All the Way - an F1 story

24

4 August , 2021
📍Monza, Italy

Russo's office was nice, very nice. It wasn't terrible or anything— actually, it was quite aesthetically pleasing— but the way it mildly smelled like disinfectant, similar to a hospital, always made Calina want to gag.

She really couldn't complain though. It was better than being outside, which their meeting was supposed to be, over a nice lunch at a beautiful patio in the heart of the city, but since it was so hot out, they opted to be inside.

So she sat there, in the disinfectant-smelling room, waiting for the doctor while she wrapped up some call with a colleague. It was oddly quiet, too, the only sound being the constant tick-tick-tick from the clock hanging above the couch she was sitting on.

"Mi dispiace, Calina," the older woman sighed, finally sitting down on the couch across from her, clearly bothered. "Queste gente...ma non lo so. Comunque, come stai?."

"Ma, Dottore, che posso dire," Calina replied, falling back into the soft pillows. "Mi sento di merda,  e penso che tutto questo forse è stato un errore."

Russo stood up, pacing calmly around the room, as if in thought. She sat down on the edge of the armrest. "Queste settimane passate sono state difficili per te, e veramente, anche io sentirei di merda. Posso garantirvi, però, che il suo successo non è un errore."

"Magari, un colpo di fortuna?"

Russo sent her a pointed look, almost saying, really Calina?

"Penso che la tua problema è che tu non hai qualcuno che possono capire il tuo lavoro." Russo got up once again, this time walking to the large oak bookshelf behind her desk. Each shelf was filled end-to-end with a variety of psychology books in various languages, but the doctor stopped at a row of thin, blank books. She pulled out a single black book, and Calina quickly realised it was a journal.

"Un diario?" Calina asked, feeling a little astounded. She hadn't kept a journal in years, way back when she first started working with Russo, but she found eventually there wasn't any time to just sit down and write. So they had found an alternative, but the fact that Russo brought it up again, to try, was slightly surprising.

"Ha detto che ti piace scrivere, e penso che con la tua vita frenetica, prendersi un po' di tempo per sedersi e lasciare tutto da parte ti farà bene, Calina." Russo explained, shuffling through the filled pages. "E sarà tutto tuo. Non dovrai darlo a me ogni settimana. Non darò un'occhiata a niente che c'è dentro."

Calina only nodded in response, though she was a bit hesitant still.

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"To be fair, it's not the worst of ideas." Olivier sighed, the optimism in his tone clouded by annoyance at her dog. They were getting ready to go for a nice walk, and the older had offered to put Kuzco's collar and leash on, but the french bulldog was refusing to comply, and Olivier was quickly losing his patience the was never really a dog person (seeing as he had three cats growing up, despite his terrible allergy). As soon as she had her shoes on, Calina gently picked Kuzco up as he attempted to get away from Olivier, easily slipping his collar around his neck and attaching his leash.

"I know it's not, but— I don't know! For some reason, it—I feel like nothing will change." The beautiful weather in Monza and the fact that she had no responsibilities for the next four weeks made for a pleasant walk. With a majority of their friends in Tokyo or training for the winter olympics, the two had all the time in the world to do whatever they pleased.

"You have to try it, Calina," Olivier said, the sun making his normally dark hair shine. "What else did she say?"

"Meds are done." Russo had confirmed at the end of their appointment that Calina was at a point where they wouldn't resort to going back on medication should anything arise in the future.