Il Predestinato | Charles Leclerc | Vol. 1 (🇬🇧)

8.0

Confidence

Manama, Bahrain,
March 2022

🏎️

The Grand Prix began and turned out to be fiery from the first lap, the real race was between Leclerc and Verstappen, who overtook each other continuously on every lap. The rest of the grid in the eyes of the commentators was not there, only they existed.

I had to get up from anxiety, as if standing would change the situation. Sainz continued to put pressure on Max, so as not to allow him to press Charles even more often, but he also had to defend himself from the attacks of Lewis Hamilton who had managed to get behind the Spaniard.

The strategy was to achieve a one-two, and both drivers kept pushing so that it happened. With a perfect pit stop, Leclerc managed to exit just in front of the Red Bull, but a few laps later Verstappen took the lead again.

The race was magnificent, the Monegasque was continuing to show how much he deserved to win, making me want to see him cross the finish line.

Gasly's car encountered problems, so much so that it had to stop on the line. When he got out of the car, he realized that a fire was starting and there was a yellow flag, with the safety car coming out. The cars approached, recreating the group and making the next laps at low speed.

The race resumed and sparked, until an engine problem definitively ended Max Verstappen's competition. Inside the Ferrari garage it was already a party, everyone embraced each other with the victory already in hand, even Andrea ran his upset fingers through his brown hair, with eyes of the same color, wide open.

With my hands over my mouth and emotion in my voice at those few words I had exchanged with my colleagues, I did not stop observing the screens, where the wall was communicating to Charles, what had just happened at number 1.

On the lap before the end, Perez had a lock on the tires, but by now with the defeat of his teammate earlier, Sainz had also managed to move up, arriving in second position.

So the number 16 remained first and maintained his position for all the remaining laps, winning the first Grand Prix of the 2022 season.

The chequered flag waved confirming the Ferrari one-two, everyone ran to the barriers where the drivers would park and I followed them too. I leaned against the metal, seeing the red single-seater approaching and parking in front of the number one, followed by that of my teammate who arrived a few moments later.

They both got out but my eyes were only for the Monegasque, who cheered towards the crowd once he took off his helmet. He ran towards us and with a momentum threw himself on the team with open arms. My colleagues screamed with euphoria and when the boy walked away to make room for Sainz, he approached me.

"I told you I would win." He whispered in my ear hugging me, so as not to be noticed by the cameras.

The post-race interviews took place quickly and the award ceremony began with the two Ferraris on the top steps. The trophy was handed to the winner and he looked down on the whole team. I couldn't help but smile when he looked into mine and pointed to the cup, which made me burst out laughing given his earlier promise.

It all ended and a few hours later it seemed that there had been no competition.

The celebrations in the garage continued until it was time to dismantle the paddock and mine to go back to the hotel. The next day it would be time to return to Maranello, in anticipation of the following weekend in Saudi Arabia, in Jeddah.

I closed the door of the room, lying on the bed exhausted. For being the first away game of a long series, it was already one of the best experiences I had tried. How do you define the weight of emotions? Only from the sensations they provoke you; the excitement, the shivers of emotion, the eyes almost wet with enthusiasm, Formula One had always managed to cause a continuous mix of them, never getting tired.

Someone knocked on the door and I threw out a small puff before getting up. I walked over the sofa and lowered the handle, a winking Charles Leclerc appeared, still with the trophy in his hand.

"I'm bringing my proof of winning here." He passed me to place it on the glass table in front of the sofa.

"You were magnificent." I approached and did something unexpected for me too, I placed both hands on his chest.

"Sometimes I forget why I chose Formula One as my favorite sport, to see you..." I whispered, raising my head and letting our eyes meet, "Seeing you was a way to make me remember it." The chest under my palms, he was starting to move faster.

"I had come to talk to you, to apologize for my behavior the other night..." He added, but lost himself in his own words.

We looked like a volcano ready to erupt: we had launched our seismic shocks to prepare for the event. And even we knew that all this would happen.

He put his hands around my hair, whispering to me over and over again how much he loved the reddish color of it. His eyes made mine immobilized, attracting each other like two magnets.

Something rang and we realized it was his cell phone a few moments later, his face changed reading the sender and moving away slightly he answered.

"What the fuck are you doing Charles ... I saw you ... You're out of your mind... Who are you?" I heard glimpses of conversation, where a girl was clearly screaming.

"Charlotte..." The Monegasque tried to intervene but she continued to shout swear words and insults. Charlotte?

Have you read what they say about you?
I saw you at the award ceremony
What does it mean?
Who is she?
A whirlwind of information entered my mind. Was she his girlfriend? Was he engaged? How could I have imagined that Charles Leclerc had been single? Or that he felt something for me?

The call ended, interrupting a single word in the middle: traitor.

"Abigail, can I explain—" He tried, but my proximity to the front door made me jerk it open with a tug. Suddenly I couldn't look at him anymore... How could he?

"Out." I sat down, without adding an extra word. It was enough, everything.

"Please..." He whispered more to himself than to me, as if he were asking himself for the second chance.

He passed through the door and, arriving in the corridor, I looked at him one last time.

I slammed the door, also closing whatever had started between us. When had I started to be so stupid again? When would I learn?

I didn't cry, at least until I called Carlos, regretting it the moment he answered the phone. I didn't say anything and there was no need for it anyway. He understood.

He decided to show up at my door unannounced, with a cardboard glass of hot tea. Maybe I cried little or maybe I cried too much, I didn't remember it the next morning.

I found myself alone on the sofa, with a blanket on me and Carlos asleep by my side, in a position too uncomfortable to have rested well. But certainly for the following weeks I did nothing but thank him, at least someone had deigned to stay with me asking me only one thing in return: trust.

Something that the Monegasque had had, but not respected.

🏎️

Ire