DAYLIGHT | oscar piastri

059

-ˋˏ ༻ ✺ ༺ ˎˊ-

Qualifying was minutes away.

The oppressive heat was already making itself known and a thin layer of sweat began to form on my back. The weather in this part of the world was certainly not to my liking. As I trudged along towards the garage, I quenched my thirst with a few sips of water, with Ivy faithfully accompanying me. Arriving at the garage, I greeted the engineers with a slight smile - a feeble attempt at masking my growing unease. I reached for my balaclava and helmet, the symbols of my profession, the tools of my trade. Today was qualifying - a grueling task that I was not looking forward to. I could feel it in my bones - today was going to be a rough day.

I was not in the right frame of mind or spirit, but I had no choice. I couldn't simply tell the team about how I was feeling and take the day off. My duty was to drive, to push the limits of women and machines. Ideally, I should have been channeling all the anger I felt into drive, using it as fuel to propel myself to an amazing result. But today, I just couldn't. The negativity was building up, slowly but surely. The hate, the comments, the stares - they were all starting to get to me. Even in my side of the garage, a place that I had considered my sanctuary, I felt uncomfortable. I could sense the whispers, the furtive glances. It was clear that some of the engineers were talking amongst themselves, casting sidelong glances in my direction.

— ¿What is it? — Ivy whispers next to me.

I finish putting on my suit, zipping it up.— Even here i feel the stares, my team seems to not look at me the same.

Ivy looks around, without even being discrete.— Fuck them, you focus on what you have ahead of you, it's qualifying, exciting!

— Yeah well, it would be, but i'm not a huge fan of the track.— i shrugged my shoulders and put on my balaclava.— And it's so hot i could die.

I put on my helmet and gloves. I was ready. I slightly shook my body to take the nerves off myself, it was of no use, they had their claws and were holding for dear life to my body. I took a deep breath and walked to the car, Qualy had already begun a few minutes ago, and my car was ready, waiting for me to take it to the track and put on some good laps. With the help of a little stairs i got inside my car, i adjusted my seatbelt and my team helped me with the rest.

— Do you hear me? .— says Frankie in my ear.

— I do, loud and clear.

— Perfect. Only Ferrari is out on track, Mick will be leaving the garage first and you follow behind, ¿Sounds good?

I look to the side and see Mick's car slowly leaving the garage.— Yeah sure.

— Give it all kid, you got this.

¿Do i?

✺

I was right. This session was a hot mess, i had awful laps, i made a mistake in almost every one of them. Something fell off with the car as well, we weren't as in sync as we always are, it wouldn't respond well to me at turns, and it was taking me double the strength to move the steering wheel. Somehow, i made it past Q1, and Q2 was about to start.

— Frankie, i'm telling you, something is not right with the car.— i say to my engineer, still sitting down in my car.— I should get off and let them check it out.

— Lowie no changes were made to the car, it has the same configuration as before.

I sighed.— If you say so. ¿How long until Q2?

— Two minutes, we will be heading to the track right away. Same as before, follow Mick.

I held back from responding, feeling an overwhelming sense of frustration. I didn't want to unleash it all onto Frankie. I focused my gaze ahead, attempting to carve out a moment of solitude in these remaining two minutes, but just as I did, a familiar face suddenly appeared before me. Our eyes locked, if only for a fleeting moment. It was Franco, yet again. His face fell immediately upon seeing me. Maybe I was just being paranoid, but I could have sworn he quickened his pace, almost as if he was trying to escape my presence. Once again, that eerie sensation crept up, nesting itself in the recesses of my mind. I couldn't quite pin down why. Why did I feel this way every time I saw him? It was as if my instincts were trying to tell me something that my conscious mind wasn't aware of.

My eyes drifted to the side, and there they were - that group of engineers, whispering amongst themselves while casting furtive glances in my direction. A sudden realization washed over me.

Could it be? Was it possible that Franco was the one who told the world about my relationship with this mysterious driver?

No, that couldn't be it. He wouldn't do such a thing. Although we hadn't parted on the best of terms, we had shared a long history of friendship. I wanted to believe that he would respect that.

But then again, the Franco I knew wouldn't have done such a thing. This new version of him, though, I wasn't so sure about.

— Willow, leave the garage now.— says Frankie, bringing me back.

Completely baffled by the circumstances, I found myself mindlessly following his directions. It felt as if I was on autopilot, detached from the reality of the situation. I wasn't the one maneuvering the car onto the track, or making it perform the warm-up lap. As I prepared to attempt the first fast lap, my grip tightened around the steering wheel. I navigated the last corner at a deliberately slow pace, took a moment to hydrate myself with a sip of water, and mustered all my concentration. As soon as my car passed the stark white line, I pushed the throttle to its absolute limit.

The first few corners were surprisingly manageable. I didn't struggle with the car as much as I had before, which allowed me to relax slightly within the tension-filled environment. However, my shoulders remained rigid, mirroring the tension in my clenched jawline. My persistent headache was a constant reminder of the pressure I was under. The heat on the track seemed to magnify tenfold, with the relentless sun beating down on me. Dressed in two layers of clothing and confined within a helmet, it felt like an unending torment. All I could do was pray for a solid lap that would grant me the relief of returning to the garage, even if just for a bit.

— You're doing good, ¿Are the tires okay?

— Yes. No radio, please.

I was on the cusp of tackling the most intricate section of the racecourse, a demanding sequence from corners 11 to 16, and I was in desperate need of absolute focus. Distractions were more than a hindrance - they were a potential catastrophe. Failing to handle the initial corner correctly would set off a chain reaction of mistakes, making the rest nearly insurmountable. As I approached Corner 11, I managed to handle it with relative ease, going a tad wide but nothing that would raise any red flags. The same held for the following few corners.

However, the situation rapidly devolved into chaos when I reached turns 14 and 15. What was supposed to be a swift, precise maneuver turned into a nightmare. My wheels locked up, and my brakes betrayed me by refusing to respond.

Suddenly, a memory flashed into my mind with the intensity of a lightning bolt. It was the recollection of my last race, a haunting echo of the time I crashed violently into the wall.

In the split second I had, I decided to let go of the steering wheel to spare my hands from any potential injury. I shielded my face as best as I could, bracing myself for the impending impact. I felt the car slam against the wall. The impact wasn't as brutal as the previous one, but it was a blow to my ego just as severe. I let out a sigh, on the verge of tears borne from sheer frustration. Leaning my head back to catch my breath, I decided to extract myself from the wrecked car. I wasn't going to wait for anyone to help me, the desire to remove myself from the scene was too strong. As my feet touched the gravel, I noticed the marshalls rushing towards the crash site. I gave them a thumbs-up to signal that I was okay and made my way to the safety car.

Once again, I had made a grave error.