Criminal ~ OP81

22. Andrea Gives up a Life of Crime

Oscar Piastri

The Italian sun beat down mercilessly on me as I hurried through the parking lot towards the private entrance of the Monza GP paddock.

I was already late and in no mood to try and get in through the main entrance quickly.

My Mclaren shirt, already uncomfortable in the late summer heat, clung to my skin like a second layer of regret. Sweat already beaded at my temples, though whether from the Mediterranean climate or my own nervous energy, I couldn't tell.

The familiar pre-race symphony filled the air as I walked closer – the distinctive whine of engines being tuned to perfection, the metallic clang of tools against carbon fiber, the measured chaos of team personnel preparing for another race day.

But it all felt oddly distant, like I was experiencing it through a fog of my own making.

My phone was pressed against my ear like a lifeline, my mums voice the only anchor I had in the storm of emotions I'd been battling since that stupid night in Zandvoort. If I got a second chance at it, I'd do every single thing differently. I wouldn't have jumped to any stupid conclusions or left her standing there talking to an empty room unknowingly.

"I don't know, Mum," I sighed, running a hand through my hair for what felt like the hundredth time that morning. The gesture, a nervous habit I'd never quite kicked, had left my hair looking more like I'd just crawled out of bed- which was kinda true already. "She still hasn't called me back. What if I've completely ruined everything?"

Mum's soothing voice crackled through the speaker, carrying the same comforting tone she'd used throughout my karting days, through every crash and disappointment. "Oscar, darling, you can't think like that. You've apologized, you've reached out. That's all you can do for now."

Not true, I could've flown to Paris where I figured she be and try and talk to her/ but apparently going to Paris the week of a race was frowned upon by Zak.

"But what if it's not enough?" I quickened my pace, matching the frantic beating of my heart. "I jumped to conclusions, I didn't listen to her. God, I'm such an idiot."

The words tasted bitter in my mouth. My mind flashing with ideas of how many things I could've done differently that would've resulted in her being right here next to me.

"You're not an idiot," Mum reassured me, her voice warm and patient. I thought she'd be sick of me by now, being the only person I was really talking about this too- but she wasn't and I was glade I didn't have to turn to my sisters who kept calling me an idiot.

"You're human. We all make mistakes. If Andrea cares for you as much as you care for her, she'll understand."

I let out a frustrated groan, sidestepping a small group of mechanics leaving the paddock for who knows what. "But what if she doesn't? What if I've pushed her away for good? I can't stop thinking about her, Mum. I miss her so much it hurts."

And it did hurt.

It was a physical ache, a hollowness in my chest that made it hard to breathe sometimes.
Id think about something funny or just want to hear her voice to sooty the anxiety building in my chest only to remember that she wasn't talking to me, and the silence would feel even heavier than before.

I just wished for at least something from her. Even a text saying 'leave me alone' of 'fuck off' but nope. The radio silence was killing me.

The past week had been torture. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her face, heard her voice. Even walking past through Mercedes garage almost made me trip up when I could swear I thought I saw her within the crowd. I was loosing it and I was losing it over her.