Finding Home - an f1 romance

chapter 19

Max Verstappen (POV): (TW: su!cidal th0ughts)

"Oh, they've made contact! He's got a puncture - he's damaged his front wing! The leading contenders of the world championship come together at Turn 3! The crowd can't believe it."

"Nice, oh my god," I nearly shout into the radio as George Russell passes my car, taking away 1st place from Lando and I.

Roaring in frustration, I pull into the pits to switch tires, heading back out with some damage and incredibly far behind.

I make sure the radio is off when I scream, "FUCK MY LIFE! FUCK THIS SHIT!"

Lap 64, Turn 3. A single plot of land that would now be tainted with anger in my eyes.

My breaths are heavy from the pure rage sinking its claws into me. There's nothing I can do anymore. I can't even get podium for fucks sake. Lando clearly kept dive bombing me, trying to take first, driving absolutely ridiculously. FUCK.

I cross the line after a few tortuous laps, my hands gripping the wheel so vigorously I wonder if it will just crumble.

"Max, heads up, you were given a 10 second penalty for the incident with Lando. In case you were quizzed about it after the race-"

I cut off GP, shaking from the violent anger brewing in my body. "Of course. Yup, sure. That's just ridiculous." I wave to the orange-filled grandstands supporting me, but it's weak. "You can just send it left or right, well what do you want me to do?"

Christian's voice came through. "Yeah, he didn't behave correctly there, Max. So, yeah, we were desperately unlucky. Especially here, but you did your very best."

I power off the radio, scoffing at his words. My very best? I did my very best? OF COURSE I FUCKING DIDN'T! Clearly, my best wasn't enough. Like fucking always.

The mechanics and people all around the Red Bull garage knew to steer clear from me. I had darkness within me, ready to explode in a single second if provoked just the wrong way.

It takes a while to be able to speak properly, so the interviews are dragged out and horrible. I'm so fucking done at the end of it all, having to repeat the same answers to the same questions. At one point, Lando was right next to me, sharing his side of the story.

He was a best friend, yes, but right now I can't even look at him. Staring at the reporters, the British media, the mechanics, was a nightmare. They all looked at me with pity, or even worse, disappointment. I already knew every single fucking word that I said would get twisted up, made to match their villainized view of me.

What they don't know is that they might hate me with a passion, but it doesn't compare to my own self-hatred, or to the hatred of my father. I can never escape from the constant load of painful words. I try and act like I don't give a fuck about it all, but sometimes I do. Sometimes it really fucking hurts that millions upon millions of people want me to die or get involved in a deadly crash or want me to quit.

Sometimes I wish I can, die I mean. Sometimes I wish that the blade would slice straight through the veins in my wrist.

Natalia Bridgers (POV):
The smile on my face melts into a frown as I check my phone. Max cancelled on our fake date planned today. I'm in the middle of getting ready, and was about to finish off by putting on lipstick.

"What's wrong?" Ava asks as she notices my sudden quietness. She runs her hands through her hair, waiting for an answer.

I shrug. "Max cancelled on our fake date." I don't know why I'm sad, but I am. I genuinely am excited to spend some time with Max, since he's been really busy recently.