Gasoline ~ Daniel Ricciardo

9 | Med Bay

Chaos spewed out around the med bay, with varying degrees of people rushing around and tending to the people who had helped Norris, Ricciardo and myself into the med centre. They rushed past us like moths to a flame, and the doctor wheeling me into the sterile environment sighed softly whilst I struggled to breathe.

Everything hurt, so I did the one thing I know how to do best, scream. I screamed and I screamed and I screamed until I was blue in the fucking face because that's all I could do. A nurse tried to sedate me, but I resisted everything she did, batting her hands away and threatening to bite.

A doctor spoke to me like a child, and told me, "Ryan, you're in shock, this is completely expected." but he sounded completely surprised, almost like he wouldn't be in shock if he'd just pulled someone from a burning car. Did Ricciardo get treated for shock when he pulled me out? I do wonder that.

The doctor carried on telling me to resist, as though I'd be his best friend and do whatever he said for a chocolate milkshake. What a dickwad.

"Get off me! I'm not helping you until I see Ricciardo!" I bit, and lurched towards the nearest nurse I could find. "Where is he?" I panted, my breathing finally catching up with the pain in my chest as I spoke.

The flimsy restraints snapped under the force of my movements, and I stumbled out of the bed and onto the floor. I stood up and felt like I'd just realised how to use my legs. They were all wobbly, "What room." I demanded and clenched my fists at my side. "What fucking room." I seethed again and dipped my head outside of the curtain protecting my bed.

"42." The nurse replied, bowing her head as her supervisor gave a scrutinising gaze.

I smiled and rushed out a thanks before dashing around to the other side of the bed and setting off into a fast pace. The balls of my feet padded off the floor, the sound of my barefoot running reverberating around the med bay whilst I struggled to maintain my balance.

I turned the corner and saw Ricciardo stood looking over the large bay window. His eyes were focused on the qualifying session currently ongoing without either of us competing in it. He leant on crutches and his face reflected the sunlight.

"You cunt!" I yelled as I stormed over to him angrily, throwing my fists at his chest until he pulled me into the most painfully crushing hug, "You scared the shit out of me!" I cried, my lungs on fire as I sobbed into his chest. It hurt so much. The fact he was alive was a miracle but I hated him so much for what he just put me through in about five minutes of my life.

The McLaren driver squeezed me in his grip, his hands soothing me as I cried against his chest, "Ryan, calm down," his voice was strong as he soothed me. His thumb brushed across my cheekbone dripping up any tears that fell, "I'm very much alive but I'm on so much morphine so I don't know if you're real."

"I'll show you it's real when I punch you in the mouth you fucker," I cursed and tried to fight back the soreness in my jaw, an early indicator that I was due to cry at any minute. Everything around me warped as my eyes filled with tears as I remained pressed into his torso, and then I cried. "I was so scared... Don't you dare do that again." I succumbed to the hug, allowing myself to morph around him.

He was completely stunned from my outburst and raw emotion, and I could only tell this by the way his grip tightened around me like he was afraid he'd lose me too. He carried on tightening his grip until I felt lightheaded, "Is this real?" his voice wavered, a liquid dripping onto my head. I didn't know if it was drool, or if it was actually him crying, but I couldn't find it in myself to crane my neck upwards to check.

I sniffled, "Yes, it's real, about as real as the slap I'm itching to give you," I grunted as he released me from his grip.

A cameraman walked around the camera, and whether or not he'd managed to capture the intimate moment between us, I didn't care to ask. I didn't want anyone finding out about my capability to be fragile. The thought of how it would affect my image was enough to hurt me.