A/N: So this is really old and I only just found it hiding in my 'finished' folder. Just a useless little drabble set after the first movie when the team had gone into the wind.
His tongue felt thick in his mouth, dry as sandpaper as it scraped against the inside of his cheek. It wasn't right, none of it was. Every night it was the same thing, go to bed, close his eyes and wait. Wait for it to happen over and over again, never slowing, never stopping, never leaving him alone.
It didn't matter now anyway – it wasn't as if anybody cared to look in on him, not any more. He'd pretended that he was fine for so long now that everyone believed him. But he knew better – he couldn't escape the lie he'd turned into his own reality.
Every day he would get out of bed, face the world and smile – blatantly lie to everyone's face then when it came time, he'd go back to bed and then the next day repeat everything over again. Life had become mechanical – do this, say this, laugh at this – pretend this…
His throat felt tight as he lay there staring at the wall, arm tucked beneath his head and sheets tangled around his legs. Nothing helped. Not the booze, not the drugs, not the women – nothing. He felt empty inside and no matter what he tried, nothing could fill that void. It was like a constant ache that never got worse, but it never got any better. It just remained the same, eating away at him bit by bit, slowly eroding his insides.
Things weren't the same any more – not since…
Mia still liked to pretend that everything was bright and sunny, Dom still thought he was king shit and walked around as if he owned the place, Vince was still his quiet, brooding self… Letty still let Dom walk all over her and disrespect her like she meant nothing. Sometimes he wondered if they even cared, Mia and Dom that is.
Vince would get fall down drunk and cry – just sit in the corner, his face pressed into the wall and cry silently. He never sobbed, never made a sound, but the tears would make their wet journey down into his ill kept beard and occasionally he would sniffle, but he never said anything about it the next day, as did anyone else. It wasn't right to talk about things as petty as a mans grief when there were more important things to worry about – like winning the next race, banging the next whore, taking some poor wannabe kids money without a second glance…
Letty turned to men to cope – well not men exactly, him. She'd turned to him. There would be times in the middle of the night when the air was warm and balmy when he would wake up to her hands on him. Her tongue sliding up over his navel, dipping into the small hollow before her mouth closed over his nipple. He never pushed her away, never told her no and never considered the consequences – it was all either of them could do to keep it together. During parties he would disappear, go off down to the beach or hide in his room, just laying there listening to the pounding of the bass in the music. Then she would be there – sneaking off to be with him while her boyfriend whored it up with the female population of wherever they happened to be at the time.
He rolled over and stared at her - naked breasts, the sheet down around her waist with her arms above her head, her leg draped over the edge of the bed, hair a mess from where he'd been running his fingers through it.
His hand hovered just above her skin, not game to touch it when everything he had wanted him to. He never dreamt it would turn out this way – them on the run constantly, wanted fugitives. He never thought he'd see the day when Vince would crumble after six beers, falling apart and hiding another little piece of himself away just that one more time. He never thought the day would come when he was Letty's other man – the one she turned to for gratification and affection when she couldn't get it anywhere else. Never in his life did he expect to be so alone when he was constantly surrounded by people, nor to feel so utterly hopeless and empty inside.
"Life is hell," he murmured to himself, rolling onto his back to stare at the ceiling fan, its blades spinning around in fast circles, "-hell is life."