Call Me Lover - LN4 / GR63

4 / i try to defend you

She's almost as bad as George, looking to see if there's anybody who could overhear our words and twist something out of it. I could put money on that being why her initial response was so quick and harsh. She doesn't want anybody to spin anything out of her being here in the downcast walkway.

"Do you need to find George?" I ask checking the time on the expensive watch which is always strapped onto my wrist on race weekends. This week it's dark grey, with small papaya coloured hands which tick around perfectly synchronised with every single other clock in the paddock. We have almost exactly an hour until qualifying. "He's probably in his room by now." She'll know this already I'm sure.

Carla only nods then shakes her head at my words. She seems to stutter in her place for a moment before smoothing a hand over her knee length skirt, tucking a stray piece of dirty blonde hair behind her ear and clearing her throat. "I'm fine, thanks Lando." The words are forced and make me narrow my eyes at her.

"You can't just stand here..." she can't. Out of every race the Monaco paddock is the worst. It's cramped (just like the whole of the monaco race), no where near fit for purpose for the amount of millionaire fans and celebrities who want to crowd into the area for glimpses at the inside working a of an F1 car or a brush with fame. It's too busy and chaotic for Carla to just...stand here for the next sixty minutes. Not to mention that it's about to rain any second, you can feel it in the air.

"George doesn't want to see me right now." Then Carla scoffs and rolls her shoulders back and it's like a complete different person infront of me. The person I'm used to seeing who isn't on edge incase if media or fans overhearing. She's confident and obviously pissed off. "In fact, his exact words were that he 'doesn't have time for my shit right now'." Carla expands, her eyes rolling with the words which fall out of her like venom. I can't help the shock that shows on my face with her words.

Her annoyance is clear.

Who can blame her?

The worst part is that I'm not even surprised George said such a thing on a qualifying day. I knew the pressure has been getting to him. He hasn't won since the third race of the year, he's hungry for more. Sure, we all get a little tense, anxious even, waiting for the sessions to begin. Especially here in Monaco where qualifying is so vital. I just don't think I've ever been that tense to say something so...awful.

"Oh." Is all I reply with because it's all I can think of to say. Maybe I should try and defend George, maybe I should try and reason with Carla, produce reasons on why he'd speak to her that way. An explanation of sorts. Only I don't because I don't think it's right. I don't think George deserves to be defended. I don't think I'd ever speak to anyone that way, much less someone I'm supposed to care about.

And George does care about Carla - a lot.

So much so that it's sometimes sickening to see them together, wrapped up in one and other, giggling and whispering between kisses. He told me he loved her four weeks after they met, a blush on his cheeks that I laughed at. I know that feeling hasn't disappeared. It's only grown as they've explored each other further over the years. So it just makes his attitude towards Carla all the more confusing.

"Come with me instead." I suggest, my words a little flatter than I expected them to be.

"No, I couldn't." The denial is fast, her rosebud pink coloured lips pursing in thought as I tilt my head at her. "You have things to do." She states as if I'm at all able to help with the current state of our car at all.

I wish I could.

I've been to my meetings for the early afternoon, and ate lunch. The only thing left to do for me in the ninety minutes before qualifying is ponder my eventual elimination in Q1.