Max
I sigh loudly, reluctantly getting out of bed, from which Daniel took the quilt and pillows already twenty minutes ago.
He thought that taking them would be tantamount to me getting up, after an hour of constantly setting my alarm clock and waking me up, screaming in my ear, which of course turned out to be wrong. I value sleep, and if I have a day where I can sleep until noon, that's what I do, without feeling like I'm wasting it.
"Amazing, you're up!" the boy enters the bedroom with a bucket filled with water.
I raise my eyebrows in surprise, looking once at him, once at what he wanted to douse me with. He wouldn't live to see the next day if he did this, even though he is my friend.
"What's the point in waking me up if we only have a plane in five hours?" I dodge him, walking toward the bathroom.
"Five? You slept all day! The plane is in an hour!" he brandishes the bowl in an epiphany, causing some of the water to land on the panels.
"What, then why didn't you wake me up earlier!"
Daniel indignantly opens his mouth to say something, but fails. I run into the bathroom, looking at my reflection in the mirror. My hair is disheveled, my face is slightly swollen and I have a reflection of a pillow on my right cheek. Christian won't believe me that I haven't slept, and he, along with Ricciardo, are the number one enemies of long sleep. They don't know what's good.
"Clean up that water or I'll wipe it out with you!" I shout, turning on the cold water in the sink.
I hear the boy mumble something under his breath and presumably obey my command. I wash my face, deluding myself that this will suddenly make all signs of sleep disappear. After a few minutes, when my hands are thawing from the cold and my face has long since passed hypothermia, I turn off the tap and comb my fingers through my hair, which is scattered in every direction.
"You, princess, Horner is calling you!"
I curse in my mind, quickly returning to the bedroom, passing Daniel, who is kneeling over a puddle of water, trying to wipe it off with toilet paper.
"That's what a mop is for."
"So that you wouldn't be the mop right away." he tightens his lips, getting up from the floor.
She restrains herself with all her strength not to burst out laughing as the boy walks toward the storage room, where there are things to clean and a lot of other fucks.
I pick up the phone, putting it to my ear as I walk over to the closet to grab some clothes.
"Hi, Christian!" I start, taking out a gray tracksuit set from Nike.
"Did you get up early? Like I asked you to?" he makes sure, not even saying hello.
Wonderful people I surround myself with, no question.
"Of course." I smile to make him believe my words, and after a moment I realize he doesn't see it, so I get serious right away.
"Max." he speak warningly.
"Hmm?"
"You were asleep." he doesn't even ask. He states it, and I don't know on what basis, because to me I sound very credible. I would believe myself if I were him.
"What no!"
"Daniel answered your phone two hours ago, pretending for twenty minutes that you were washing up, until he finally gave up when he apparently couldn't wake you up and told the truth." Christian seems more amused than angry, which is a good sign.
"Well... Well." I scratch the back of my neck, placing the phone on the bedside table.
I turn on speakerphone mode and quickly put on sweatpants so I don't run around the house in just boxers. I take my socks out of the drawer, glancing at my friend, who is still wrestling with the puddle, but now with the help of a mop.
"Today, when you get there, in the evening you will go to meet the drivers," he says.
"Meeting?" I look puzzled in Daniel's direction, who shrugs his shoulders, thus saying that he doesn't know anything either. "What for?"
"Force majeure, you can't help it. Those from FiA after... Your recent quarrels with Charles, they decided that all drivers should spend more time with each other to prevent such situations."
"That's absurd! I won't be in the same room with him for more than five minutes!" I take the phone nervously in my hand.
Charles Leclerc is the worst person in the whole world. If I had to choose between him and not racing? I would choose the latter. He is such an egotistical idiot who tries to prove himself on the fact that most fans hate me for being good and winning almost all the races, telling the press the same crap. And he doesn't spare himself words in my direction either, which I won't look at indifferently.
"Five? That's already progress, last time you said two."
"Besides, he's the one who starts almost all the arguments! Let them talk to him, not punish me for his idiotic ideas!" she ignores his earlier words, continuing to shout into the phone.
"Max..."
"To the press, too, he goes to spread everything! Fucking parrot! Let Ferrari get him..."
"Max!" Christian interrupts me in mid-sentence. Maybe it's for the best.
"What!" frustrated I walk out of the bedroom as Daniel shows me the time.
"Charles tells the press more than you..."
"Well that's right!" I lift the corners of my mouth up, feeling understood by the team director. Finally, someone on my side in this war.
I mean basically no one is on anyone's side. Everyone keeps repeating how they're tired of what we're doing, and they have no idea how hard it is for me to stand without getting murdered when I see his face and know that in a moment he's going to start making excuses and doing everything he can to upset me. And unfortunately, although I try, I can't get past this idiot.
"But you start more arguments." he finishes his statement, and my smile disappears, causing Ricciardo to laugh.
"Oh, shut up. Great friend." I roll my eyes.
"See you there, Max."
I don't even manage to answer, because the man hangs up. I sigh resignedly, putting on my sneakers. And my good mood has gone. Are we five years old to try to reconcile us like this? Well, for goodness sake! If we wanted to live in harmony, that's what we would do, but apparently we don't want to, and there are other reasons for this than sheer hatred by his being an asshole.
"The unbeatable Max Verstappen was upset by his own team. What will he do now? Will he beat up on the Ferrari driver? Or maybe..."
"He'll beat the Visa Cash driver something further there the fuck on."
Even though I scoff at the name of team, I'm glad Daniel has a chance to return to Formula again, and most importantly, if he drives well, who knows if he won't be on the team with me in the future. I know how much he experienced his departure. I was next to him when he tearfully told me how much this life is bothering him, when he doesn't know if he will ever return to the sport, if he will get back behind the wheel, and if he will be able to smile when he stands on the podium.
The worst part wasn't when I saw him sad, it was that I couldn't promise him that he would return to Formula. I couldn't make him happy, because whatever I did, it wouldn't make him come back. And even though I didn't want to, I hurt him by talking about my life, in which the sport was in the number one spot. It was hard at the time. And him and me, because as a friend feeling helpless I was nailed. In addition, I spoiled almost those few years of friendship when I stopped telling the truth, kept secrets and kept everything inside as it was before I met him, and more importantly, before trusting him.
It wasn't until he almost left me that I realized how awful i was acting. I decided to fix it when Nyck wasn't riding very well, and Christian was looking for someone to replace him. I immediately stood up for Daniel, and he decided to check it out. After that, everything was better. He returned to Formula, and I wasn't an asshole to him. Now everything is almost perfect. Except for a certain driver who exists and drives for Ferrari.
"Hey!" Daniel crosses his arms over his chest, looking at me from under the bull's-eye. "Just because you're in a bad mood doesn't mean you can call everyone around you names!"
"That's exactly what it means." I wink at him. "Let's go now if we don't want to be late for the plane. I'd rather spare myself today from listening to Christian being heartbroken with me because I overslept again and thus didn't make it on time." I leave the house before my friend has time to add anything.
It's not that I'm angry with the whole world. I mean I am, but I'll only start showing it when I arrive in Bahrain, when I live with the thought that I have to go to some meeting for clowns. I'll take popcorn with me so they won't think I'm also performing in this circus. I'm just going to watch.
We get into my car. Me as the driver, and Daniel as the passenger, who is forever playing terrible songs. He has terrible taste in music, which means that whenever I take a long drive, I always pull over to the side of the road and throw him out into the fresh air so he'll stop playing those ear-hurting screams.
"Are you going to challenge him? After all, you said yourself it was because of him." he asks curiously as I start the engine.
"No, Daniel. I'm not an idiot and I know what this meeting is for."
"What for?" he turns toward me, searching for songs on his phone. I guess I already have to start praying to last here.
"They want me to reconcile with Leclerc."
"Will you do it?"
I sigh loudly, feeling my frustration growing. He understands little there, that it takes longer to explain everything to him than to a small child, but he is nevertheless an important person in my life, so I wouldn't trade him for anyone else.
"Of course not. But I won't be going to any more such pre-season meetings." I shrug my shoulders, overtaking several cars that are going far too slowly.
"I don't understand..."
"The goal is to ignore Charles Leclerc so that everyone will think that our dispute is over on my part and they won't have any more targets to make such silly cribs." I say satisfied with my plan, and the humor immediately returns to me at the thought that he will probably come off as a total jerk, throwing texts in my direction, while I will politely sit and talk to others, effectively ignoring him so that I won't have to see him again.