Nemesism [Max Verstappen]

[9] there's always someone to blame

{written before the chapter}

Guys, I'll try to keep this chapter rather calm and do something scandalous for the tenth chapter. U know, as a celebration kind of.
I'll let u know how it goes :)

{written after the chapter}

It's... not that bad. I think. Honestly I kept myself under control pretty much.

Only TW I have is: talk about abuse & abuse

Enjoy!

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Lucy's diary

It's barely been two weeks in my new job and getting up in the mornings is getting hard already. Especially today.
Ever since what happened with Ocon, I'm afraid I'll run into him at the track. Whenever I step foot outside the RedBull garage my heart rate goes up and I can't stop checking my surroundings in case he's around. It hasn't happened yet and I'm pretty sure nothing would happen, but my body doesn't seem to understand.
And then there's the Jos Verstappen issue. Yesterday, during practice, he kept looking at me and that look in his eyes... God, it almost makes me nauseous to even think about it.
And the way he treats Max? Fuck, I don't consider myself a violent person, but even I want to physically drag him away from his son. But Max doesn't ask for help. He just... takes it?
Maybe I'll talk to him about it... And I might also get my head ripped off.

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Max really, really wanted to focus on driving. He even succeeded at doing so. Mostly.

But every time he blinked and there was this split second of darkness, he could see his fathers face in front of his inner eye.

His father who was watching him over the screens, engraving every little mistake Max made to chew him out over it later. It wasn't like he'd done that already after all three practice rounds. Even though he had scored great results each time.

Jos put a lot of weight on qualifying. If Max fucked up here, the fate of the race was sealed in his fathers eyes. A win wouldn't matter.

He'd say,

»You were an idiot to leave it up to chance.«

»If you hadn't fucked up in quali, you wouldn't have had to fight.«

»You're fucking useless, Max!«

It was ironic, wasn't it? Because if he didn't win the race, a P1 in qualifying didn't matter.

It was always like that. Jos would always find a way too criticize his son. It didn't matter if someone turned into him, causing him to crash. Or if the car had technical problems. Or if it simply wasn't possible for Max to win.

It was always him who was the loser.

The wast of talent.

The idiot, who didn't appreciate what his father had done for him.

The disappointment, who'd never be worthy of his fathers praise.

The words played on repeat, echoing on Max's head as he put in the last flying lap. As far as GP had informed him, he still had the fastest time. Now he just had to make sure it'd stay this way.