Against You

Steam Room

"You've broken the steam room!"

Lando pants, obviously shocked from the explosion. Then he gathers himself. "You were going to block me in! I saw you through the door!"

"At least I didn't smash glass everywhere and make this place a safety hazard," I spit. Both of us are rooted to the spot, not wanting to move an inch for fear of cutting our feet. Lando looks around himself, but his anger doesn't fade.

"You could have killed me!"

"You think a little bit of steam would have killed you?" I scoff.

Lando throws his arms in the air and for a moment the look on his face makes me feel bad. It's desperation.

"Why don't you understand anything?" he gasps. "Why can you never imagine yourself in another person's shoes?"

"Maybe because I'm not a suck-up like you."

"Where does this end, Oscar? Do you really hate me so much you want to put me in hospital?"

I regret my words before they've left my mouth, but I can't stop them. Seeing him standing there, more successful, more well-liked, confident and right. It makes me crazy.

"I couldn't care less where you end up, Lando."

A pool attendant runs in before stopping short in her thin yellow flip-flops. As I'm distracted by the movement, Lando launches himself forwards. I shout and throw my arms out to stop him, but he lands on me, shoving me backwards. I grab his arms and we fall backwards into the pool.

"Agh!" I shout, feeling a painful slice on the side of my foot. Lando is coughing and spluttering as we break the surface but I push him away, worried he'll pull me under. I haul myself out of the pool on the far side and pull my foot up towards my face, inspecting the graze. It's long, but not too deep. "You idiot! You attacked me!" I scream.

But Lando isn't there.

Lando POV

Water surrounds me, bubbling, crashing, choking. My left foot is on fire from pain and I can't see a thing, the chlorine stinging my eyes and the shock of the cold water sucking the air from my lungs. Is this what drowning feels like? Is this dying?

A hand grabs my shoulder and I thrash wildly. Oscar is trying to drown me. I knew he hated me, but Oscar Piastri actually wants me dead.

But it isn't Oscar. My head breaks the surface and I meet the eyes of a pool attendant. She hauls me across the pool and dumps me on the far side where I gasp for air.

Of course Oscar is staring.

"Man, are you okay?" he asks.

I push myself into a sitting position and cough roughly twice. I hold his gaze before trying to get to my feet. But I have nothing left to say to him.

The pool attendant loops an arm under my shoulder and we hobble to the changing rooms. She offers to drop me on a sofa while she goes to get a first aid box, but I shake my head. I want to get as far away from Oscar as possible. Balancing on one foot, I gather my clothes out of my locker, wrap myself in a scratchy towel robe and hop into the corridor.

Jon is there to meet me.

"Lando! I heard there was some kind of commotion in the pool, are you okay? You're bleeding everywhere!"

"Oscar," I spit. Jon helps me into a leather chair and lifts up my foot to take a look. I haven't seen it yet, but it stings like hell. The pool attendant runs up with a first aid kit, which I'm grateful for.

"Oscar?"

"He tried to lock me in the steam room."

"What!?"

"He's a real piece of work."

"You have to report that! You could have been seriously hurt!"

I shake my head and wince as Jon uses an antibacterial wipe to clean my foot. I drop my head back to look at the ceiling and contemplate what just happened. This is all going way, way too far. Maybe I really should report it?

"There. Try standing on it? Is the bandage tight enough?"

I put both feet on the floor and stand up gingerly. It stings, but Jon tells me the cuts aren't too deep and don't need stitches. I think back to Oscar, sitting leisurely at the side of the pool as I almost drowned. How much longer am I going to let him walk all over me?

I decide to get an early night ready for our morning flight back to the UK. Ferrari have overtaken us in the championship so nobody is in a good mood and the atmosphere on the plane will be dismal. I take a long shower which is difficult, holding one foot up out of the shower basin so as not to wet the bandage, and I open the window for some cool air. Spain is way too hot at this time of year.

I lie in bed underneath the soft white covers and replay the incident again and again in my mind. No, it doesn't seem logical at all. I came into the steam room where Oscar was, and he started insulting me. I made a good comeback and he tried to trap me in the boiling room. While I fell into the pool and started drowning, he sat at the edge of the pool and watched.

I toss and turn, but I can't sleep. Jon's words echo in my mind too. I have to report this. I any other company, an employee would be fired for doing something like that. Why should McLaren be any different?