Finding Home - an f1 romance

chapter 10

Max Verstappen (POV): [TW: s€lf h@rm, p@nic @ttack]
Sassy, my cat, died the day after. She was put down because of a terminal illness that would slowly chip away at her life, and it already was.

My mother, with her oily smiles and fake acts of "kindness" only made it worse.

We were both sitting in the kitchen, staring off into a random point. I felt empty and numb. I couldn't even feel anything, much less describe it. I don't know how it started, but it did. My mother and I were locked in a heated argument.

"This was your fault!" she exclaimed.

"How the fuck was it my fault?"

"You deposited those mutts at my house and expected me to know what to do! And now she's dead. I learned to care about them, you know? I'm gutted."

"Sure seems like it. They were mine and you know it."

"God, you've always been a selfish brat since birth, haven't you Max?"

"And you've always been a terrible mother!"

"It's not my fault you fucked up constantly. It's not my fault that Jos hurt you!"

"So it's mine? You did absolutely nothing! Time and time again! You watched me bleed on the floor and what did you do? Divorce him and leave me alone."

"That divorce was all your fault and you know it, Max Verstappen!"

"Because of what? Because I told him how terrible you were? I was being honest."

"You want me to be honest? You've wasted your entire life for him! You sacrificed everything, your childhood and your dreams, for what? For racing? To please him? You nearly bankrupted me, and for what? For you to fail and lose every race weekend?"

My decayed heart withered away at her words. The bitter sting of disappointment and hopelessness was burning me from the inside out.

"I'm fucking leaving," I growled.

"Good. I don't want a failure in my home anyway, so you can run along."

God, she just had to keep going. I clenched my jaw and stormed off, ignoring her yells behind me.

I went directly to my private jet and called for it to go to Monaco. The broken, jagged memories of my past resurfaced every fucking second, mentally torturing me under their hold on me.

It didn't take long for me to lose my mind. I sprinted into the bathroom, my whole body shaking. It took me forever to unzip the small bag I left there, but I did it.

With trembling hands, I took out the blade, marveling at its beauty and significance. And then I went mad.

Failure.

Disappointment.

Waste.

Your fault.

Selfish.

Cruel.

Bratty.

Spoiled.

Worthless.

More and more negativity crowded my mind, and with each new word thought, a new cut was carved into my skin. Blood poured down both of my arms, staining the sink red.

Scarlet trails crisscrossed across both forearms, but it wasn't enough. I would think I'd be used to it; the awful words and negativity. I've been hated on since the very moment I joined this sport. When everyone in the world tells you how terrible you are as a person, and when the very people who are supposed to nurture and care for you belittle me for everything, it's hard to believe that someone somewhere doesn't hate me.