I turn quickly into the 9th corner of the Hungaroring, attempting to improve my speed from the first sector when I see it. Debris everywhere, pieces of tyre and car splattered around the track. I feel the grip loosen as my medium tyres cling onto every morsel of the damage. "Who?" I desperately ask as I enter the third sector of Q3.
"It's Charles" My engineer says softly and my heart sinks as I begin unconsciously holding my breath, unable to recognize the matching red Ferrari to mine amid the damage. As my engineer calls a red flag I park my 00 Ferrari in the pit lane and I stabilize my breathing, needing to remain calm for press.
Take one breath in through your nose, I pull the steering wheel out and place it on the car.
Slowly breathe out your mouth, I hoist myself out onto the ground and take confident steps towards the screen replaying the crash.
In your nose, my eyes train onto the screen as I see back marker Haas fighting with Charles.
Out your mouth, the Ferrari flips.
7 times before bursting through the barriers and smoke erupts from the car. I feel tears quickly fall down my cheeks and I cover my face with my gloved hand. I am unable to remove my eyes from the screen, glued to the billowing smoke and unable to hear anything besides my rapid heart beat. I remember how to breathe when I see his silhouette emerge from the car, marshalls carrying his limping body toward the ambulance.
They end qualifying early, leaving me in P6 for tomorrow's race. Before I know it I'm in my hotel room staring at my dark circles and musty brown hair.
I pull my hair out of it's unusual tight top bun and brush my hair, feeling it cascade down my back as I smooth it out, I step into the running hot shower and feel the burn kiss my neck and trickle down to my feet. I'm not sure why I subject myself to the sweltering water, but it became a tradition on qualifying days.
As the heat begins to normalize when brushed onto my skin I turn it up, welcoming more steam and slight pain as it envelops my body. Maybe I feel the need to punish myself by voluntarily exposing my pale skin to the blotchy red spots and tingling pain. Likely, though, it's my want for control. The ability to control something, even as miniscule as water temperature from my hotel shower head, makes me feel at ease. Behind the wheel, sandwiched on every inch of my body with the car, control eludes me. It eludes all drivers who choose to put their lives at risk in high speeds and tight corners.
I turn the heat down as my breathing becomes sharp and short and I open the curtains to release the built up steam. The cold air hugs me and I practice deep and slow breaths. I pull a robe over me and tighten in, looking at my red stained skin. I walk towards the bed, placed in the middle of the room, which is covered in my open suitcase and belongings. I tidy the room slightly and change into pajamas at just the right time, as Lando Norris, my teammate last year, enters the room.
I jolt at his presence and welcome him with a playful smile. "Remind me again why I gave you a spare key?" I ask with a grimace.
"Perhaps you like spending time with your favorite Brit on the track?" He jokes in response. Lando feels like the closest thing to home while we were traveling. Although I financially support my family, they are rigid in their ways and rarely make it to any races. When I started in Formula One last year with Mclaren, I thought I would remain an enigma. Other F3 and F2 drivers rarely interacted with me. I chalked it up to their own fear, but Lando was different. He listened and rarely, if ever, commented on the fact that I am the first, and currently only, female Formula One Driver.
"Perhaps" I say in an exaggerated British accent, one not far from my own. Lando makes himself at home in the newly tidied room and pulls out his phone for a brief moment before looking back at me.
"Today was tough, have you heard from Charles yet?" He says simply. I push my brows together and shake my head. Charles and Lando have been friends since Lando joined Mclaren and although I spend the most time with Lando off the track, I rarely interact with my own teammate Charles.
"He's okay, ego may be bruised. He's ready for the race tomorrow" Lando says as he notices my anxiety. I offer a big smile as he goes back to his phone. We sit in comfortable silence together. After a few moments he picks up his phone and speaks quickly, ending the conversation by promising his presence soon.
"Cheerio!" I tease the British man as he gives me a quick hug before leaving the room. As he leaves I bring myself to a yoga mat I placed in the corner of the room. I lay down flat and begin to meditate, as I always do the night before a race. 1, 2. 1, 2. 1, 2. 1, 2. 1, 2.
*****
"As the two red cars make the final turn we can almost guarantee it now, that's a beautiful 1, 2 finish for the Ferraris!" The announcer calls out but I do not hear it. My heart pounding in my ears, I can barely make out my engineers compliments and bravos. 1, 2 finish. I climbed 4 positions. I overtook Max Verstappen. Yet, I am disappointed with being the 2. I bubble up in my defeated state and feel a twinge of jealousy, maybe even anger towards my Monegasque teammate, Charles Leclerc amidst the crash yesterday. I watch as he climbs on top of his car and bows. I mirror him. I continue to steal envious glances as he pulls his helmet off and we lock eyes.
As my gaze passes over his, something changes. His shoulders fall, so slightly and his brows knit together for just a moment before returning to his big smile and tall demeanor. Did he regret taking first place? This childish thought leaves my mind quickly as I remember that race car drivers do not feel pity for taking points. Something I learned quickly in F3 was that I often protected my teammate, to my own demise. I avoid the cool down room, deciding rather to stay out with fans before heading to the podium to drench myself in champagne. It's then that I notice it again. As Charles spurts the sticky liquid in my direction, his face shifts. I make a note to investigate the possible cause later and instead begin to focus on the momentous win for Ferrari.
I find myself under the hot water again after the mayhem that followed a race. I keep the temperature a respectable hot as I wash the viscous alcohol off my skin. After I sit at the small desk, doodling shapes and lines in no particular order, and turn my head quickly towards the door as the Mclaren driver makes a reappearance.
"Monsieur Norris" I say, returning my attention to the notepad. He walks to the bed and sits on the edge. I turn my body to his and he smiles.
"How was your race?" I laugh, smiling at my friend who, even if it always scares me when he walks in, is always welcome.
"Good. I'm happy with the result but also hopeful to have a better result for the last race before summer break" he responds while running his hands through his visibly unwashed hair. "How was yours?" He adds in a cheeky tone.
"Who can complain with a 1, 2 finish?" The words roll out of my mouth as I choke back my disappointment, not wanting to look greedy in front of Lando.
"The person who got 2nd" His reassurance is never unexpected and I smile. Lando always listens to my complaints, even if they were about a fellow driver, Charles. I felt calmness wash over me and I quickly respond,
"I just wanted to win my first race. I was so close" I push my head back and look at the plastered ceiling as I listen to his response.
"It's okay to be upset, just don't let it consume you, okay?" I stay silent for a few moments which may be the reason he feels the need to repeat himself. "Okay, Y/N?"
I bring my attention back to him and force a half assed smile. "Okay, okay" Lando brings himself to his feet and stretches.
"I gotta go" He says with disappointment coating his tone. Although we see each other often, there aren't enough hours in the day to dedicate to quality time. "I have yet to shower and fear I smell like a wet sock" I can't help but erupt into laughter and he joins me. We exchange a quick hug and I say, "Just a little" with a laugh before escorting him out of the soon to be packed hotel room. I return to my desk and I see my phone illuminate with an incoming call from no other than Charles Leclerc.
YOU ARE READING
chicane • f1 fanfic
Fanfiction"Why didn't you tell me this sooner?" He says quietly with anger coating every word. "Would that have changed anything?"
