𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐒, charles leclerc

00 ; prologue

It wasn't easy when the world around you was quiet, even though it wasn't. Employees were walking around me, trying to start a conversation with me, but I couldn't understand them.

Someone tapped on my shoulder and a beaming face met my eyes as I looked at George. He greeted me and pulled me into a tight hug, which I returned, inhaling his scent as I did so.

"Do you have a new perfume?"

He thought for a moment before nodding.

"Yes, do you like it?" A grin crept onto my lips as I realized that George had improved his sign language vocabulary and we were communicating better than we had in months. "It doesn't smell bad," I shrugged. "Have you been practicing the signs?"

Learning sign language was like learning a foreign language. The fact that you had to use your hands to help made it more complicated for some than for others.

George smiled shyly at me and nodded curtly before turning around as someone seemed to be talking to him.

"I have to get going. The race starts in a few minutes." He looked over his shoulder and adjusted the compression shirt on his body before pulling the suit over his shoulders. "Take care of yourself. And remember what we talked about." I pulled up the zipper of his suit and pressed the button at the top closed before walking with him and helping him pull the gloves over his hands.

George could do it all himself, but it was the little things in life that should be appreciated.

"Yes, Mom."

I shook my head with a smile and dropped my hand onto his hard helmet. I couldn't hear what it sounded like, but I knew from the fabric of the helmet that it must have made a loud smack.

Only a few minutes later, the pilots were on the track and I observed their position from the cameras. I couldn't communicate with them like my father could, but I still supported the drivers as much as I could.

Lewis Hamilton took first place, with Charles Leclerc chasing after him like his life depended on it, and then George followed. The three of them were so close together that I was afraid one of them would crash and I had a feeling that this time it wouldn't end as mildly as the last ones.

Next to me, I could feel tempers flaring and saw my dad yelling at the monitor, even though I was pretty sure he was yelling at one of our drivers.

I tapped him on the shoulder and winced as he turned to me quicker than I thought he would.

"What's wrong?" I saw him sigh and again wished I could just hear him. Never in my life had I ever felt the need to hear anything, but since meeting the drivers, my life had turned one hundred and eighty degrees and I actually found it very depressing that I couldn't have a conversation with them. "George wants to overtake Charles and Lewis, but if he overtakes them now he will cause an accident."

I nodded.

Then my father turned back to the screen and I sighed, letting myself fall onto one of the chairs behind me.

The silence was slowly but surely getting too loud and threatening to take my mind away, because there was no hope of a cure and therefore no hope of ever hearing anything.

It was depressing because I had never heard my father's voice, never heard the engines of the Formula One cars roar. There was just nothing I could hear.

Just silence.

And this silence had enveloped me for twenty-one years, had me firmly in its claws.

I was tapped on the shoulder and when I looked up, my father was crouching in front of me with one hand on my knee and the other on my shoulder.

"I'm sorry," He looked around and dropped his other hand on my knee as well. "I know it's not easy for you and I'm glad you're with me." A smile crept onto my lips as my father pressed a gentle kiss to my temple.

After I had been involved in a serious traffic accident six months ago, my father had taken me to each of the races and I wasn't complaining because it meant I could spend more time with him.

And our yacht was of course also a pro argument, which weighed much more heavily than the disadvantage that I couldn't hear anyone or anything here.

But there were also obvious advantages. The fact that the drivers were all adults meant that they could look at you during a conversation and I could read their lips well enough to understand what they were saying to me.

I wasn't really affected by this either, but somehow I found it annoying that I could never hear the drivers' voices. I could never get an idea of whether their voices were high or low and would never be able to hear the music that was played when a driver won a race.

George crossed the finish line and my father jumped up with his fists raised, probably shouting at the top of his voice. Charles Leclerc took second place and Lewis third, although the two had won nose to tail and the second count now had to be checked again.

My dad pulled me up by the arm and jogged with me to the podium, making me giggle as he forced me to stand next to him on the podium.

The team bosses were allowed on the podium if someone won and my father saw me as an indispensable, important member of Mercedes.

And suddenly I was twelve again and had seen Lewis win for the first time — how his victory had been celebrated with overpriced champagne and he had embraced me in a sticky suit.

Lewis was a treasure and had a heart made of gold. Whoever will ever get together with him had won the biggest prize there was.

I felt Leclerc's gaze on me, but I didn't turn around, staring at Lewis's smile instead and the way he looked at me with love.

Our relationship was nothing but love and we seemed to have formed a father-daughter relationship even though my father was always with me.

"Congratulations." Lewis grinned, stepped off the podium and put an arm around my shoulder before pressing a kiss to the top of my head and showering me with the overpriced champagne. Like a little kid, he jumped around excitedly as he pointed the squirting bottle at me, completely ruining my outfit.

But I laughed.

And with that, Lewis' seemed to have achieved his goal as he pulled me into his arms again. The air was now thick with sweat and expensive champagne and almost made me gag.

Lewis said something next to my ear and from the sound waves coming from his voice, I could guess that his voice was rather deep and calm.

He pulled away from me but kept his arm around my shoulder and pressed the winning cap to my sticky hair. I looked up at him with a happy smile.

Lewis Hamilton was my idol.

In more ways than one.