𝐈𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞, Formula 1

Chapter 4

Qualifying day. After yesterday's stunt, both the driver - who turned out to be Verstappen - and myself were investigated. But there was no rule forbidding it. It still got under my skin how he was asking me to race him.

But why? That word swirled around my head the entire night. Even after talked to me in my drivers' room afterwards...

"Who the fuck races someone in free practice." I yelled as we stepped in my drivers room, the heat of that practice still a prominent as the sweat on my brows.

"You did." Carlos had said, tilting his head as he took his spot on my bed. I licked my lower teeth with a chuckle.

"He was being dangerous."

"So were you."

"He instigated it!"

"You played along."

"It was all a trap to make me look bad."

"You fell for it."

I glared at him, my chest huffing in anger. No, no this wasn't my fault. He was the one that almost killed me, the both of us! I'm not a bad person for trying to teach him a lesson.

But why? What had I ever done to make him do that? Was it some kind of shitty hazing? A joke between him and Daniel? I felt so confused, so attacked. The conversation we'd had at the gala was fine, it was filled with tension, but fine. I had not expected it once to spill over onto the track.

"What kind of person does that?" I sighed finally, my head feeling tired and my body heavy. I sat down beside Carlos, my head in my hands.

I hadn't wanted this. I wanted a fresh start. I thought I had left the little boys of f3 behind me. So why are their reflections still haunting me?

"I think... it was his weird way of seeing what you're made of." He said. I had look up at him, my eyes full of confusion.

"So-so what, he's going to do the same to all the other rookies now?" I said. My head falls back into my hands, Carlos watches me with a strained expression.

"I don't think so." He answers bluntly.

"Why single me out, then?" My voice cracked. All the stress of the past week getting into my face. Small cracks on my perfect porcelain skin I had tried to hard to construct now being shown to Carlos.

"If I knew, so would you." He murmured. He watched me tug and my hair, clearly in a lot of turmoil over this. He hesitantly laid a hand on my back. I froze, staring at the floor.

What's this?

He slowly starts rubbing my back, his touch meant to be comforting. And it is. After ten seconds of remaining frozen in my spot I let myself breath. His warm hand penetrates through the race suit, providing my still wound-up body with some semblance of friendship.

Friendship. There's that word again.

Now, I'm blinking in that same drivers room, only a day later. My drivers suit unzipped around my waist, I sit cross legged on my bed, staring at the spot Carlos had sat in. The sheets are still crumpled from where we sat.

The grab on my race suit, the hand on my back, all of it was so much for me to process. He was trying to prove something to me, that became clear after yesterday. But what? Those brown eyes had been following me for all of yesterday, chasing me around relentlessly until he got what he wanted. I let him into my drivers' room, let myself speak my worries, let myself be vulnerable around him.

But he listened.

He listened and he listened so well. He shot back when I was blaming Verstappen. He didn't let me fall down into a hole of endless questions but by doing that I was sent into questions. Questions asking what he wanted from me? I felt his hand on my back, I still feel it there as if I had never left. God, would it ever leave?