𝙾𝚛𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚛𝚢┃ Charles Leclerc┃

Chapter Twenty Nine - The Warning

So, the Silverstone race weekend was finally here.

And I was absolutely shitting it.

The air was thick with anticipation. It was my home race, a track where I had countless memories and where I had dreamed of racing since I was a child. But as I approached the McLaren garage, a nauseous wave of nerves washed over me like never before.

My heart raced in my chest, my palms clammy with sweat as I prepared for the day's qualifiers. The thought of my friends and family watching from the grandstands only added to the pressure, fueling my determination to perform at my best. But despite my resolve, I couldn't shake the feeling of unease that gnawed at the pit of my stomach.

"Hey, Ana, you alright?" Lando's voice broke through my thoughts, concern evident in his tone as he approached me in the garage.

I forced a smile, trying to mask my nerves as I nodded. "Yeah, just a bit nervous, I guess. It's our home race, you know?" I scrunched my sweaty, slightly trembly, hands together. "Think I need my insulin shot too. What time is it?"

Lando looked at his watch, and gave me a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "It's 11, so go get your shot. And don't worry, you've got this. Just focus on hitting those corners like you always do."

Taking a deep breath, I nodded, trying to steel myself for the challenges ahead.

I found a quiet corner of the McLaren garage, and hunted down the small vial of insulin. It'd become a routine part of my pre-race ritual, but that day, with the nerves of the home race coursing through me, it felt more important than ever.

With practiced ease, I carefully drew up the correct dose into the syringe, my hands steady despite the adrenaline pumping through my veins. As I prepared to inject, I took a deep breath, trying to calm the butterflies fluttering in my stomach.

"Everything okay, Ana?" Charles' voice broke through my concentration, and I glanced up to see him watching me with a concerned expression. His red overalls were easy to spot in the McLaren garage; they didn't fit in.

"Yeah, just doing my insulin shot." I replied with a reassuring smile, holding up the syringe for him to see.

He nodded understandingly, his eyes softening with empathy.

I pressed the needle against my skin, feeling the familiar sting as the insulin was injected into my bloodstream. It was a moment of quiet determination, a reminder of the challenges I faced both on and off the track.

As I finished the injection and capped the needle, I took another deep breath, feeling a sense of relief wash over me. With my diabetes managed for the moment, I could focus on the race ahead, drawing strength from the support of my team and the knowledge that I was capable of overcoming any obstacle that came my way.

The day that I was diagnosed with diabetes, I burst into floods of tears and locked myself in my bedroom for the rest of the evening, eating from a carton of cheap vanilla ice cream (I later learnt that as a diabetic, this was a very poor idea.) I was sure that that was it for me, that my karting days were over and my dreams of being a racer were destroyed.

However, after many a chat with my GP and several inspirational preaches from my parents, I learnt that it was merely a bump in the road, rather than a cavernous pit of a pothole.

"What are you doing here anyway, Charles? What about our agreement?" I said in a hushed voice.

Charles held up an orange lanyard, jingling it between his fingers. "Lando left this at breakfast this morning. I'm merely returning it. Our agreement still stands, ma chérie."