Hate to race

Bahrain

The sun was blazing in Bahrain. Every turn Max felt like fainting and having Leclerc's flaming red Ferrari right behind him didnt help one bit.

More like he was ready crashing into him just to get this race over with.

Call him cruel or selfish even. His life was miserable enough and what would happen to Leclerc was simply not his problem.

Not that he cared about anything to do with him. They might have raced together as children but they never were friends.

Everything between him and Charles was pure hate and anger.

They couldn't stand within 2 feet of each other without arguing. And he tried being civil. Unlike Charles. Who found a way to piss Max off every chance he got.

He would lie saying their fights never got physical. They actually got quite often. None of them were his fault of course. Charles would always pick a spot and got what he deserved in return.

Okay alcohol was involved more than sometimes. But it wasn't a necessity. They wore no shame in arguing before their friends or bosses. It was no secret in the paddock nor on the internet. 

Everyone knew Charles Leclerc hated Max Verstappen and Max Verstappen hated Charles Leclerc.

His body moved automatically. He forgot to blink at times and he was severely dehydrated. His hands and legs were slowly giving up and the red Ferrari was slowly approaching him.

His head spun. So weak it was snapping to the sides at times due to the g force.

Going into the last lap Charles got DRS again and tried overtaking him. Max defended. Yet he didn't even see Charles beside him. Charles braked so late he managed to turn into him and cause him to go off track.

That asshole. Couldn't even fight without almost taking someone out.

Luckily he didn't get damage so with a few curse words to the radio and determination to let Charles hear from him later about that reckless move he drove safely to the finish line with Charles not so far behind him.

He wasn't even happy about it.

He said his thanks to the team feeling sicker than ever and drove to the parc fermé.
Finally.

As he parked his car behind the "p1" plate he let out a relieved sigh. He sat in the car head spinning. Too many cameras pointing at him waiting for him to get out of his car. His team, fans and rivals. All eyes on him. His anxiety increasing as he tried climbing out of his car.

So once again that day, he put on his fake smile and walked to his team for a few pats on the back and helmet. Some said congrats, some told him he did a great job. But Max didn't care about any of that bullshit. He just wanted to go home. It didn't help that he felt like shit and he couldn't go home. Not today anyway.

So he walked, head down to his stand where his cap and water were. Drank it all in one go then he took another one from the floor and drank that too. Just then his head stopped spinning a bit.

He was so caught up in his head he didn't realise Checo was trying to communicate. So he nodded at whatever he said to him staring at his feet.

When Checo finally walked off to do his post race interview (not that he didn't like checo he was just quite annoying sometimes and his opinions were almost always wrong, if not always) the man in the red came to view  walking clearly towards him with that annoying smirk of his mixed with anger on his face only Max could recognize.

Max wanted to throw up right there.

"You turned into me"
He ignored him staring into distance.
He was not doing this today, not infront of everybody. Not when he feels like shit already. But what day would it be without feeling like hell in his world. And what day would it be if not making worth the honor of yelling at Charles Leclerc.