Until my Last Breath

31

The dutch Grand prix

Race day dawns gray and heavy, the overcast sky mirroring the weight in my chest. I wake up in a haze, the events of qualifying playing on a loop in my mind like a cruel reel I can't escape. My body feels stiff as I get out of bed, muscles aching from tension rather than exertion. My head pounds faintly, and my eyes burn from the restless hours of tossing and turning, haunted by Darwin's words and his cruel smirk.

How did I let this happen? How did I manage to prove him right so easily?

The team expects me at breakfast, so I go through the motions of getting dressed and leaving my hotel room. The air is cool as I step outside, but I barely notice. The streets leading to the paddock are buzzing with energy, fans gathering to catch a glimpse of their favorite drivers. I keep my head down, avoiding eye contact, my steps heavy as I make my way to hospitality.

Inside, the usual excitement of race day is palpable. The team is gathered at the table, discussing strategy and sharing light-hearted banter to ease the tension. I pick up a plate and sit at the far end of the room, away from everyone.

No one tries to sit with me.

I push my food around the plate, my appetite nonexistent. The sound of laughter and conversation washes over me, but it feels distant, like I'm hearing it from underwater. I can't focus on anything, my thoughts spiraling as I question everything about myself.
Was it all really just adrenaline that got me this far? Am I a fraud?

I shake my head, trying to banish the memory, but it lingers like a shadow.

The team eventually starts the morning briefing, going over strategy, tire management, and weather conditions. I sit at the table, nodding occasionally, but the words barely register. My mind is elsewhere, lost in a fog of self-doubt and exhaustion.

Thomas, my teammate, throws me a concerned glance during the meeting, but I avoid his gaze. Charles sends me a text, Arthur calls three times, but I let the phone ring until it goes silent. I can't face them. Not now.

I make my way to the garage after the briefing, sidestepping journalists and cameras as best I can. Marina has done her part to shield me from interviews, but there's no escaping the looks, the whispers. Everyone knows what happened yesterday. Everyone saw my worst performance.

Everyone believes his words.

I sit in the back of the garage, watching the mechanics work with practiced precision. Usually, the sight of them—focused, determined—fills me with pride and a sense of belonging. Today, it feels like I'm on the outside looking in, a stranger in my own world.

When it's time for the drivers' parade, I quietly tell Marina I won't be participating. She doesn't argue, just nods and steps away to handle the fallout. I stay in the garage, watching from a monitor as Darwin waves to the crowd, basking in the glory of his pole position.

He looks so smug, so untouchable. My stomach churns as I watch him, his confidence radiating off him like a force field.

I glance away, unable to take it anymore.

The hours crawl by until it's time to warm up. Alejandro meets me in the gym area, his usual upbeat demeanor slightly subdued. He doesn't comment on my silence, but I can see the worry in his eyes as he guides me through stretches and light exercises.

"You okay, Rita?" he asks gently.

I nod, avoiding his gaze. "yes."

But I'm not fine. I feel like I'm falling apart, and there's nothing I can do to stop it.