fast // formula one

Mine All Mine [CL×MV]

Charles Leclerc X Max Verstappen

Chapter Tags: M|M, Driver|Driver, Lestappen, Brazil GP 23

MATURE TAG
Warning(s): mild language

Parts/Word Count: One Part - 2085 words

Time: November 2023

Song: My Love Mine All Mine by Mitski

*****

THERE WAS NOWHERE TO GO, NOWHERE HIS CAR WOULD take him. The usual roar of the car was gone. No matter how hard Charles slammed his foot against the accelerator, the engine never rumbled.

"Problem! Problem! Engine!" he radioed.

"We know Charles," a disappointed sigh came from the other side of the radio. "We're sorry."

They're sorry? It's the formation lap for Christ's sake. The race hasn't even started and the car has already shit the bed. And they are sorry?

"Retire," the voice came over the radio. "Leclerc DNF."

"DNF!" Charles shouted in protest. "I didn't even get to start!"

But there was no use fighting, no one in that garage would listen. Charles couldn't stop the hot tears that welled up in his eyes. He cried for his race, over before it had even started. He cried for the championship, he had gotten so close to having but lost in the blink of an eye. He cried for all of his time wasted, his hours of work thrown out. He'd given everything to Scuderia Ferrari and they couldn't even give him a working engine in return. The steering wheel was a victim of a brutal beating until a crew came to collect Charles and his stalled car.

"Why am I so unlucky?" He asked the first man to get to him, pulling himself out of the car. It wasn't a serious question, but he looked back at Charles and tried to think of an answer.

"It happens to all the best drivers, Leclerc," he decided was a good choice of words. Charles looked back at him stunned.

The best drivers? Surely he couldn't be serious.

"Then what the hell am I doing here," Charles snapped, deciding it was best to leave before he picked a fight with the innocent man in front of him. His feet carried him quickly toward a seat in the garage, where everyone sat with disappointed faces. All eyes were on him and he pulled his helmet off and cast it off to the side.

"Va te faire foutre," he mumbled before finding a place to sit and watch the rest of the race, disappointment wrapping itself around him like a familiar, but cruel blanket. To no one's surprise, Max Verstappen pulled ahead and won the race as if it were nothing. Charles wanted to scream, throw something, destroy the screen in front of him.  Anything to escape the feeling of failure that was drowning him, holding him so far under that no one would hear him if he screamed.

Charles was quick to leave after the race was over and he answered the same five interview questions over and over again. He would have placed bets that he was the first driver to get back to his hotel room by the time it was all over. Everyone else was probably out celebrating victories, even the other 5 drivers that didn't finish were probably finding something to party about. But not Charles. He only wanted a shower and a long night alone in his hotel room.

Charles spent too long in the shower, letting the water wash away every mistake he's ever made, every bit of self doubt he's ever held. He slowly dried himself off and picked out clothes for sleeping before he threw himself out on his bed. For once, he was happy he wasn't flying back to Monaco until tomorrow morning. It was one less night he had to spend at home feeling sorry for himself. Tonight, he could just watch Sao Paulo come to life through his hotel window as he forced himself to sleep. He could wallow in his self pity for the night and try to leave it here in Brazil before he flew back to Monaco. Maybe if he could leave the bad luck here, it wouldn't follow him to Las Vegas. It wouldn't follow him to next season.