Little Things

2- Bahrain Gp

Once i've finished my meeting my trainer Giana calls me over, my minds somewhere else for the duration of the reflex drills, focused on the race ahead of me

My first ever formula 1 race. My dad didn't care to show up, not how he did for Max, at least one of us got to see the glimpse of love he has for us, or maybe it's merely a glimpse of competitive being, living through us

How can a man be so cold towards his kids? Even after everything we did to make him proud of us, Max has exceeded any limit our father had reacher in his own career, and yet he still expects more, never satisfied with us.

My brother got pole position, with George in p2, followed by Charles and then me

Second row, two Ferraris, 16, and 9

Giana- "Alethia! Get ready" I nod, grabbing my race suit and untying it from my waist to pull it up

I feel as if i'm so focused, that I can't focus. If that even makes any sense

Anticipation is coursing through my veins, begging to be on the track, to prove myself in the male dominated sport

I'm instructed to get in the car, getting in on the right side I set myself down, adjusting the seat before someone hands me my gloves and puts in my steering wheel

My mind is foggy in memory from anything going on, soon enough i'm lined up in fourth, with George in-front of me, and Charles beside me

I put down my visor

One light.

Breathe

Two lights.

I adjust my hands

Three lights.

Focus

Four lights.

Don't. fuck. up.

Five lights.

Lights out.

Adrenaline sours through me, my reaction time feeling quicker than it ever has before, I quickly am able to get the driving line into turn one, passing Charles for P3

I look in my mirror to see him barely behind me, before I look back I watch two cars collide, spinning into a gravel patch

"Who was that"

"Gasly and Sainz are out, head down, focus"

I say a quick okay, braking late for turn two, "What's my gap to George"

"1.36 seconds"

I look in my mirror trying to locate the other red car, unable to see his until I look beside me

"Allow him to pass"

I almost said something, wanting to fight the decision, I deserve the spot, why should I have to let him pass?

"Verstappen. Move out of his way"

I hear my team principles voice, rolling my eyes I let him through

We're twenty laps in by now, Charles hasn't had good pace what so ever in the past four laps, he's slowing down

"What's my gap"

"Worry about defending Alonso"

"What is my gap to Charles" I repeat the question, a harsh underlying tone that I didn't mean for