Little Things

9- Privilege

"Leclerc" Silence.

"Leclerc!" This time i've got a more urgent tone in my voice, growing annoyed with the lack of arguments we've had in the past three days

"What!" His tone makes me flinch, unprepared for the harsh out burst after his lack there of lately

"What is wrong with you?!"

"What does that even mean, Verstappen?" He goes back to his monotone voice, watching me with his eyes dark, his jaw tense

"You haven't spoken to me in over a day, god, you'd think that i'd jump at the idea of you finally shutting the fuck up but that seams like the worst possible outcome right now! Yell at me, argue with me, I don't know, do something!" I haven't a single idea as to why it annoys me so much, but not fighting leaves me walking on egg shells that would be much easier if we could simply throw away.

"Fine, you want to argue? You're staying in my apartment, sleeping in my guest room, eating my food, and now you want to yell at me, is it not bad enough i've got to fucking deal with you constantly?!"

"Then why agree to it!"

"Because I am not about to loose the job i've worked my who life for over a know it all bitch that was never taught any damn manners!"

"I was, I just choose to not use them on you, seems like an existential waist of my time" I don't wait for his answer, walking out of the living room to where i've stayed for a record two days before leaving once more

I immediately begin packing the stuff i'd taken out of my bags under the impression that I would be capable of staying here for another four days before the next race but I can't.

the silence surrounding the flat has been deafening, as if every time i'm outside of the guest room i've found myself in an ancient temple, with pressure plates prepared to shoot arrows, and close lines that trigger spikes, protecting their treasure with every painful variable possible, but what's the point in persevering through the mental obstacle course when the treasure in a best case scenario is an argument, degrading words i'd act immune to until i'm hidden from the eyes of those guilty of inflicting the reaction, awaiting my chance to be alone, suffocated in my solitude, backing me into a corner with no escape from myself, with no where to go and no place to call home.

I'd been naive enough to create hope in the situation, a rare possibility of protection, seeing the distance from my father grow further than ever before and yet i've still got fresh cuts in my skin, the crimson red never afraid to display itself long enough for me to acknowledge the sincerity of the impact he has on my mental health, I'd been blind to what was right in front of me, this isn't an escape from my imprisonment, no, i've merely been transferred, only this time, to a warden with a much larger upper hand than that of my father could ever imagine.

Formula 1 was supposed to be my prison break, when I could finally catch a glimpse of a proud father, I could finally learn what that looks like, I was finally old enough, skilled enough, to be allowed at the adult table, and yet I still feel like a child, an imposter to my peers, a fraud in the family line, the same sentence echoed in my youth, finding its way to who I claim to be even now, what if he's right? That I should never have found myself with a seat, the ability to drive the fastest cars in the world, only 19 other people can rightfully claim their capability to do so, they believed in me enough to make me the 20th, but how long does it take till i'm a memory? Till they open their eyes, deciding inevitably, that I don't belong. What if Leclerc's words aren't those of a empty insults, but of my future?

I'm no longer packing, I can't even think, nor find control for that matter

I feel useless, pathetic

Slipping down onto the floor, I hope for its solid structure to give me just that, usually I could look around, watch the walls cave in on me but all I seem to feel is the crumbling of my own facade, dwindling into an opportunity for a breakdown, actions that of a disappointment would find their self in.

it's rare for someone of my 'mental strength' to fall into such a deep hole, one that suffocates me, it's walls perfectly up-kept to allow no escape, taunting me for my pitiful attempts, until I can't take it, and i've collapsed on myself, a wet liquid that's hardly seen making an appearance on my now rosey cheeks, my hands banging against the floor beside me, screaming with no words, begging with no plan of stopping, I can't breathe, and the simple idea of no longer having control over that one aspect opens the floor below me, dropping into a bottomless pit, forever falling, forever suffering, only intensifying the panic within me.

Hidden in the room of the home owned by the boy who knows privilege wonderfully feels oh so horribly wrong, the privilege of love, a word that I believed to be painfully out of reach until that very boy taught me of its existent, brought the feeling to my attention just enough for me to have a glimpse, I was warned to never become greedy with the addictive pleasure but I had grown ignorant, carried away to the point of it being snatched from my grasp, that very boy is the epitome of my greatest happiness, and now I find myself as an imposter to his home, paranoid to the capabilities of setting him off, hidden behind the walls of his guest room banging my fist to the floor, pleading for air that can never truly heal my necessity for it, still repeating the process despite knowing it's lack of a solution so far into falling that I believe no one could pull me back up, not one that still cares for that matter, if he ever did to begin with.

Words: 1153

Short chapter but i've alr got some of the next one written ;)

A little bit more of what goes on in her mind, I'm in a deep paragraph mood today and idk why but hope you enjoyed