𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞; oscar piastri

PART TWENTY SEVEN

You guys need to trust the process okay I promise I know it looks bad but there'S A PROCESS OKAY???? (i'm sorry)

Merry Christmas to those who celebrate 🥳

Word count; 2,493

Tomás

— June 2nd, 2023. Barcelona, Spain.

"Her name's Maya Alcaraz," Curro said, "She's from Arizona, but she speaks more Spanish than English."

I tried my best to seem like I was paying attention, though my gaze rested on the floor - more out of cowardice than boredom. We had been stuck in the same room for an hour - a chamber that Lamborghini often used for small conferences and debriefs, if needed - and I was running out of confidence, each pitiful remark reminding me of why I promised to never do it again.

"You're scheduled to see her on Monday and Thursday afternoons." He explained. "And even more, if need be."

I prompted my brows, as if mimicking his last statement.

If need be - who does he think I am?

"You need to complete this," He revealed a sheet of paper, sliding it across the table.

I glanced at the headline, recognising it was a mental welfare report. I rolled my eyes.

"Come on, Facu, you need to work with me, here."

"I told you," I almost snapped. "I don't need a therapist."

Curro scoffed, and it was like we were back at the beginning, the same back and forth argument, all resulting in the fact that I didn't have a choice.

"Are we done?"

He pressed his forefinger onto the paper, "Have it done by tomorrow."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," I snatched it away, folding it into my pocket and standing up.

"I mean it, Facu."

"I heard you the first time," I frowned, heading straight for the door.

"This isn't a joke, Facu,"

"I never said it was." I retorted, not bothering to look back.

Outside, Liam and Lando loitered near the exit, heads darting up as I appeared. Except, I didn't hesitate, continuing on my path to the car park, reaching into my pocket for a cigarette.

"Hey, can we stop for food on the way?" Lando probed, somewhere behind me.

Liam answered, "No time, I need to head straight back."

"I wasn't asking you." The Brit replied, quickening his pace to keep up with me. "Can we?"

"Are you permanently hungry?" I questioned, taking a drag.

"I'm craving bolognese." He shrugged.

"He needs to head straight back," I gestured my cigarette towards Liam, who grinned at my co-operation.

Lando groaned, realising he had lost. Already at the car, I rinsed the rest of my smoke, and we climbed in, back at the hotel within minutes - the only advantage of having your own rental. Crowding into an elevator, it came to a stop a few floors up, and we waved goodbye to Liam.

"Bright and early tomorrow, yeah?" Lando teased - the Lamborghini driver had slept in that morning, resulting in all three of us being late to the paddock.

"Whatever." Liam descended the corridor, the doors to the elevator sliding to a shut.

"Do you know any good places in town?"