Slow Down

LAP 2

The next race is held at Silverstone in a week. In the meantime, me and Hoshi, my teammate, will be filming content. It is not quite helping that I woke up on the wrong side of the bed with a headache so fierce, my mind completely shuts down for a moment or two whenever it strikes.
  
The make-up artists are trying their best at hiding the purplish eye bags and the very much prominent slap mark.

"Who did this to you?" Kira, the one in charge of my foundation, asks while softly tracing its pattern with her forefinger. My breath hitches at the pain, which is still there and makes the inside of my cheek feel numb. I hadn't had a single look in the mirror since I woke up, so seeing the mark still imprinted on my skin catches me off guard.

"Just some drunk punk." I chuckle out a quick and believable excuse, which seems to satisfy Kira's curiosity. A breathy 'dickheads' falls from her lips as she starts tapping my face with the little sponge.
  
Someone hands me two pills and a cup of warm water. I don't waste a second and swallow both of them at the same time. The sight of water made my throat itch and feel dry, but the people around me wouldn't know, so it's only fair that I receive some questioning looks when I chug the whole glass down in one go and ask for one more.
  
The door opens to reveal Hoshi, who looks a bit too good for it being only eight thirty in the morning. "Morning Yoonie~" He sings, and when I look up from my lap, I see him approaching me with a camera in his hands. Panic immediately takes over me; the slap is visible even in the dim lights of the studio.
  
My hands react as if by instinct and cover my face. "I'm not ready!" I yell in protest while peeking through the gaps between my fingers, meeting Hoshi's cheeky expression. His smile grows wider, causing his eyes to turn into two little crescents.
  
"You're pretty either way." He fires back and brings the camera closer to my face, while all I can do is throw my head on my lap and remain still, even wrapping my arms around my thighs when he starts pulling me by my shoulder.
  
"Let the man do his job mate!" I refer to the make-up artist standing beside me, whose foot is impatiently tapping on the concrete floor.
  
I hear Hoshi mutter a quick 'sorry' before he walks out of the room with a nonchalant "More screen time for me I guess" and kicks the door close. I let out a soft sigh and sit up straight, locking eyes with my reflection. My cheeks are flushed pink from both embarrassment and unease and my eyes glow like a madwoman's.
  
"I guess no blush?" The man jokes with a soft laugh and I crack a smile, all while feeling like my heart is climbing up my throat from how rapidly it palpitates.

꒰🏁꒱

"Thank you so much guys, good luck on your next race!" Charlotte Dingley, the host of Tea O'clock Show, stands up from her director-type chair and walks away, leaving me and Hoshi seated on our respective spots while the crew behind the cameras starts packing their things. A soft breeze brushes through our hair as we relax ourselves and fall back on our chairs, basking in the warmth of the sun.
  
Not a minute passes by in silence and Hoshi's already leaning in, probably about to comment on Charlotte's hideous outfit or the questions we're asked; I don't expect much from my fashion freak of a friend.
  
"It was Victor wasn't it?"
  
My eyes shoot open and a confused "Huh?" escapes me. Hoshi doesn't react, looking at me through his round sunglasses. His dark brown locks move to the wind's accord, but he doesn't mind running a hand through them and fixing them, as he usually does. "No?"
  
"Ava."
  
"Hoshi."
  
His head falls back with a click of his tongue. "Why?" His tone is cold and harsh, in contrast to the high-pitched voice he always uses. Any hint of previous playfulness has been wiped off his face.
  
"Why what?" I question, genuinely confused.
  
"Why did he do that?"
  
"It wasn't him."
  
"It sure wasn't." He mocks, bringing his chair closer to me. I glance at the remaining people, yet they don't seem to bother with us. "Ava... Vi... Owl..." Nickname after nickname, he eventually gives up, seeing that he's not going to get my attention anytime soon. Or so I thought.
  
"Vivian Yoon!"
  
"What the fuck!" A wave of chills strikes down my spine and he barely escapes the slap I'm about to land on the back of his head. He's laughing as he sprints away from me, only to come back again, chuckling through soft pants.
  
"I'm sorry." He spits out midst laughing, which soon dies down. I shiver in response, my hand rubbing my right arm up and down while still experiencing little shots of adrenaline here and there; he didn't have to bring this up.

"Now spill."
  
There's no reason to keep this a secret from him. Hoshi has known me long enough to be able to read through every facade I put on; he also knows how Victor Yoon acts when things don't go his way.
  
There'd be times Hoshi's mother wasn't able to pick him up from practice, so father would be the one to drive him home; that didn't stop him from scolding me whenever I didn't do well, even in the presence of my friend.
   
"Well..." I lay back on the chair and cross my arms over my chest. My lips draw in a small grin as I imagine his reaction. "I talked back to him."
  
One thing I'm grateful for when it comes to telling Hoshi about my father is that he treats it like it's gossip. No crying, no melodrama... and I prefer it that way. When we were younger, he'd hug me through my breakdowns and ramble about how sorry he feels, but growing up, it's like I've grown immune to everything father does to me and he's learned that pitying me won't make the situation any better.
  
"Say what?" He practically screams at my face as he jolts forward, nearly saving himself from a face-first fall by grabbing the armrests. "Did I hear that right?" He adds while taking off his sunglasses, looking me up and down.
  
"It had to be something really bad for him to hit me after so long." I say with a grin and flick my wrist, signaling that the conversation is over.
  
"Hey! Hey Yoon! You can't leave me hanging like this!" He shoots up from his spot when he realizes that I'm not going to elaborate, tagging along in an attempt to draw more information out of me; he's just so fun to mess with.