Max
I lean my tired head against the wall. I haven't seen Charles since that evening two days ago, and for those two days I can't sleep normally, because I've gotten used to his presence and when he's not next to me, sleep doesn't want to come. Now I sit tiredly in the FiA office, waiting for them to decide anything. They know about the situation with Hamilton. Next to me sit Horner and my father, who, of course, always have to be where I am. Slowly it's starting to annoy me. I would like some space of my own.
"Max, this is unacceptable." begins the director.
"And it's acceptable to call other drivers names and make fun of them? Ask him about it, he's no saint, so I don't know why the fuck he's not here." I say nervously, raising my head.
"Because he's lying in the hospital, Max!" begins to shout my father, causing me to uncontrollably move away from him. "He's lying in the hospital because of you, and we don't know what to do to make sure you don't suffer! Again, you looked at yourself and not the team!" he slaps his hand on the table, making me flinch.
"Calm down." Christian begins. "For now, until Lewis wakes up, we have nothing to do. When he wakes up, I'll talk to him and we'll set up compensation so that no one else finds out about this situation." He says, looking at the FiA director, who agrees with a nod.
I have already signed three confidentiality agreements. I feel terrible today, and they are tormenting me with their presence. There's a meeting with journalists in an hour, so I had to arrive early so the makeup artist could cover my facial wounds, which are slowly coming off.
"Can I go now?" I ask, to which Christian sighs loudly and agrees with a nod.
I get up and, avoiding my father's gaze, leave the room. I walk toward the room where the meeting will be held and greet the drivers on the way. Toto met with Christian and none of them want to make trouble for the teams, so they decided to announce that Hamilton is currently in the hospital through an accident and will be replaced by a Formula 2 driver. I go inside and half the chairs are already taken. The journalists set up their stuff, and I look around, and when I find Charles looking at me intently with his eyes, I move toward him. I know he already knows everything, so I don't even try to pretend it's ok. I don't force myself to smile, sitting down in the row in front of him. After a while, Daniel and Pierre sit down next to Leclerc, with Checo and Lando on my two sides.
"Okay, I'll start. Hello to you all, my first question will be to Pierre." says the journalist.
I spend the next fifteen minutes listening to what the other drivers are answering. I think everyone is afraid to ask me a question, seeing my discouraged face.
"Charles, we've heard a lot of rumors about you and Lewis lately. Now the boy is in the hospital. Do you know anything about this, since you were supposedly close?" I find the journalist with my eyes. If looks could kill, he would lie dead.
I discreetly give my hand a sideways glance and move it behind me until I finally meet Charles' leg. I slowly slide my fingers under his pants and run them over his skin every now and then from top to bottom. I feel the boy flinch, not expecting it, but after a moment he relaxes.
"I... Well..." He begins, not knowing what he should say. If he continues this speech like this, everything will get more complicated and his life will turn into a nightmare. Mine is already a nightmare, plus I have the patch of that mean driver who hates the media, so what's the harm.
"Is this some fucking meeting for coffee and gossip? Journalists should say something that makes sense. Talking about gossip and, on top of that, such gossip that is pulled from the finger of someone's fan who hates Leclerc is funny. If you don't have more interesting topics that involve Formula, I think we can end this meeting." I interject, rolling my eyes. Suddenly everyone's gaze falls on me. I look unmoved at the journalist who asked the question.
"Yes you are right. Sorry Charles." He says quietly, feeling foolish after my statement.
"It's okay." I hear the boy's voice behind me, trying not to smile now. I don't have to look at him to see that. I'm beginning to understand him more and more, which is scary.
After twenty minutes, the reporters finally leave us alone, so I take my hand off Charles' leg quickly and get up, walking quickly toward the exit. I breathe in the fresh air, feeling even worse than in the morning. I haven't slept for too long, on top of that my father keeps texting and calling, and when I answer something he doesn't like we argue. The situation in the team after my beating with Hamilton is even worse, and it's no longer just Christian who looks at me crookedly when I pass by. The only support is Checo, who knows as well as the whole team about the situation with Lewis. Surprisingly, he supports me instead of pointing fingers.
"Max!" I hear the Ferrari driver shout behind me, but I don't turn around. I walk towards my garage, having had enough of sitting with people for today. I have to take some kind of pill because my head is starting to hurt and drink Red Bull to stay awake. Not very healthy, but I have to persevere until the evening. "Max! I know you can hear me! Wait, please!" he shouts.
I curse in my mind and stop so the boy can catch up with me. When he reaches me, he breathes loudly, tired of running, and only after a moment shifts his gaze to me as he calms his breathing.
"What's going on?" he asks worriedly.
"Come on, let's not talk here." I look around, seeing people everywhere watching us curiously.
I start walking toward the back entrance to my driver's room, and Charles silently follows me. When we get inside, I sit down on the bed, watching as the boy looks around curiously.
"So?" I ask tiredly, leaning against the wall behind me.
"Are you all right?" he sits down next to me, and I start to feel remorseful, because he's worried about me, and meanwhile I ignore him on in every way possible. I didn't even write him back on yesterday's messages, I didn't answer the phone this morning and I didn't want to see him today. I am awed.
"I'm sorry, I feel bad and I didn't want to spoil your mood with mine." I say honestly.
"When was the last time you slept?"
I furrow my eyebrows, looking at him puzzled. How did he deduce that it was about this? After all, the makeup artist took care of every detail.
The boy moves closer to me and puts his hands on my cheeks, forcing me to look him straight in the eye, and when I do, I can't lie to him or conceal the truth.
"At night... With two hours maybe. I don't know, I can't sleep lately."
"Why didn't you say so, Max?" he sighs, taking his hands from my face. "Come to me." he adds, shifting so that I can lie down and lay my head on his legs. Without hesitation I do so, smiling softly.
The boy slides his hand into my hair and starts combing through it, making me uncontrollably close my eyes, smiling lazily. I put my hand on his leg, right next to his face. I don't know how long we go on like this, but eventually I fall asleep, too tired from these days.
***
I hear quiet conversations, making me curve my face and move around. Suddenly I feel someone combing through my hair, causing me to open my eyes lazily and the first person I see is Charles, who smiles at me, quickly glancing at me and returns his eyes to his interlocutor. This makes me realize that someone is seeing us in this situation, where I am lying on my stomach, holding my hand on Leclerc's leg, and on top of that I have my cheek resting against his legs, and a moment ago I was asleep while he was playing with my hair. I turn my head the other way and look at Pierre and Daniel, who are looking at me at the same moment.
"You can't sleep longer? Do you know what drama is going on?" says an indignant Daniel. I roll my eyes and turn my face toward Charles again, hugging him tighter to get back to sleep.
"Max, Daniel is right. If you want, I can stay at your place for the night, but now you have to get up." I hear the quiet and calm voice of the Ferrari driver.
"Of course he wants to." replies Pierre for me and I hear him high-fiving Ricciardo. Two idiots...
I reluctantly rise to sit down, rubbing my sleepy eyes with my hands. I don't know much about what's going on, but I finally don't feel sleepy, which also affects my mood.
"What drama?" I ask after a moment.
"We don't know too much, but they interrogate every driver and during the interrogation everyone has to sign a confidentiality agreement, so we won't learn anything from anyone. In addition, it's full of police, FiA and the team directors are sitting locked in the office in a meeting, and journalists are forbidden to enter." Charles says, shrugging his shoulders. I furrow my eyebrows, not understanding what's going on here. It sounds like there's a murder going on, and it's probably about some little thing.
"Now it's my turn, then Charles and Pierre go. Interesting, because you're not on the list." says Daniel, crossing his arms over his chest, all demanding an answer from me, and I begin to stress, fearing that this is about the Hamilton incident.
"I don't know what this is about, really." I say frankly, although I have some assumptions and I really want them to turn out not to be true. They all nod, until suddenly Ricciardo and Gasly get up.
"We're going to get together, we'll call each other after this whole circus." Pierre says, looking at Charles, and they leave.
I am left alone with the Ferrari driver, whose gaze is fixed on my face. I also glance at him, and he smiles at me, placing his hand on mine.
"Do you have tomorrow night off?" I ask suddenly.
"I have."
"So maybe you'd like to go on the promised date with me tomorrow?" I reciprocate his smile, hoping it will help to convince him.
I know that he needs time and space, and while I would like to be with him right away, I have to be patient. I'm glad that he feels something for me, too, but I'm annoyed that I know what my feelings are for him and he doesn't know about his for me, which makes me have to try every day to make him understand it faster than he thinks he will. Just maybe I want to make it officially mine and not have to worry about any Hamilton.
"I'll go." He leans over, kissing my forehead, and gets out of bed.
At the same moment that Charles is walking toward the door, my father enters the room. He measures Leclerc with an appraising glance and, without saying anything, walks past him, crossing his arms over his chest. Charles mutely tells me good luck and leaves, closing the door behind him. I comb my hair so it won't show that I just got up and look at my father, who seems nervous.
"You are forbidden to meet with this gay man!" he begins to shout.
"As far as I know, I've been responsible for myself for a long time and you can't ban me from anything." I roll my eyes, getting out of bed. "And don't call him that, please." I add more calmly. The last thing I want is an argument.
"No, I've got so much dirt on you, Max, that it's enough to ruin your career and life. You won't be racing anywhere anymore." he threatens me, at which I stop being so confident. "Fighting with Hamilton, dating Leclerc, saying things to Daniel that you shouldn't, and problems with the team." He starts to list, and I get worse and worse with every word he says. I feel like vomiting, realizing that he has power over me. What he does, I have to do or I'll end up under the bridge. "Now everyone is being questioned about Hamilton because he has woken up and is currently talking to his father, Toto and his lawyer. If you don't stop talking to the Ferrari driver, neither I nor Christian will help you. You will be left alone with this and you will lose." He smiles as my expression thins. I lean against the wall, looking at him terrified. I am so fed up. I would like to have peace of mind at least for one day.
"I won't stop talking to him, Dad." I say quietly.
"Is this the final decision?" he asks nervously. I nod, confirming his words. "Okay, so deal with Hamilton on your own. I don't have to do anything to make you fall to the bottom, but remember that you are no longer my son, so don't come when you fail and need help." He leaves the room, slamming the door. After a few seconds, notifications arrive on my phone. I glance at the screen, seeing that the man has blocked me everywhere so that I can't contact him. He is what he is, but I can't cope without him. I can't and I don't want to. He was next to me at every race, giving advice and helping when I was doing worse. How am I supposed to win when he's gone?
I hit the back of my head against the wall, sliding down it to the floor. I sit up, drawing my legs to my chest, and look down, feeling my eyes begin to burn. I clench my jaws with all my might to hold back the tears that damn near want to run down my face. In the end, I can't stand it and burst out crying, feeling like a finite moron. I'm weak because I'm crying. I'm weak because I feel terrible and everyone around me turns away from me. Charles will do it too, if he hears the truth about the Mercedes driver, because even though this one hurt him, he still cares, because he is like that. Even if they hurt him, he keeps coming back because he's too good.
That day I avoid everyone for the rest of my stay at the track. I go back to the hotel when the policemen allow it and lie down on the bed, not dressing up, not worrying that I have my whole face in dried tears and smeared makeup that was supposed to cover my wounds. I don't even care that I didn't take my change of clothes and wallet with me from the driver's room. I feel drained of emotion, because crying has taken a lot out of me physically and mentally. I feel like falling asleep and not waking up again, but sleep refuses to come as I lie on my stomach with my eyes closed. I start screaming and hitting the mattress with my fists. I scatter pillows all over the bedroom, and finally sit hunched over in the corner of the room, feeling that my whole life has started to fall apart since I reconciled with Charles. Or maybe it's not about him, but my keeping everything to myself? I could tell my friends, who wouldn't leave my side, knowing how I feel when I'm alone, but I don't want to involve them.
Suddenly, a notification arrives on my phone. Reluctantly, I turn it on, glancing at the message from Charles. I hold my breath, reading every word. I can feel tears starting to flow into my eyes anew.
From: Charles
Why did you beat up Lewis, Max? I thought I could trust and rely on you! I thought you were different, and you decided without my knowledge to send him to the hospital, administering justice like this! I hate violence, I hate people like you. I was damn wrong about you, and I think there is no chance for us to be together anymore. I messed up a lot, but I would never do such a thing. I'm sorry, but I can't be with a person who chooses violence. This date and our whole acquaintance is now over.
I throw my smartphone to the other end of the room, crying as loudly as I've ever cried before in my entire life. When we finally started to get along, things had to come out that shouldn't have. Now I am completely alone. I reach for the two bottles of vodka I recently bought at the store, thinking about maybe inviting Daniel, Pierre and Charles. It's gone now, so I open the first bottle, taking sip after sip of the alcohol that teases my gullet.
I ignore the knocking at the door and the voices after several hours of crying. Two empty bottles are next to me, and the image in front of my eyes blurs. I no longer feel sad, but I am unable to smile. Finally, out of exhaustion, I fall asleep, not caring where I am. I need the rest I haven't had in so long.