Gasoline ~ Daniel Ricciardo

10| Race Day

The Race

Time slowed down as, once again, my car flipped into the air. I felt that, if I reached out, I'd be able to softly caress the sun-heated tarmac, blessing it with my touch. The feeling in me wasn't even fear, just regret as I watched other drivers soar past me.

And then it happened, my seatbelt released unprovoked, launching me out onto the track at nearly 50 miles per hour, my suit scraping across the jagged tarmac in a way that shredded the material. Blackening it with marbles from the tyres.

Everything hurt, and yet, somehow, I managed to curl myself up into a ball, hoping that a passing car wouldn't collide into me in a way that would end my existence.

My body then released all tension, allowing my figure to sprawl out like I was being crucified.

Blue skies laid above me, inviting me in to feel the clouds and to taste the fresh air as I remained laid on the track. I couldn't move, I couldn't breathe. And when I had accepted my fate, it all faded to nothingness.

Eight Hours Before.

Sunlight caressed my body like an old friend embracing me, which woke me up in the most gentle of ways possible. It felt as though I'd come back to life again, especially after all of this time feeling as though my body was on loan to me. My dark hair surrounded my face in silky strands that shrouded my vision, and it distorted the shape under the covers next to me.

When I went to snuggle closer to what I assumed was Ricciardo, I was plunged into the cold i bearing reality of where he actually was, and that I would be spending another waking day without him. It was a cruel fate for me, to say the least, but now I was fully awake and aware of my phone incessantly ringing beside me.

"Hello, Ryan?" I answered rashly and draped my hand over my head in annoyance. "This is Ryan," I carried on only to embarrass myself more when I heard the soft chuckling from Christian Horner. My boss.

He cleared his throat, "I should hope it's you considering I rang your number," he teased. I could tell he was somewhere busy from the hubbub of people talking in the back of the call, "Just letting you know, we need to run over some race plans,"

"Just don't run over me!" I joked and instantly regretted it as Christian hung up on the other end of the line. Well that wasn't embarrassing enough, was it?

The next thing I thought to do was to call Daniel Ricciardo and ask how he was holding up in hospital. I knew he hated hospitals, I mean, who doesn't?

The dial tone echoed throughout the hotel room, causing me to groan softly as the thought of him being asleep danced over me like a bad dream.

"Howdy," Daniel answered, his voice gruff as though I'd just woken him up, "What's up, kiddo?" he asked, using the nickname he knew I hated.

I rolled my eyes, "Just wanted to let you know that the hotel bed is miles more comfortable without you here in it," I lied. It sucked without him sleeping beside me. I know I shouldn't like sleeping next to the guy I so strongly dislike but in a way I can't exactly help it.

He's in my dreams as of late.

"I bet you miss me cuddling you, huh?" He taunted, and I could picture him swinging his feet over the side of his hospital bed. What a fucking idiot.

I laughed so hard that I accidentally snorted, "You wish I missed you," I sat up in the bed, "At least the food's better here," I teased, eyeing up the tray full of food sat by the window. A steaming pot of coffee next to it. What a beautiful start to my morning.