Max
I snuggle tighter to the person below me when I hear the alarm clock ringing for the seventh time. I don't want to get up, I'm fine here. However, when I realize who is lying under me, it is like a bucket of cold water. I move away violently, causing me to fail to catch my balance and fall to the floor, moaning in pain. I slept cuddled up to Charles. I must have put my arm across his body in my sleep, because when I fell asleep I only had my head on his chest, as if that alone was normal for colleagues. Jesus...
I look at my phone's display and almost have a heart attack when I see the time, lots of missed calls from Christian, my father, Checo and Daniel. Damn. Without even thinking about waking up Leclerc, I quickly get dressed in my Red Bull clothes, and just as I'm about to leave, I realize Charles is still asleep, and also has a race. I'm an idiot.
"Charles." I approach him, but he turns his back to me, hugging the quilt, and mumbles something in his sleep. "Charles!" I shout, shaking his shoulder.
Suddenly he breaks off to sit up, terrified, looking around. After a moment, he realizes where he is and who is waking him up. He wrinkles his eyebrows, looking at me, as I manage to get dressed.
"What's going on?" he mumbles sleepily, rubbing his face with his hands.
"We're running late. Take my keys and give them back to me after the race." I say quickly and, without waiting for his answer, run out of the house.
I give up on the elevator, knowing that it will be faster to run down the stairs. I walk up to the reception desk and take keys to my car. I walk to the parking lot, and with that I almost get run over by someone when I run out in front of his hood, but I don't much care now. I get in my car and, driving to the track, I break more laws than I have in my entire life. I can't be late for the race. Charles and I already miss the parade, and maybe that's a good thing, because besides talking to drivers, I don't like it. We stand or sit like morons.
I park the car and run into the garage, ignoring the cameras pointed in my direction. I apologize to everyone one by one, going to the driver's room to change. I don't remember half of what I'm doing, and before I know it, I'm already sitting in the car, waiting for the red lights to go out and the race to begin.
Everything goes according to plan. I manage to get a good start, so I maintain P1. After a dozen or so laps, where I've made a big gap from my teammate, I go down to the box, where everyone is also doing well, and I continue out onto the track with a sizable lead. Suddenly, when I'm halfway through the lap, a red flag appears.
"Red flag, Max." I hear a voice on the radio.
"Why?" I ask concerned. On the track everyone is a rival, but they are human beings. It's normal for me to be worried, because this sport is cruel and not one person has already lost their life because of them. I hope it's nothing serious and everything will be fine.
"The car in flames."
And those were the words I didn't want to hear. Fire is the worst thing that can happen during an accident. I bite the inside of my cheek, not forgetting that I'm still driving, so as not to make a second accident out of my stupidity.
"Whose?" I ask, although I don't want to know the answer. Subconsciously I know that the chance is high that it is someone very close to me. Making friends in this sport is the worst thing there is. It could be my friend or colleague.
"Leclerc."
I swallow my saliva loudly, driving into the pit line. I stop the car only before the white line, seeing the red light next to it. I get out of the car when I see the mechanics approaching me. They will not resume the race too soon. I take off my helmet, handing it to someone from the team. I don't even pay attention to whom. I act as if in a trance. I go quickly to Christian. I need information.
"Did he get out?" I ask hopefully, looking at the screens. The red Ferrari is in terribly large flames. It's slammed into a wall, and people are running around with fire extinguishers, trying to fight the fire. I can hear the accelerated beating of my heart in my ears. I can feel my throat getting lumpy, and my mouth is dry. Why did he have to do after our reconciliation and not before? Then I wouldn't have felt so bad.
"No." Horner replies quietly. Each team stands in silence. Everyone is watching what's going on.
I see Pierre standing in his girlfriend's embrace, holding back tears. I see Lando, Carlos and Daniel, who are also close to him, looking at the screen in horror. I can even see the other drivers and mechanics silently and sadly looking at the situation. Everyone is praying in their heads, even if they are non-believers. It doesn't matter now, because it takes everyone, even God, to just survive, which is almost impossible. Every second the fire spreads, it gets hotter, and there is less oxygen left. It's a battle against time and fire. But is it possible to win with fire? Not always.
Even Lewis, who not long ago had a problem with Charles, is now standing, looking on in horror at it all. He's probably praying, though will it accomplish anything?
Suddenly, some of the fire is extinguished, and to our eyes appears the Ferrari driver, who jumps out of the car. I am immediately reminded of the situation with Romain Grojean in two thousand twenty. It looked similar, but then the car was in worse condition, the fire was bigger, and the rescue took longer, nevertheless this situation is also as terrible as that one.
I breathe a sigh of relief as the rescuers help Charles remove his helmet and gloves. I look at his face. Drops of sweat drip down his face, he holds his hands in the air, which he probably has burns on, and with the help of the rescuers, walks into the ambulance, ignoring everyone around him. He is probably in shock, has the adrenaline in him further and doesn't know what is happening.
"Let me know when something is known." I say to Gianoiero and Christian. They both nod, and I walk toward Daniel, Pierre, Lando and Carlos.
"That was awful." begins a still concerned Lando. We all nod, agreeing with him. No one says anything else. We continue to stand full in emotion, waiting for the race to resume.
After several minutes, the race is resumed. There are no more accidents, and I win it easily. But this win doesn't make me happy in any way. I already want to get out of here, go and check on Charles. I continue to have thoughts about him in my head. I can't concentrate during interviews, and I can't fake happiness on the podium. No one does that. Even the champagne dousing is not as spectacular as it always was. After dragging for hours, I can finally leave.
I almost run towards the driver's room. I take off my overalls to change into sweatpants. I ignore the fact that my body is sticky from the champagne. I walk toward the parking lot, dialing the number for Piers.
"The one next to the park." he says after picking up, seeing what he means. "Write on the group what's up with him, they continue to keep us on interviews." he says nervously.
"Yes, I'll let you know. If anyone asks about me, I felt bad because I kind of ran away from the podium." I say quickly and hang up, getting into the car.
I avoid the traffic by taking the side streets instead of the main ones, as my navigation advises, and after a few minutes I'm already in front of the hospital. I park the car in a shoddy manner, having all the Leclerc parking videos in the back of my mind. Yes, he definitely does better on the track than in real life. He can't park at all, I don't know where he got his license from.
I enter the hospital, ignoring the whispers and glances in my direction. I walk up to the reception desk and smile at the woman, who does not reciprocate it.
"Where is Charles Leclerc?" I ask, looking around.
"Who are you?" she asks suspiciously. Damn, well, yes. He won't let me in unless I give a reasonable excuse.
"Umm... Husband." I fire out without thinking, to which the woman smiles and starts looking at something on the monitor. I feel like hitting my head for my stupid talk. I should think first, then speak, not the other way around.
"Second floor, door one hundred and twelve." he says quietly so that no one can hear but me.
I thank them with a nod and walk past the security guards, who are making sure that no one enters the hospital grounds and starts looking for Leclerc. I take the elevator to the right floor and walk toward the room. I spot the brothers and the boy's mother in the distance. They are sitting on chairs and have cups of coffee in their hands. Suddenly Arthur says something to the other two and they all look in my direction.
"Good morning." I say uncertainly. Probably Charles has not told them about our reconciliation and they will be angry by my presence here, but to my surprise the boy's mother smiles broadly and gets up to hug me.
"Max! It's been so long since I've seen you!" I reciprocate the stunned hug. "There was just a doctor here let us enter him for five minutes, but if you want, you can go first." She smiling.
"No, I don't want to make trouble and..."
"Don't fuck around, go, because he asked about you." Arthur cuts into my sentence.
"He asked about me?" I furrow my brow.
"Arthur! Vocabulary!" the parent looks at her son angrily. "He just woke up and the first words are where Max." She adds, looking at me much will be gentle, she looks amused. "The nurses were looking for you, but I explained to them that you were on the track and winning the race." she adds proudly.
With a smile, I nod and, thanking her, enter the room. White walls, white furniture, full of machines, cables and a drip. A horrible place. I hate it because I have a lot of bad memories. I remember to this day how I was here regularly by my father, who didn't understand the word stop. He made me drive and test the car, even though I had no strength. It didn't matter if it was rainy or hot. I was expected to drive for several hours at a time with little breaks, until finally I would faint or have blood pouring from my nose. I was hospitalized, and when the doctors said I was in a terrible state, weakened, dehydrated and starving, my father would discharge me on demand and tell me to keep going. At that time I hated Formula. I wanted to quit it and never go back to it, but later I started winning, I became more resilient to what my dad told me to do, and I wasn't in hospitals as often. I changed my mindset towards the sport, understanding that Dad didn't mean it badly. After all, thanks to him I'm the best, I don't know how I could ever hate him. I should be grateful to him.
Suddenly I notice him. He is lying on a hospital bed. He has an IV connected to one hand. There are bandages on both hands. He has a pillow raised, making his head higher so he can see the whole room. His face is pale and he looks tired, but he's still awake. He is looking at the wall, thinking about something. I slowly walk over to the bed and sit down on the chair, not seeing what to say so that he can see that I'm here.
"How are you feeling?" I ask, causing the boy to flinch in fright and quickly shift his gaze to me.
"Fuck, Max." he says surprised. "Don't scare me." he adds. "Well, unless you want to get rid of me. You failed in the fire, so for a heart attack you want me to..."
"Don't say that, Charles." I interrupt him, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from showing how pained I am by the words. "Where did you get the idea that I wish you trash? I thought we had already explained everything to each other and such talk was behind us." I add quietly, without even looking him in the eyes, because I know that from the eyes he goes to read all the emotions, and I do not want him to know how I feel.
"Sorry." He sighs, understanding his mistake. "It just annoys me that I have to let a few races go until my hands heal. I'm supposedly not supposed to have any scars, so at least that's that." He adds, still looking at me. "Hey, look at me."
I clench my jaws and bear my head, meeting his worried gaze.
"What's wrong?" he asks, knowing that something is gnawing at me.
"Nothing, don't worry." I stand up. "Your family is waiting to come in here, so..."
"Verstappen." he admonishes me, speaking without emotion. "You promised to help me, and I want to help you, but for me to be able to, you have to tell me what's going on, okay?" he asks calmly.
"So why do I get the feeling that you're not doing what you expect me to do, Leclerc?" I say the words that have been sitting in my head since the accident. I watched the replay, which they showed several times. Each time it looked like he had passed out behind the wheel. He didn't even try to turn the corner, he just drove straight into the guardrail.
The boy suddenly tense up at my words, which reassures me that I am right. Suddenly he completely changes his face. From nice and calm, he looks at me with anger. It's completely like before the beating at the podium. It's as if I'm still enemy number one.
"What the fuck are you talking about? You know what, get out of here, I'd rather talk to my family than to you, because all you're doing is looking for something that isn't there. And do you know why? Because you're dragging the subject away from yourself. You demand more from me than you yourself can give to this relationship. Maybe we will actually never be friends, because you can't be a good friend. It would be better if we continue to become enemies so that you don't poison my life." He throws words like bullets in my direction. Each one hurts more and more, because I didn't think he thought of me that way. I thought... I don't know. Maybe I thought I was enough. Maybe he's right, I'm terrible and this relationship won't survive because of what I do. "Jesus, Max is not..."
I nod and leave without saying another word. I don't let him finish because he felt a sense of guilt when he saw my depressed face. I don't want him to apologize for the truth. I've thought more than once how come Daniel is always next to me when I'm not fit for anything but winning races. I skip wordlessly past the boy's family, who look at me strangely, but fortunately they don't say anything. I sit down on the tiles in the distance and lean my back against the wall. I should go home, but I don't. I don't want to leave him alone, even though he doesn't want to see me. I'd like to fix what he's spoiling, but I don't know what I should do. Maybe he's right, and I shouldn't get in touch with people because I can't.
I hear my phone ringing. I sigh loudly and take it out of my pocket. Pierre. Well, yes, I was going to write. I answer, putting the smartphone to my ear.
"Well?" he asks concerned. "I won't be able to make it, come today." he adds sadly.
"It's ok." I say, trying to sound normal, but I don't think I'm succeeding.
"What's wrong, Max?" he asks immediately.
"Nothing. He's fine, he just has burns on his hands, which will rule him out of a few races, but he won't be scarred. I have to go, bye." I quickly hang up.
"You're only fit to win races, Max. Don't delude yourself that you'll ever find the love of your life, your friends and colleagues. If you think you have it, remember these words. You are not made to love, but to win. You are not human, but a machine. Don't let your heart spoil you, because you won't achieve anything, and if you don't achieve anything, you are nothing. Worthless trash."
I hear my father's voice in my head, saying this to me when I had my first girlfriend, who later left me for Leclerc. When he said those words, I thought he was wrong, but then she left me, Leclerc before her, and I was left alone, beginning to understand Dad's words were right. Some people can't be lucky.
I nervously wipe away a single tear that runs down my cheek. Crying is weakness. I am not weak. And maybe Leclerc is right, we shouldn't be friends, because I'm not the right person. I lick my chapped lips and get up, walking towards the elevator to return to the hotel. I need to get some sleep, think and talk to Daniel, in fact, ask him to buy some ice cream and again, like two retards we'll spend the whole day under a blanket, watching girl shows and whining about how shitty life is.