My time | OP

8.

Briar's POV

Once Oscar had left, I shed a few tears about our old times in F2. It hit me like a tonne of bricks all over again that I wasn't racing. Then I started hyperventilating at the thought of my dad finding out I'd come back to the circuit. He thought I was just travelling with V. I curled up in my bed and hugged one of the pillows for a bit of comfort, just weeping. Shortly later, I decided to get changed into something more appropriate for bed and buried myself back under the covers, trying to wipe away my tears on my old Carlin top. I set myself an alarm to make sure I woke up in the morning. I continued to weep until eventually my eyes became too heavy and I succumbed to my exhaustion.

The following morning, I was awoken from my slumber. Not by my alarm, but by someone knocking on my door. It was pounding and they sounded like they were getting pissed. I leaped out of bed and near sprinted to the door. I was still in my pyjamas and looked like I'd been dragged backwards through a hedge, so even if I had slept over my alarm, whoever was on the other side of this door was about to get an earful. When I swung the door open and saw the tall, muscular figure of Oscar on the other side of the door, looking like he had just seen a ghost, my mouth almost dropped in surprise.

"Oscar... what are you doing here?"

"Oh Briar. Thank fuck. I was worried, I thought something had happened to you," He exclaimed inbetween breaths, clearly struggling to catch his breath.

"Oscar, what's going on? Why are you here? And why are you so worked up?" I said, pulling him into the room, closing the  door behind him.

"You're never late Briar. You've never been late in all of the years I've known you. Then I started thinking something had happened to you. You're an hour late."

"Shit, I guess I must have been in a deep sleep. I just slept through my alarms, you don't have to panic." I claimed, trying to calm him down slightly.

He threw his head back in relief, releasing a large exhale of breath. I could tell that some anxiety was leaving his body, but he was still visibly distressed.

"Look Oscar, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you."

"I didn't know what to think. You've never done that."

I couldn't help but feel awful. He was so worried. Oscar had placed himself on the edge of the bed and so I placed myself next to him. I put my hand on the top of his knee and gave it a gentle reassuring squeeze. I received a small smile in return.

"How about you meet me downstairs after you've met Mark, we'll sit down for some lunch and we'll talk about your plan and schedule for the week."

"Only if you let me come and get you from here. That way I know you're ok."

"You've got a deal Piastri."
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What the fuck? What the actual fuck was going on? I was never late, never. First was that whole airplane anxiety fiasco, then I couldn't stop crying thinking about the championship and now I'm late. I needed to pull myself together, not just for the sake of myself and my career, but Oscar needed me to be at my best.

I dragged myself to the bathroom and turned on the shower, letting the steam gather on the windows and the mirrors. I took some time to wash my hair and clear my mind. After blow drying my hair and trying my best to get the shampoo from my eyes, I plaster on some makeup, trying to make myself look better, being fully aware that I had to be seen by other people when in the paddock. In the end, I had struck a perfect balance between professional and hot. I pulled on a pair of black denim shorts and my black McLaren tshirt and laced up my airforces. Just as I was searching for my keycard and putting my laptop into my bag, I heard a fork knock at the door.