Roman Profile • Daniel Ricciardo

Phantasma, Specters and Apparitions

For a man that should probably be accustomed to standing in a room, in front of a crowd of people and feeling simultaneously, overwhelmingly surrounded by company and entirely isolated all at the same time, Daniel probably shouldn't have been struggling with this familiar, unwanted emotion at the moment but fucking hell, he didn't think he could do this.

The difference in the current instance differed from the customary setting of press conferences or public appearances, whatever it was up on the docket next for team events, was that his present situation wasn't about his career, this had nothing to do with the publicly maintained persona he'd kept for nearly a decade now.

No, because this was personal. This was his real life, the one he'd still have when he retired from racing and set his sights elsewhere, on a family, on a partner and children, on a home to share with them, and on the friends he'd made both on and off the grid. And now, at present, instead of feeling like he was in the company of five of his living, breathing friends, all Daniel really felt like he had for company was phantasma, specters and apparitions of them to fill the space left behind.

He could remember, he could recollect, he could try and catch the feeling in his chest, the one of contentment and cheer that had been there in the moments before he'd left and even after he had, the laughter he and Pierre had shared just seconds ago, in the split second in time before they'd walked back through the patio gate, that is still detectable, but had now since been reduced to the scantest traces the true emotion.

Because sure, Daniel Ricciardo, the happy go lucky comedic relief of Formula 1, he could handle the heat, he didn't let the media's thoughts get through to him, he knew how to keep his private life private but Dan, just Dan? That side of him, the one reserved for his friends and family, for the people who actually knew him, knew the real man, that Dan wasn't used to being forced out into centerstage and he was most certainly not accustomed to the stony, shallow reception he was currently receiving.

Yet, here he was, standing awkwardly in front of a table of his friends, the ones he included in his thoughts of someday but most importantly, you. Daniel didn't know what to do with himself even in the slightest, didn't know if he should sit or not, since the seat he'd vacated earlier when he'd excused himself to speak with Cyril in private was no longer empty.

What had been his spot on your right hand side, had long since been claimed by another, the girl who'd started out just as Pierre's close friend and his date to any event he could find an excuse to invite her to, before she'd quickly become a tight knit member of the group practically overnight.

You'd taken an instant liking to her and clearly, she to you, if the way you were leaning against her like you already needed her support when he hadn't even started attempting to explain the situation, was anything to go by.

But even if his seat was still empty, Daniel didn't think he would currently be sitting in it, not because he wanted to be standing awkwardly across the table from you, hands resting on the back of the empty seat to Pierre's left like an absolute dickhead but because that, at the moment, he was a coward and he felt sickeningly guilty.

To add insult to injury, as if his own self-inflicted wounds weren't enough, there was also the added bonus of the way you were looking at him, and without a doubt there was something, everything, in the cold, distant expression on your face that would have warned him away from trying to return to his original place by your side anyway.

Pierre quickly resumed his seat, not sparing Daniel more than a stalwart nod, as if trying to nonverbally remind him of what he'd said earlier, that he 'shouldn't expect to get much, if any, sympathy out of everyone else' when they returned. Though the Frenchman hadn't said it, it had been implied in the warning, that not only should not expect to find a sympathetic face, but that he shouldn't hope to find one either.