𝘽𝙄𝙏𝙏𝙀𝙍, max verstappen

chapter twenty-four.

camila used to smoke, only when things got too overwhelming.

it was something to take the edge off — and yes, it was a terrible habit, especially considering she was only 17 at the time, but after a bad race or a fight with her father, she found herself doing it more and more often. it felt as though she had nothing else, or nobody else at the time, to help her cope.

but when a certain formula one driver caught her sitting outside the paddock in misery with a cigarette in hand, she found herself promising him she wouldn't do it ever again.

and camila kept that promise, all up until now.

jenson would be so disappointed in her. he was the reason she quit.

the burning sensation of smoke travelled through her body, it felt good, but it felt foreign at the same time. camila hadn't done this in six years.

but as she continued to sit alone outside her apartment, the monegasque wind gushing through her hair, creating a coldness that was soon replaced from the heat of the cigarette, she felt like she was 17 again.

seventeen, lonely, confused, miserable camila rivera. that's who she was again.

there was one more day until camila had to fly to brazil — and she was dreading it. but more importantly, she was dreading having to see lewis during the team meeting. the meeting she couldn't be late for.

camila put out her cigarette, sighing as she ran her hands through her hair, breathing in the air deeply, staring off into the night sky. her peace lasted a few moments before soon, camila headed back inside of the apartment building, walking towards the elevator, she needed to get some rest.

max stood inside the elevator, before it soon chimed, signalling he was on the first floor. he needed to go for a late night walk to clear his head.

his footsteps echoed as max began walking outside, the cool wind immediately hitting his face.

and there, sat on the curb, sighing deeply, was camila. she smelt of cigarettes. has she been smoking? max didn't know she smoked. but she definitely shouldn't be, it was one of the no-brainers being a formula one driver.

she turned her head, slowly standing and beginning to make her away towards the front doors of the large apartment building.

she looked miserable. her eyes were bloodshot, with dark eye bags hanging below them and her cheeks glistened, she must've been crying — max had never seen her in such a state.

but the most noticeable feature on her face made max's blood run cold. the fresh cut across her cheek — max wore the same one, just below his eyebrow.

they held eye contact for a mere second, before camila quickly diverted them to the floor, ignoring max and walking through the entrance.

max almost turned on his heel to run back towards camila. he wanted to hold her face, running his hands along her newly formed scars — kissing her and telling her that everything would be okay. because by the look on camila's face, max was certain that she had nobody who could do that for her. she was alone, she was drowning, with nobody to lift her up to the surface — and max wanted to be the person to do that. it was painful, seeing the girl he loved so helpless. so fragile, so alone.

max took a longer walk that night. after seeing camila something in him ached, painfully travelling and burning almost everywhere inside of him. his head needed more space, it was far too crowded.

camila tried to brush off the ache in her chest at the sight of max. the scar below his eyebrow didn't go unnoticed — it was fresh, still glistening from whatever antiseptic he had just used to clean the blood. she knew this, because camila had once been the person to clean a similar injury of his, however that one was just above his eyebrow, resting on his temple. camila sometimes found herself glancing in that spot, trying to see if there was a scar, remembering how her hands had once tried to heal it.