Gasoline ~ Daniel Ricciardo

02| Marlboro Gold

"Slow down, Viper," Toto laughed, using his excruciatingly paternal voice and throwing the nickname I had given myself back in my face. He was the last person I wanted to see right now, and I certainly didn't want to bump into him head first - not if I could avoid it.

I looked up at him, noticing how his head blocked out the sun (which was currently battling its way through the clouds) and provided a temporary rain shelter for the remaining drizzle that fell. He had a softness in his eyes, and it was only then that I noticed his hands holding both of my shoulders in place. Toto wanted me to stay here, with him, out of trouble.

Had someone already told him? Or was it that he watched the car crash of a press conference live on SkySports?

I dragged my sleeve under my nose, the blood from my knuckles smearing across my jaw, "Can I talk to you?" my voice broke under the pressure of emotion whilst he nodded in answer, sliding one of his palms to between my shoulder blades in order to direct me around the paddock and into the unfamiliar Mercedes territory.

On our way there, other than the occasional fan wanting his autograph, I was cautious to avoid the eyes of the other drivers, including the closest friends of Ricciardo, and ignoring Charles making a joke in French to me.

"I'll always make time for you," Toto promised.

He lead me to their outdoor seating area, and pulled out a chair for me to sit on. I noticed the gentleness in his actions, the way he was careful to not cause any upset as he offered me one of the Mercedes blankets laying around. He had already seen my knuckles and disappeared inside momentarily.

When I was certain he was gone, I placed my dominant hand across my eyes and squeezed to hide the tears which fell. Being angry, being the one who's always gossiped about, it's hard. And it does get to you.

Unknown to me, Toto had reappeared, first aid pack in hand, along with a mug of hot cocoa to keep me warm - as if the blanket wrapped around me wasn't doing enough as it was.

"No," He softly started, "Don't cry, especially not over some stupid journalist," he spoke the last word as if it was a curse, and gently moved my hands into my lap as he knelt down before me. The First Aid pack was rested on my thigh, balancing as he plucked various items from it. "And if you're crying over an Australian I will make his death look like an accident,"

I sniffed a little, and then laughed.

"I'm serious-" Toto chuckled, "If you're crying over that man, he will meet his death." His eyes softened slightly as he focused back on my knuckles, "So what exactly did you do?" he asked.

My knuckles stung under the antiseptic which he sprayed on them, and I winced in response, "I broke a window," I admitted truthfully.

He clicked his tongue and nodded. He didn't even need to speak to convey his disappointment. Toto had been aware of my outbursts for the past two years we had known each other, he was like a father to me, and I respected the hell out of him. Especially in regards to how much time he had set out of his personal life to deal with me.

"I saw the news conference." He placed a superhero sticker across my knuckle, the face of Spider-Man mocking me. I couldn't meet his eyes, the tone in his voice was enough to tell me that I wasn't in his good books. "I don't blame you for what happened." he continued, "It's difficult for women, Susie was the same, but there are times where you need to swallow your pride."

Toto patted my knee, "All patched up... to go break more windows," he joked.

"Thank you," I whispered, my voice failing me. It's not that I wouldn't accept help, just that I hated taking help from people, it just made me feel weak and like a kid again. And I hated feeling like a kid.