Perfect Disaster-Charles Leclerc

ten

Carlos' hands make space between my shoulders and try to lift my face, I have my eyes on the ground and no desire to lift my head, the tears have been flowing for a long time and I almost don't feel my strength anymore. He lowers himself to my level, rests his knees on the floor, no doubt soiling his beautiful red suit. My best friend's arms welcome me as if they were home, a safe place. I remain rigid against Carlos's body and sob

"I'm here, it'll be alright"

my breaths become shorter, the thought of those cold eyes on mine, of those detached words fill my head and make me panic, even more so knowing that if I come out of my hiding place the reporters will be there waiting or rather waiting for Carlos and I can't make him look like that. He shifts his head, tries to look at me, takes one hand and brings it to his warm chest, his suit damp with sweat, his other hand moves it to my chest, he lets me breathe, never letting me catch a glimpse of my trembling hands, only and always his strong and firm

"breathe with me now April"

he takes a deep breath and holds his breath for a moment then releases it. He does this a few times until he turns a smile to reassure me and I let out a small laugh, I bring my arms around his neck and rise up slightly to hug him, but he's the one to hold the tightest between the two of us, to act as the anchor, the full stop, the rescue

"thank you"

my whisper reaches the ears of my best friend who wipes away my tears for the umpteenth time and adjusts his cap and hair under it

"perfect, let's go get my things and go to the hotel,"

he picks me up and pulls me in front of him, resting his hands on my shoulders for a few seconds and then bringing them to my hips

"pizza and Brooklyn 99 tonight"

he leaves a kiss on my head and we walk towards the beautiful red box which however now no longer tastes like passion red, but anger red.

Leclerc is still inside, as soon as I see him I stiffen and it doesn't go unnoticed as a gesture, Carlos gives me a fleeting glance, but my eyes don't move from his

"second round?"

His haughtiness is still there and I feel my face flare with anger, no second round, I wouldn't be able to right now. I start towards the bathroom

"where are you going?"

I square him off and continue my walk. I rest my hands on the sink, catching my breath, going unnoticed in the paddock was a feat, among the fans and various journalists from the sports programmes who wanted to talk to him again. I take another breath, he can't do this any more, I have to take away that power to upset everything, to make me angry, to make me nervous and so arrogant. my eyes are dark green, shiny, they don't lose that little light, hidden, but it's still there. I close them for a second: the 'photographs' imprinted in my head, captured by my eyes, are vivid.

My first time that I entered the paddock, that I saw max, the first time I realised that I loved him like a friend, the first time I saw those cars start a centimetre away from me, the feeling of wanting to touch that beautiful, fast car. I hear a knock at the door and that is enough to make me open my eyes and wake up from my memories. I run my hand under cold water and rinse my face, I have to come to my senses, quickly, be ready for whatever happens, I have to have coolness at hand. I open the door and there he is again, leaning against the doorframe, his hair looks out of place, as if he hadn't fixed it after taking off his helmet,

he has changed: his Ferrari red jersey is tight on his shoulders as if it were small for him, he's not used to wearing them like that, we know he has a questionable style, but not so much. The white jeans make him look taller than he really is