do something and I don’t care if it’s breaking the rules.  He’s drowning and I’m not a man that can stand by and watch.

“Excuse me?” he asks and pushes off the coach.  He pulls himself up to his full height which brings him eye to eye with me.  He’s trying to intimidate me, but I don’t buy it.  He’s got nothin’ on me and if he wants to try anything he’ll find out Kansas boys don’t take crap. 

“I said you’re an idiot, standing out here waiting for him.”  I wave my hand in the general direction of pit road and his eyes widen in surprise.  C’mon Earnhardt, you can’t think you’re hiding anything.  His misery is about as inconspicuous as a summer tornado ripping up everything in its path.  It’s a wonder everyone hasn’t been sucked up in his vortex.  Shake my head in disgust and tell him something I hope might at least get him to think.  “He doesn’t talk about you, ya know.  Never says a word.”

He opens his mouth to say something and closes it with a snap.  I can see my words hurt him, but I can also see he’s not surprised.  He had to know.  He needs to face it.  He needs to stop torturing himself thinking it makes a difference.  I know I’m probably a dick for doing this but someone needs to shove his face in shit he’ll learn.

“I didn’t expect him to,” he mumbles and it surprises me.  I really didn’t think he’d acknowledge me.    I figured I’d say my piece and walk away.  I never dreamed he’d actually talk back.  See his shoulders slump as he leans back against the coach and I feel like a total ass.  Maybe this is why no one said anything, they didn’t want to make him look like that.

“For the record he’s the bigger fool.”  His eyes turn up to look at me and I can’t believe I said that.  But it’s true.  Harvick was a fool to be with him in the first place.  He never had any intention of leaving DeLana.  He couldn’t have.  But to walk away from someone who obviously worships him?  He’s gotta be the stupidest person alive.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he snaps and then looks down at his feet again.  He chugs the rest of his beer and I’m sure he’s about to send me away.  I don’t blame him.  But there’s something I have to know before he does.

“Why do you do it?”  He raises his head again and I don’t expect an answer.  We aren’t friends.  We’ve hardly said two words to each other before.  I was always the enemy trying to beat his slut puppy driver in Busch.  I know I shouldn’t be the one having this conversation with him, but maybe I’m the only one who will.  Watch as he passes the empty bottle between his hands then reaches for his bag. 

“Because I don’t know how to do anything else.”  He slips the bag over his shoulder and I’m stunned again that he answered.  Move out of his way when he walks past me but then reach out and grab his arm before he gets too far.  Pull it away when his head jerks around in surprise and once again I’m speaking before I think too much about it.

“If you want to try doing something else, you could always give me a call.”  His eyes widen at my words and I realize he might be thinking I’m after something like Truex, and he couldn’t be more wrong.  Shake my head at him and shrug, “We could get a beer or something.”

He stares at me a long moment then nods slowly.  “I’ll keep it in mind,” he tells me before turning away again and I watch as he trudges off to go meet his plane.  I have no idea if he’ll call me, but at least I said something.  He deserves to know someone’s paying attention.  He deserves to know he doesn’t have to stay on his little island of pain.  No one deserves that…except maybe a certain teammate of mine.  But that’s obviously not happening 

Sigh softly and then head back to my coach to get changed and I can’t get his sad blue eyes out of my mind.  No one should have to hurt so much.  No one should be that lost.  When I reach my coach I look back in the direction he went.  I hope he calls.  I really hope he calls.

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Catw00man - catw00man@cryptoffic.com