With a double click of the top button, he unlocked the two doors. Swiftly he tossed the duffel into the back, having to fit it between the driver’s headrest and the frame. Nathan slid in, reaching up and pulling the door down and into shut position. It was a shame he didn’t possess the means to drive something as sweet as this during his racing days. “We’re going to find out,” he replied jokingly to her question. He drove every couple months or so. Driving after a long break was very similar to simply switching vehicles. It didn’t take long to adjust. “I drive a lot overseas, not so much here,” he smirked to himself. “Will knows how to have a good time.” As in, Prince William. 

Nathan frowned a moment as he adjusted the air conditioning for mid-august in the south. “Wait… is it the left…or right side of the road?” he watched as a Toyota rolled by in the dimly lit parking garage. Nate gave her a sideways glance as he easily slid the machine into drive and 
pulled out with a flat, flexed palm steering the way. 

What had Marcy been doing for the past decade or so? A combination of drugs and wearing thirty shades of the same purple lipstick? “How long were you in the straight-jacket joint?” He made a few turns at green lights and merged onto the 295 north. Nathan had never imagined he’d see her again, that she would allow him within 100 feet of her. But their dynamic seemed almost… unchanged, just more grown up. How long the social politeness, with minimal mention of their flawed history, would last, he wasn’t sure. Would she see him again, after today? Her moods shifted with the direction of the wind. According to the i8 rearview display, the wind was 15mph south. He kept his eyes on it, waiting for it to waiver, but it didn’t even as his speed fluctuated. 

In the time he had been away, learning at the hands of politicians who planned to groom him for presidency, where was she? Nathan had forgotten their last encounter, allowing it to fade away as easily as he pushed the rest of her imprint away. He had a system, a method to force his mind away from her memory, thus his subconscious threw away some of the details he tried to recall when he wanted to torture himself. Some trigger would finds its way under his skin, and he would encourage the anguish by reliving the pain others had caused him. 

Others being Marlene. You can move mountains with that feeling of despair. He reminded himself of how important it was to bathe in sensation, good or bad. It was important to feel, to experience and to understand all aspects of human capabilities. It didn’t matter that his heart was broken, it was easily buried by the mountains he carved and the rubble left when he detonated. His feelings would change, time would heal, and he would have yet another notch in his belt to draw from.

After all she was the real failure. 

Right?