Beyond The Checkered Flag

001- (Breathe...)

                      — ESTELLA —

I always thought driving a formula one car would feel better than this.

"Fuck sake Vince. This car is sliding everywhere. I can't control it!" I frustratedly scream into my radio. I turn a corner once again feeling the rear end of my car slipping out like I'm driving on ice. There is a blur of my frantic movements as I try to twist the impossibly heavy steering wheel to regain control. My neck muscles scream at me as a take a wave of g-force going through the chicane. "Estella you have to try. There is nothing I can do." He replies quickly, it makes my anger build to rage. I quickly press the 'radio' button to turn it off and blink aggressively, trying to refocus. 'What a shit fucking car' I sigh under my breath.

I've almost had a full season in formula one now and to be completely honest, I wish I never did. I'm currently sat in my cockpit, which is burning hotter by the second as the car roars behind me every time I press the throttle down. It's the Qatar GP, only one more to go after this and I can finally change my contract. Being stuck in a shitty performing alpine for a whole year has pushed me to my limit. Currently I'm sat in P10, my team mate is in 18th so it's easy to say I'm the one carrying the team in points, even if it's only one.

I stare at the track in front of me.

Throttle.... Break.... Turn.... Overtake

Breath

Throttle... Turn.... Straight.... Dive.... Overtake

Breath

My arms are burning as I cross the line signalling the last lap. The British man, George Russel, is infront of me. My eyebrows push together as I see smoke emerge from his car before I watch him panic and crash into the barrier on the last turn. It leaves me in P7. The highest I have managed to get all season.

"Vince is he alright?" I question as all the cars slow down during our cool down lap, everyone ecstatically waving as we pass the stands full of fans. I see their mouths open, they are cheering. All I can hear is the white noise of my car and blistering heat of my exhaust. "Yes he is out of the car." Well at least that's some good news.

"P7, well done Estella." Vince says before I hear my team principle join in. "Well done! Fabulous drive, you really pushed the car to its limits! We are so proud." It makes me scoff. Fucking 7th is pushing the car to its limit. God get me out of here.

"Make me a better car." Is all I respond before I park and head to the media pen.

      **** 11 months before ****

"FUCK YEAH BABYYYY" my screams fill the radio and speakers of every tv watching this race.
"ESTELLA ALBANI YOU ARE AN F2 WORLD CHAMPION!!" Everything sounds muffled, the words 'world Champion' don't sound real to me yet. Nothing feels real right now. I move my feet around in my car, pressing the throttle just to check if I'm really here.

I'm a fucking world champion! The first female world champion in Formula 2. I know there is no possibility that I can go further than this, a woman has never been in formula one. My happiness dies down suddenly, this is how good it will ever get. I'm lucky to even be here.

Fuck it. If F2 is the highest I can go, then I will fucking dominate until it kills me.

The noise of my prema calms down, and eventually stops as I park in front of the winning sign. The car is so hot and there is so many screams and cheers, they all merge into one. Its insanely loud. And it's all for me. I use my last ounce of strength to lift myself out of the car, standing up in the sculptured seat and pulling out my steering wheel.