𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞; oscar piastri

PART SEVENTEEN

Forcing these chapters out because I'm away AGAIN for a week and I'm simultaneously drowning in coursework (cuz I prefer to write about Taz and Oscar than doing my studies ;)

Word count; 2,033

Tomás

"I don't know why, I just..." Oscar's voice was low. "I've always been like this."

"There's nothing wrong with that." I massaged the web between his thumb and index finger.

He scoffed, "You think?"

I shrugged, "Why would there be?"

"I don't know..." He sighed. "Just another thing for you to hold against me, I guess."

"I don't hold anything against you."

"No?"

My response had been automatic, muffled by my lack of sobriety over the past two months. Anything I did hold against him, once, I could no longer remember; I could barely recall the game of assumptions we played at the bar that one time, only how it ended, and the cycle that pursued.

The movement of my fingertips on his skin became slower, the sound of the rain pattering against the glass fire door becoming even louder.

"Is everything okay?"

I swallowed, caught off guard. Anyone else, and my answer would've been instinctive - a dismissal to change the conversation. Yet, for some reason, I couldn't form the words. 

Of course everything wasn't okay.

"Why wouldn't it be?"

He didn't answer, and I could feel a knot form in my stomach, a mixture between doubt and uncertainty. I looked at him, as if that might prompt him, and in the silence - the darkness - I made out the curve of his eyelids, piercing through mine, as if saying look at you, how could everything be okay?

I focused back on his hand.

He changed the conversation, as if sensing he was walking on glass, "Aren't you kind of glad that Charles replaced you?"

I scoffed, the mere mention of his name rendering an irritation in my veins.

"You know, considering how better you're doing now."

He was right, I supposed. Ferrari hadn't come close to fighting for the championship over the past two years, and in that way I was fortunate to have been signed by Lamborghini.

So why was I so sour?

"To think Lamborghini never wanted me." I admitted, "It was just Stefano."

"Why?"

I nearly scoffed again, unable to remember why the team principal ever showed such belief towards me. Pangs of guilt tightened the knot in my stomach; albiet the booze took away most of the bad memories, they took away the good ones, too.

"I don't know. But it's one of the main reasons I'm not changing teams anytime soon, no matter how much money I'm offered."

"I wish I had a team like that."

I sighed, the dejection in his tone uplifting the hairs on the back of my neck. McLaren always said they had two number one drivers, but as a rookie who was yet to bond with their teammate, it was difficult to agree with.

"We've all been there."

"Is that why you dislike Charles so much?"

My hands stopped in their path, and I released a sigh, Oscar's palm loitering between mine.