⌞ the chain ⌝

⌞ thirty-two : she's back ⌝

"Let's go for a race."

_ 

There was something sad about leaving Monaco again. I'd been cleared and I needed to back to racing, there was no reason to stay. But I had come to so many realizations over the few weeks I spent in the place I always called home. And Damon learned some more things that would help me on the track but as the airport came into view, I started to feel nervous. Not nervous because I was going back but nervous because I felt like I'd changed. 

Thankfully, Damon had allowed Rev to drive us. I didn't know if I could leave without saying goodbye to him. He had become my person. I told him anything and everything that I was scared to tell my fathers. There were countless nights we spent on the balcony to just talk. It helped so much more than I would realize. 

"Lils." 

I looked up from my baggage to see him holding his arms open and I rushed into them, glad that I was healed enough to get a real hug. Even if he did that cliche little thing where he spun me around. It was still nice to get a true goodbye. 

"I'm going to miss you." 

"I'm right on the other side of the phone and all of us will be cheering for you, princess." 

I snorted. "Yeah, don't be a stranger." 

"Never." 

I gave him one last look before grabbing an impromptu hug. He laughed and the sound felt like home before I was pushed back with a ruffle of my hair. Damon was waiting for me near the door and I gave him a nod that I was coming. 

"Yo Lils!" 

I looked back with a raised eyebrow. "Oui?" 

"Stop letting those reporters walk all over you. You're a princess, act like it." 

_ 

The plane ride was, as always, annoying. It was short so I was able to ignore the hate and fear I had for being in the air. I liked driving because I had control. In the air, nada. There was no control and it scared the shit out of me. Damon, however, was stuck on talking over what would happen during the weekend. New strategies based on my racing style and how to work since I was coming back. There were limits and I had to learn him. But it was media day. And that meant reporters. 

What Rev said stuck in my head for longer than it should have. The worst part was he was right. I kept letting them control this narrative that was pushed about me and it would be worse now that I was coming back. Injuries after crashing in the thing that killed my godfather, the fucking headlines wrote themselves. And I was done being the sad girl in a slower car. 

I had a seat for a reason and I was who I was. There was no reason why I had to change or dull it down to be something people liked. There would always be people that hated me. I didn't have to care about that. They weren't in my position, they hadn't known the life I'd lived, and they were just named behind a screen. It was my life and I was in control of how people percieved it. No more rolling over. 

"Oh god, I know that look." 

"Damon, relax." 

He sat up from his seat in the car taking us to the track with a shake of his head. "No, no. I know that look. That look is not a good look. What are you planning?" 

"I'm not planning anything." 

"Bullshit, kid." 

I rolled my eyes. "I'm just not playing sweet little girl anymore." 

"Oh." He nodded. "Good." 

His response surprised me. I was expecting push back or at least some kind of argument. But for him to just agree? Monaco had changed the both of us, it seemed. 

"Good." 

The rest of the ride was a comfortable silence and it gave me time to think over my words. What I wanted to say and if I didn't want to answer questions, how I would dismiss them. But all of that was pushed aside as I saw the familiar smile running toward the car. I got out and was instantly hugged my Lando, George and Alex just behind to offer the same. 

"You're finally back!" 

"Better than ever." 

George snorted. "Yeah beach days in Monte Carlo will do that." 

"Hate the game, not the player." 

"Isn't it the other way around," Alex asked as we walked toward the media pin. 

I shrugged it off, not really caring. It worked for me and that's all that mattered. But there was another familiar face. Jem Wright. He gave me a nod, the kindest greeting I'd ever got from him and I offered one back. I hoped our weir conversation in the hospital didn't effect whatever frenemies thing we had going on. I liked our relationship, however weirdly pieced together it was. 

"You ready for all the questions?" 

I looked back at Lando, nodding confidently. "Yeah, bring it on." 

"Great, you're first." 

I gasped as he shoved me toward the mic with a roll of my eyes. Will Buxton, my old friend. I offered a polite smile as I adjusted the mic a bit. The familiar red light of the camera turned on and I took a breath. You control the narrative. It's your life and your answers. Answer what you want, only say what you feel.

"It's great to have you back, Lula." 

"Feels good to be back." 

"You know the drill. Everyone is questioning if you'll be able to pull the same times you did before the accident now you're back. Thoughts?" 

I nodded, taking a second to act like I was thinking. "No, I won't. I'm still injured and there's always the work of getting back to what I was before but that doesn't mean I won't give everything I have." 

"What about the championship?" 

"I was never going to win it this year, that was obvious. But that doesn't mean I don't fight to make a name for myself in every lap on every track. I'm not here to sit back and let other people show me up. That's not how I get up to F1." 

He raised an eyebrow. "So the goal is F1?" 

"What person here doesn't have that dream, Will? We're not here to sit and waste years in a car that will never meet our standards. F1 or nothing, there's no other option." 

I could tell he wasn't expecting that answer and it made me smirk softly as he tried to find his next question. I'd changed the narrative, I'd controlled the scene. I felt proud of myself, even if there would be comments of arrogance later. It didn't matter because I was arrogant. I knew my skills and my talent, I wasn't going to hide them because people didn't like it. 

"About why you take your helmet off before you celebrate something. What's the story?" 

"Every driver has their thing when they win. Sebastian has the one, Lewis has hit little fist pump, Nico has that smug look as if he planned it all along. I take off my helmet." 

"Any reason behind it?" 

I smirked. "People like a pretty face. They're going to be pissed if I win, might as well give them something nice to look at." 

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a/n: she's backkkkk. oh and better than ever. someone say mini seb vettel cause girl is done with the shit. ugh. love it. anyways, as always... love it or don't :p