VIPER || Oscar Piastri

Chapter 3

[POV: Andi Saunterre]

My dad and I had been arguing for a while. A long while; Ever since the night before, when Charles informed him that he had to bring me back to my hotel room after I'd had one too many. It's safe to say that I don't remember much of what happened past, let's say, 10pm; My memories a little blurred on that front. But! What I do know for sure is that my dad was not happy to receive the call at, let's say, 1am. And neither was he pleased to discover that I had slept in, and that he had to come and get me from my hotel as I'd left my car at the venue.

All in all, it was a pretty big screw up on my behalf.

So, the yelling made sense. But I wasn't about to admit that, of course. Who would?!...

"I didn't bring you back here for you to go right back to your out-all-night, drink-till-you-drop life!" He bellowed, putting the car in park.

Oh, that's rich. I thought.

"Look. It's not my fault the bar was offering a 3 for 2! Besides, weren't you the one that made me go to that stupid party anyway?! I don't even want to be here, Dad!" I yelled as I opened the car door and stepped out of the vehicle, slamming the door shut. "Oh." I turned back, meeting his eye line as he too got out of the car. "And for the record! You didn't bring me back here! You forced me back here!" I yelled once more, and with that, I angrily began pacing towards the Paddock with my arms crossed and brows furrowed, not looking back.

I meant what I said. I was back here against my will; Back at the racing scene, to be exact. If I had it my way, well— I'm sure I've made it clear that if I had it my way, I'd be far, far, from here.

'It'll do you good', he told me. My dad, that is. He kept repeating it, as if I'd actually believe him and reconsider my decision.

I suppose, in the end, the guilt is what convinced me to give him a a chance. The guilt ate at me, engulfed me whole.

I regret doing what I did.

I regret—

"Andi! Good afternoon! I heard you'd be here today." a voice sounded behind me. I didn't need to turn, as he showed up beside me before I could. There, I discovered it was the very boy who had rung my dad the night before.

Universe. Please reconsider. Have mercy, I beg.

I thinly smiled, turning rigidly. "Morning." I waved, having no choice but to converse.

"Well, actually, I heard you'd be here at 7 like the rest of us were. But I suppose we can let you off, considering—"

Unnecessary.

"Yeah, okay, ha-ha." I made an attempt at a smile, but only managed to get around half way before I gave up. My head hurt; My feet hurt; Smiling hurt. "No need to comment, Leclerc."

I hoped he could tell I was serious, but soon remembered that he wasn't, and had never been, the best at understanding social cues.

"Come on~" He nudged my arm with his elbow, smiling down at me. I couldn't help it; I smiled back. I always smile back. "I know you had a good time." He said, and I disagreed. In my head, anyway. "But..." His tone switched to a somber one. "...I'm sure your dad's given you enough of a lecture about it, but I'm serious. Go easy, Saunterre."

He began walking away, still facing me and he was still waiting for a response of some kind. Feeling obliged to give him something, even if I didn't mean it, I nodded. "Yeah. Sure." I said, waving at him once again before watching him run off in front of me.

Stranded, I considered my options.

As there was only an hour until today's race began, I summarised that I did not have much free time until I had to be "put away", as my dad kindly worded it. His plan (that I had no say in, by the way) meant that during races I had to spend time with him and "stay where (he) could see (me)". When he told me that I was, and still am, confused as to what his reasoning could be. What could I possibly do besides watch the race? Any friends or acquaintances that I had outside of racing would not be at a race, obviously; And any friends I had inside of racing would be in the race!

I rolled my eyes having rethought of my dad's horrible plan and shook it from my mind. I hadn't decided what I'd do in my free hour, but I wasn't about to spend it stood in the same spot. So, I thought I'd see where my legs took me.

Unseen, I snuck through the Ferrari garage and began walking the length of the pit lane. I held my hands behind my back and paraded through the crowds of workers flinging to and from their cars, admiring each team's livery as well as their garage.

The Mercedes team looked respectable as always. I couldn't see much from where I was walking, but I tried to see if I could catch a glimpse of Mr Wolff. As I peered inside the garage, raising myself up onto my tiptoes, I abruptly realised what I was doing and turned from the garage immediately.

It seemed I had forgotten that I didn't want to be seen, by anyone, at all. Especially by people who knew me personally, and Toto was one of them.

Walking slowly, I continued to make my way down the pit lane, making sure to keep checking for rogue Ferrari workers coming to retrieve me upon the word of my father. As I did so, I peered up at the signs above each driver's garage that included both their names and their driver numbers, as well as their home country's flag.

"Verstappen..." I mumbled aloud to myself, passing the Red Bull garage and reading as I went along. "Perez..."

I then passed the McLaren garage.

"Lando... pfft—" I chuckled, catching sight of his photo. "Oscar..."

I continued walking.

"Valterr— wait." I paused, both in my stride and my speech. I turned slightly, unsure. Retracing my steps, I took a second look at the McLaren garage.

"Oscar...?" I read the sign aloud once again, tilting my head. I crossed my arms, staring up at the orange banner.

Why... Why does that name sound so familiar?

At that moment, several staff members came out from within the garage, following closely behind one individual in racing gear. As he emerged, reporters who had been perched outside the garage started snapping photos and rushing to talk to the driver.

It wasn't Lando, clearly, and I was aware that McLaren had signed a new driver to start his Rookie season this year at McLaren. Lando himself had informed me of that, although I mustn't have been paying very much attention as I can't remember ever hearing the name 'Oscar Piastri' before, except—

"Oscar! Oscar!" A reporter bellowed. I watched the scene, peeking my head through a small crowd that had formed beside this one reporter who'd managed to get his attention. It was only at the last second, once he'd reached the reporter, that he raised his head up enough for us to see him.

Then, it clicked.

"Oh, shit—!" I whispered, ducking my head instinctively and clasping my mouth shut thereafter.

Universe, you've got to be joking!

I turned away from his direction, still holding my hand over my mouth and hastily walking away, hoping he hadn't seen me. I probably looked strange, no doubt, as I picked up the pace and headed back to the Ferrari garage. I didn't look back, just in case.

Of course! Of course!

Realisation hit me faster than a Red Bull driven by Max V— ...No. I'm not gonna go there.

"Idiot!" I hissed. "Idiot! Idiot! How could you not know?!" I genuinely asked myself.

Next, the embarrassment kicked in.

"Oh, god." I covered my face with my hands after having found a wall to lean up against, one that was out of sight, mostly.

I was drunk! I thought, trying to reason with myself. No, no, god. I can't say that every time.

He must think I'm absolutely pathetic.

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