CHECKERED FLAG - c.l [2]

Reckoning

44.

Number 44 was printed on the top of my parking ticket.

It was cold, November time, the sky above me was grey as the evening was rolling in, the winter air nipping at my exposed arms, stupidly not putting my jumper on when I got out the car.

I look back at the red BMW behind me, the lamppost acting as a spotlight in the musk of the evening, a slight mist was starting to roll in as I crossed the parking lot towards the lit up building.

From the outside it looked peaceful for a Thursday evening, a few people walking around the offices, while a few haggled around the reception desk, exchanging lanyards and important documents.

I wasn't an anxious person, at least not this much; my chest was almost heaving as I tried to control my breathing as I stepped over the small chain fencing and onto the grass, ignoring the 'stay off the grass sign.'

I clamped my hands open and closed as I near the entrance to the building, feeling my head going light as the wind sweeps through me, wishing I had eaten before I left.

It was only 2 days after the last race of 2023 season.

Having left the states not getting to race after Carlos was voted in for the second driver seat, I had gone straight home, not leaving my room for days, trying to come to terms with what had happened.

"Poppet you can't stay in here forever," my dad had said to me from the other side of the door.

I had barricaded the door almost, only leaving to shower and use the bathroom.

It felt like I was going through my first breakup all over again, having lost my seat and then giving up a chance of driving for Mercedes, just for him.

"Go away," I threw a pillow aimlessly at the door for effect.

My phone had been dead for the past 2 days, having it constantly pinging from all the missed calls and text I had refused to read, it was driving me insane.

"George and Lewis are here to see you Madeline," he called out again.

I let out an audible groan; this was the 4th time they had came to see me, all the other times I had refused to leave the room, with them even sitting outside my bedroom door, singing, telling jokes, anything to get me to come out.

"Tell them I'm ill," I called out, turning over in my bed. I was swaddled in my bed sheets, surrounded by a sea of used tissues and empty popcorn packets, 'Marley And Me' playing on my TV.

The Ferrari hoodie that I hadn't taken off in almost 2 weeks, now starting to smell with tear stains and coffee spills lingering on the fabric.

"We know you're not ill Madeline." I hear a different voice from my dad's saying.

I sit up in the bed, still clutching the duvet up and around my head as the door opens suddenly.

George and Lewis stood leaning in the doorway, Lewis clutching onto a basket full of snacks and monster cans while George had a bouquet of flowers and a bottle of wine in his.

"Awh guys," I began crying out again as I saw them.

"Oh god you've set her off again," George said as he rushed into the room, placing the flowers and wine on the dresser, sitting down on the edge of the bed and placing a hand on my thigh as I cried.

"Me? You're the one who brought her flowers," Lewis stood dumbfounded, still clutching onto the hamper.

I let out a genuine laugh for the first time in weeks, George and Lewis giving me a sympathetic look as I continue to cry.