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24

"Please God, help me. I don't want to be this fucking worthless. I mean why would you even lead me to this path if it was my fate to fail? Please, this can't be all I'm good for, I can't be this pathetic. " My voice was hushed as I whispered under my breath in the backseat of the cold car on my way to the track.

I was not actually that religious, I did not have a strong faith or trust in anything other than hard work. I was baptized and went to church for some holidays when I was home in Sweden but other than that not so much, it was just the way of my culture- Swedish people are mostly Protestant christians  in the same way most Greeks are orthodox. Despite that I was not sure that even if he existed that he, the man upstairs, would be someone that I would want to surrender myself wholeheartedly and completely to. A God that let children be mistreated, good people die and bad people get away with their crimes was not a God that I wanted to follow or worship.

However I would still often find comfort in seeking help from God, not that he seemed to ever pay it any mind but still, it made me feel a bit less helpless. It gave me the slight feeling of control that came from the small act of praying and asking for something from someone who could, at will, grant it all.

I was terrified. The car was silent and humid with the dividing wall up between me and the driver so I could not see the road ahead. The ac was blasting and the cold air hitting my exposed arms gave me goosebumps.
My hands were shaking with anxiety and even as they were tightly clasped together I could still feel the small twitches of my fingers. In the silence I also became overly aware of my shaking breaths and thumping heart.

I was so anxious to prove myself but so afraid of failing. I felt terribly ashamed of having to sit the Baku race out. The cut on my hand had mostly healed, only a shallow slit on the top layer of the skin remained as a reminder however it still felt very sore to the touch.

Despite my anxious interior my exterior was impeccably clean and spotless. Vanessa had done a real number on me, my hair was neatly pulled back into a sleek ponytail and my face pampered with just the perfect amount of makeup, makeup that I was surely smudging by leaning my cheek against the cold tinted glass window. I let my hot breath fall over it and drew a smiley in the fog I had created, finding some joy in the simple act.

My phone buzzed and I reluctantly sat up straight and picked it up from the seat beside me. A picture of Vanessa flipping me off lit up the screen. "Hello?" I answered, confused and a bit annoyed. We had spoken barley twenty minutes ago when she helped me to get my shit together and dragged me out of my hotel room. I was grateful for her of course, but she knew the state I was in and should have known that it was not a good time to call and chit chat. I needed my quiet time before the chaos of fans and reporters and engineers overwhelmed me.

Even just the first few days in the US had been crazy. Normally there would not be too many fans that were interested in me to the point where it felt scary. There were only a few moments in my career when I had been mobbed and the US stood for about a third of them.

The fans barley knew my driver number yet they still felt the compelling need to touch me and demand that I pose for a picture with them, completely disregarding my thoughts or feelings about it all. It felt surreal and terrifying. Of course I would experience fans wanting me to sign something or to smile for a picture during other race weekends but I had never before been one of those drivers that were popular to the point that it became a security risk, other than during the first week of my RedBull introduction of course.

"Hi Em" She sounded nervous, not good. "So uhm I forgot to tell you this thing and it's kinda important that you're prepared because it's going to be big and-" She sounded nervous and it made me feel uneasy.

"Just cut the chase" Long rambling explanations were not my jam and the quicker we finished the call the more peace I would have before I arrived to the track. I was holding the phone to my ear with my left hand and absentmindedly picking at the edges of the healing wound on my right one, only realizing and coming to a stop when it started to hurt too much and the skin had turned into an angry redish pink shade.