Full Throttle

Consequences To Your Actions

I don't know how long I sat there for. I was supposed to have a session with Nick today, I didn't go. I couldn't. I eventually crawled over to my phone. It worked, but the screen was completely fucked; cracks littering the screen like spider legs. I had 3 voicemails, and 7 missed calls. I opened my phone and listened to the messages left.
"It's Lando. What the fuck is wrong with you? Going to the press just to whine about not having any friends, oh, what a sob story. I can't believe you. Honestly I can't. Fuck you, Jessie."
"George here, I've seen the newspapers. I don't want excuses. What the fuck possessed you to say those things? It's fucking pathetic. I hope you're happy."
"Hello, Jessie. This is Franz Tost. This morning's papers gave me quite the shock. I had Christian Horner on the phone to me this morning, telling me to sort this out. He suggested firing you. I don't plan on doing that. Not yet, anyway. I am very disappointed, but I am prepared to hear your side of the story. Call me back when you can and we'll talk about this. Goodbye."
I sat in stunned silence. I'd lost my only two friends that I was so happy to have made, and I really could lose my job.
"Priorities, Jess," I recalled my brother saying to me. "Everyone gets into trouble, it's how you get out of it that counts. There's no point dwelling on what's already happened, you've got no choice but to face up to the consequences of your actions. Get out of your head, set your priorities straight, and start getting shit done."

I rung back my Team Principle, the dial tone seeming to go on forever.
"Good morning, Jessie. You got my voicemail, then?"
"Yes, sir."
"What do you have to say?"
I drew in a shaky breath.
"There is no excuse for what is in the newspapers and why it is there."
"So how did it get there?"
"I was at the bar last night and a man approached me. He said that his name was Tim Lockery and that he was a massive fan of Formula One. He told me that he was curious as to what it was like being one of the drivers and asked me to tell him. I said that it was exciting and fun and really great. Then he pointed out that if it was so great, I wouldn't be on my fourth drink of the night. It didn't click, the fact that he could be a reporter. I remember asking myself about it and concluded that no, surely nobody would follow me around Faenza just to get a good article. The most likely possibility was, in my head, that he was just a fan that was genuinely curious. I gave in and told him that it was stressful, that I was terrified half of the time because of the invasiveness of the media, and that it was a lonely profession. After all, we travel the world for nine months, and then there's winter testing, there's not exactly much time to meet somebody or have a normal life, but that's one of the sacrifices that you need to make. He asked about other drivers that I was friends with and I told him about how I'd struck up a friendship with Lando and George, and he asked if I'd been friends with them before. I said no, nobody talked to me in Formula Two or Three. Despite what it says in the article, I don't hold a grudge, and I do respect every single driver on that grid and every single member of staff that helps get these races going. I told him that it was an honour to be racing with my heroes. I told him that there are always going to be drivers that you don't particularly like, but you still respect them, and that I hadn't met any drivers that I disliked. In conclusion, sir, I did say some of those things that appeared in the newspaper, and he may have twisted my words, but I take responsibility for my actions and understand any disciplinary action taken. I have damaged the team and disrespected the sport and the drivers, and I am ready to face up to that."
Tost didn't speak straight away. I supposed he was mulling over what I'd just told him.
"What you're telling me is the complete truth?"
"Yes, sir. I'd never tell you anything otherwise."
"How can I believe all of this?"
"You could ask the barman at the bar I went to, I'm sure he probably heard some of the conversation that took place."
I gave Tost the name of the bar that I went to, and he said that he'd call me back.

"What's done is done," I muttered to myself after he ended the call. I didn't have a clue about how I should handle the Lando and George situation. There wasn't anything I could say that would make everything alright, and they wouldn't believe me if I tried. There was a pounding on my front door.
"Jessie!"
It was Nick.
"Look, I'm sorry that I missed our session but I really don't want to talk at the moment," I called out.
"I don't give a fuck about the session, open the door."
I reluctantly got to my feet and trudged over, undoing the latch and unlocking the mechanism and swinging the door open. We both stood there, looking at each other.
"I saw the article," he said quietly.
"Well yeah, it was on the front fucking page."
"Did you really say all of those things like that?"
"No," I shook my head, my face crumbling. Nick pulled me into his arms and I cried. Great, wracking sobs shook me as I let out all of the emotions that I was feeling. It took a while, but I ran out of tears to let spill from my eyes.
"Come on," Nick said, stepping inside and shutting the door, "let's put the kettle on and you can tell me what happened."