Gasoline ~ Daniel Ricciardo

11| Adrenaline

Sirens forced me into consciousness, their rampant wails deafening my cries as my lungs burned and skin scabbed as a result of what had happened. I remember who came to me first, his unmissable crooked nose swimming into my view as I tried to fight of the urge to die right there on the tarmac.

And, when I think the pain is finally over with, another searing burn coursed through my veins.

"Another round of adrenaline to be administered!" A paramedic's voice swung in my semi-conscious state, "Let's try into the bone," the paramedic said with authority laden in his voice. It was as though he was the one running the procedure.

"Starting compressions," another voice yelled, the occupants hands placing down the centre of my sternum as I felt a pressure collapse towards my spine, and then release. And again, and again. "We can't lose her, tell me that adrenaline has gone in," the paramedic screamed out as the hands repeated its movement.

I can't die, not here. I won't let that happen.

Ryan Bradford you are champion of the world! The voice echoes around my semi-conscious state, mocking and enticing me as I realise there's nothing else for me to do. I know that I should fight, but as confetti sprinkles down around me in the darkness expanse of my mind, I realise this is the extent of my fight.

My race overalls cover me, and my feet are dipped beneath the cold water of my mind. I stretch my hand out before my face, noticing how my skin still holds life, still holds hope. I unfurl my hand, a metal token shining back at me.

It's a coin-shaped object reflects the omnipresent light, the golden surface reflecting whatever lasts of my face. I can't see it, because in this place I don't exist. I'm merely passing by.

Champion of the world! The voice repeats, mocking me as I flip the coin over, the jagged sketching of a '1' smiling up at me. World champion. I'm not a world champion, I can't even survive this.

"If it happened to her on a different day..." Daniel trails off, and I know it's him because he's stood above me, looking down in a black suit. He adorns black sunglasses which hide his face from me, "Would she have survived?" his face looks grey from this angle, it's unlike anything I've ever seen before. He drops something from above, and my eyes shut as a million bits of dirt rain down onto my face.

I'm being buried.

Confetti turned to dirt as a never ending stream of the stuff fell down before me, muddying the water in yet I stand, "Daniel, I'm here!" I scream, but my voice is so dry, not even water would save me now.

"I'm still here," I screamed as the dirt rose up to my knees, "I'm still alive!" I felt the dirt in my throat, clawing at my lungs as the granules buried me.

"No, you're not, Ryan," he sobbed.

Before I could reply, it all faded into nothingness, the abyss of my mind finally giving up as I was left with no memory of who I was or where I was. My body was numb, and I let myself cave into the warmth I felt.

And that was it.

-=+=-

Daniel.

How am I possibly supposed to finish a race after what I'd just done?

Her blood was still on my hands, the warmth of it fading as though it was dying with her, leaving behind any glimpse of who Ryan Bradford was, as a memory. I felt it awkwardly under my gloves, caked between my knuckles as I drove the best I could.

I couldn't finish with this, and rather than finish the race, I decided to pit then and there and accept the lapse in points. It's not like the McLaren was entirely competitive, given the way it drove this year compared to years where we'd actually prided ourselves in good quality cars. In fact, it would have just been an embarrassment for me to continue the race, to drive past where she'd been laid with her blood still wet on the tarmac.

"What are you doing?" Zac called after me as I removed the steering wheel and placed it carefully onto the bonnet of the car, "Get back out there!" he yelled, the tendrils of spit flew onto my visor as I climbed out of the vehicle and forced my way into the back room, where I slammed the door open to the compound and started to make my way as quickly as I could towards whatever escape I could be offered. "Daniel! If you leave, your contract for next year is up," my boss yelled.

I scoffed, "Good luck finding a better driver for your shit cars!" I yelled back at him, without even gaging the consequences to my words.

What I needed, other than a warm bath and a mattress which didn't feel like plastic, was to make sure she was okay. We were able to push each-other to limits we didn't even know we had, to force ourselves to be better drivers because of each-other. We needed the other, and we complimented well. She was like salt to my pepper, although sometimes she was more like salt to a fresh wound, I needed her.

My hands balled into fists at my side as I stormed past the Sky Sports cameras and towards the parking lot where my car would be. Where our car would be.

I wonder if it still smelled of her, if her floral perfume was coated to the seats and her hair tie around the shift. I wonder if she drove it here this morning listening to her music, not a care in the world.

Deep down, desperately, I wanted to experience all of that and more with her. I wanted Ryan to confide in me when she needed a place to be listened to, I wanted her to hate me so much that she admired me. 

I wanted her.

---

RED BULL RACING HAVE disclosed in an interview that they aren't aware of what's caused Ryan Bradford's vehicle to crash. Following Daniel Ricciardo's mystery crash the day before, it appears the vehicles have a similar fault.

Still, the question remains; Is this the result of a manufactured error, or is something more sinister at play?

-=+=-

As I woke from whatever I had just been subjected to, I felt my phone vibrate besides me on the bedside table. My hand lazily felt around for it, my hand finally wrapped around the metal device before I pulled it closer to me and read one of the many notifications on my phone.

The words on the screen seared into my brain, the familiar name of my brother wrapping around every synapse in my brain as they worked at infinite speeds. Jonah had some involvement with whatever caused me to crash, I knew that as well as any person would. But why he wanted me to know of it, or to even crash in the first place, I didn't know.

My eyes struggled to focus on the screen as my head swum with pain at the very thoughts of what had just occurred. I was flung from the vehicle, my body laid in the centre of the track as other drivers narrowly avoided me, everyone carried on driving, everyone apart from Daniel. "Fuck me," I groaned, groggy from the drugs which numbed the pain inside me.

"Is that an invitation?" A distinctly familiar Australian accent called out, "I'm flattered," Daniel was leant against the doorway into my room, his eyes twinkled with mischief as he looked at me hooked up to a large amount of machines. "You look like shit,"

"I felt great until you appeared," I told him, my eyes trained on his movements whilst my hands played with the phone in my grip, "Why are you here?" I asked him.

His eyes narrowed slightly, "You nearly died twice, I'm here because I watched it all happen," he said, and for the first time, I'd felt as though he never left my side.

"You were there, when I was on the track, weren't you?" I asked him, as though this was some sort of police interrogation. I knew it wouldn't be, and that he would have told me it all if it came down to it.

He approached me softly, his eyes never left mine as he sat at the end of my bed, his hand on my side as I struggled to feel anything other than numbness, "Who do you think started to give you CPR?" he told me, and none of it made sense, not even a single moment of it.