Lost Devotion

13.

𝓡𝓪𝓯𝓮

______________________

Spain.

Home.

Me gustaría que se sintiera así.

The air leaves my lungs as I open my eyes, and the familiar sight of the crowded paddock comes into focus.

I'm trying to find my way through the sea of media and well-wishers, my manager guiding me through the chaotic atmosphere.

"Rafe! Rafe!"

"How are you feeling about your home race this weekend?"

"Do you think you can finally win your home race and give unprecedented joy to the Spanish fans?"

The questions of some journalists rip through the air as I make my way to my destination. "I promise you will have the answers to all your questions soon enough," my manager replies with a smile, shielding me from the barrage of inquiries. We enter the Ferrari garage, the heart of our team's operation.

"Okay Rafe," the chief engineer begins, "this is the qualifying session. If we manage to optimize the car's performance and..."

I just nod at him, the reality seems to slow down and his voice fades into the background as we pass through the garage doors. Feelings overwhelm me as I try to keep my composure and focus. The water coming from the bottle in my hand seems heavy as it goes down my throat, the air difficult to breathe, and my vision blurry. I close my eyes, trying to take a breath to gain clarity and center myself.

But it doesn't.

I curse under my breath, not feeling myself as I cut the chief off mid-sentence and escape to the restroom. "Rafe!" the chief calls out behind me but his voice is drowned out by the rush of emotions coursing through my veins.
Not again Rafe, not now.

I enter the restroom, feeling sick to my stomach. I could feel my breakfast rising, threatening to make an appearance. Splashing cold water on my face, I try to regain control of my body and my mind. My grip tightens around the edge of the sink as I take deep breaths, willing myself to calm down.

"It happened years ago, Rafe," I whisper to myself, breath heavy, "Calm down." I take a moment to collect myself, my physical starting to subside but my mind refuses to settle. The images of that incident flash before my eyes, haunting me with each vivid detail. The screaming of m mother as she tries to calm down my angry father who drives at a crazy speed, the screeching of tires, and the deafening crash that changed everything.

But the speed wasn't what killed them.

But anger.

The thoughts affect my physical state as my hands start to tremble uncontrollably. I try to ground myself with steady breaths and remind myself of the present moment. But the past seems to hold a tight grip on me, the voices playing over and over in my head and filling my ears, reminding me of the tragedy.