So, since I got some great reviews and I had a burst of inspiration very late at night (lovely, I know), I have a quick update on this story! I'm still writing my Doc one, it is just taking me a little longer since I'm at a difficult portion but I will hopefully have an update for that in a few days too. OK, some replies I would like to make... Mere: Ah, OK. No problem, just PM me when you're back! claualphapainter: Sweet! PM me about it? Pancake: Aw, you are such a McQueen fan :') And I love the curiousity with my new OC ;) Thank you so much for the reviews everyone! And this is my favourite chapter so far (and I think it will be of the whole thing maybe) so I hope you like it too!

Chapter Four – All That's Left

(Levina's POV)

I'm behind the wheel of dad's racecar, having the time of life. I can't believe this is really happening and how amazing it feels. It took me a while to get adjusted to it, but I've been driving since I was sixteen and this just seems like a moderate step up from a normal vehicle. Besides, it's in my blood.

I catch my mother coming towards the butte from out of the corner of my eye. I clench my teeth together with irritation. Quite honestly though, I'm shocked it took her so long to find me.

She doesn't bother taking the longer way around; I can see her climbing down the ledge through the rocks that jut out of the land. She must be really mad.

I take one lap to slow the car and once my speed has dropped enough, I pull to a complete stop. I slide out of the driver's side window and walk around to the other side of the car. I rest my back against the vehicle and cross my arms. If she thinks I'm going to meet her halfway then she's crazy.

"Levina!" she hisses at me as soon as she is within speaking distance. I can tell she wants to scream but for some reason she won't.

"Don't look so surprised," I shrug rudely.

"Who let you out here?" she demands brashly, "Was it Doc?"

"No," I reply, "No one did. I came out here myself."

Her face starts to boil with anger. Part of her looks almost a tad wounded by the fact that I've disobeyed her. A flicker of guilt passes through me before I push it away. Just because my father died doing this doesn't mean anything. His past shouldn't determine my future.

Suddenly she's much closer and breathes furiously, "I told you that you are not to race that car."

I raise my chin to her. It's my classic fight stance. "Yeah, and I told you that I'm not taking that for an answer."

Her eyes search me in disbelief, as if I'm about to jump off a cliff and she can't understand why. Her hands grip just below my shoulders, tightly, frightfully.

"Vina," she whispers, "I won't let you do this. You're all I have left."

Now the guilt is really swarming. It is rising up into my throat, trying to force an apology from me. But I can't do it. I can't let go of knowing that this is what I want to do. I can't kill a dream like that.

"No, Mom," I say quietly, "I'm all you have left of him."

She knows who I mean. Who else would I mean? It causes her to loosen her grip a little, but she won't release me.

Then I find myself adding, "And maybe… maybe I'm all you have left of you."

That does it. Her limbs go limp and she nearly stumbles back like I've just revealed some kind of horrifying secret. I think I have.

I have to take my chance while it's there, so I march past her without looking back. I take the shortest route possible, and climb up the rocks just like she did. I nearly slip in my state of topsy-turvy emotions.

I don't stop to dust my shorts off when I reach the top, I just keep going. I need to get away from this situation where I can think for a moment. In my haste to escape, I hardly notice the stranger standing in the desert sand until I'm almost upon him.

For a second all my feelings dissipate as I'm struck by the sight of this darkly handsome male. We exchange a look, and I find myself struggling to separate where the black of his pupils end and the deep brown of his irises begin. It's mesmerizing, until I realize he's staring at me. Judging me. And that sparks my fury again.

I keep walking, further away from the butte and closer to town. When I know the stranger is out of view, I let my legs start running until I meet the pavement of the Cozy Cone. I can feel tears of frustration welling over and I wipe them away with the back of my hands. My eyelashes have already clumped together from crying.

Then I rest on the steps to my cone, continually swiping the tears from my face before they have the chance to reach my cheeks. I make hideous sobbing and gasping noises for a good five minutes, awaiting my eyes to become sore.

Mom is probably still out at Willy's Butte, calling Mater to tow the car back to garage. But I bet everyone else is watching me from their shops. I bet they're all gawking at me. I can't let them see me like this.

I get up and start to walk slowly towards the brush behind the motel. I haven't been here in a quite some time. I know it'll provide me with plenty of solitude.

I've hardly wandered into the foliage when I hear a voice sound from my backside.

"Hey! Wait!"

I don't recognize the sound of it. It must be that stranger. I keep shuffling onwards. I knew he was judging me.

"Hey! Can I talk to you? I know how you feel," the deep voice calls out.

My hands unconsciously tighten into fists. I want to lash out at him and yell profanities mixed with things like; Are you the child of Lightning McQueen? No. Have you been living here for seventeen years? No. He couldn't possibly know how I feel.

However, I don't say that. Something inside me says I should keep that information to myself. It's like I'm playing some kind of game and I can't reveal all my cards at once.

Instead I say, "No. You don't." Each word comes out sharply with a crackle, the kind you hear right when a clap of thunder splits.

"Believe me," he responds, "My parents hate that I race too."

Wait… did he just say 'race'? That changes everything.

I stop walking but I still don't turn towards him. I don't want to show him my face. Not after I've finished crying, and it might make it easier for him to read my emotions.

I guess I've hesitated longer than I thought, because he continues talking and asks, "I mean, was that your mother out there?"

My chest constricts at the mention of her. At the moment I want to deny any relation to her at all. "You mean that-," I fight to keep a cuss word from rolling off my tongue, "woman that was out at the butte? Yeah."

"I could tell," he replies, and I hear him crunching a few footsteps closer. "You look just like her."

I grimace at the same time that a fluttering feeling surfaces in my stomach. I don't want to be told that I'm anything like her, but I have to admit, even for her age my mother is a beautiful woman. She always has been.

Does that mean he just complimented me? I'm not sure, and instead of ignoring such a stupid question, I let it continue to swell in my brain.

"Except for your eyes," the stranger adds and I hear a few more footsteps. "You have the bluest eyes I've ever seen."

He had to have complimented me there. I deny it though, and swallow quickly before finally turning to face him.

"My father's dead," I blurt out, although I have no idea why. Maybe it's because he just pointed out my dad's best feature, or maybe it's because I just feel like saying it to someone.

His face looks a little stunned and he scrambles to say, "I'm so sorry…"

I don't know what's happening to me, but I'm really regretting saying that. I don't want him to pity me; I just thought it might help him understand me.

"That's why my mom and I have so many issues," I try to attach a reason to my outburst; even though I don't think that's why I said it in the first place. I decided to change to topic before waiting for a reply. "So, you race?"

He smiles at me. "Yeah, I do. My parents totally hate it though, so I've been through those kinds of fights too."

I want to tell him something about how unnerving it is, but I figure he already knows. Still, it would be so nice to tell someone exactly what I have to put up with, someone not from Radiator Springs.

"You know what I would always do?" he interrupts my contemplation.

"What?" I prompt nervously. I get this dumb idea that he's about to offer me a cigarette or something.

"Play the guitar."

"Oh," I reply softly.

"Do you play anything?" he asks me with a curious look on his face.

I think he already knows the answer but I say it anyways, "No, I don't actually."

He almost looks happy from my response. "Wait here for a minute," he instructs and starts to rapidly walk away. Then he halts and looks back over his shoulder. "I never got your name."

"Levina," I supply.

He smiles and says back in return, "Damian."

A split second passes where I get this urge to tell him what my name means. But that would be revealing a card, and there's something about Damian that challenges me to be just as mysterious as him.

Thank you for reading, please review if you have the time :)