VIPER || Oscar Piastri

Epilogue

With both hands clutched firmly on the leather-wrapped steering wheel, a girl sped along a deserted road with an occupied mind.

She was paying hardly any attention to the road in front of her as it had been driven on by the same Dodge Viper more than enough times for her to remember what dips in the road were worth swerving for. Instead, she bit back the first rising thought in her chest — the one that whispered, turn around.

Having just left the hotel, and as rain began to streak across the windshield in long, irregular lines, she stared ahead in reverie.

Andreanna Saunterre was trying to ignore herself. If she had been driving through the streets of Abu Dhabi for any other reason she wouldn't have been. She'd have been smiling, or singing off-key like she used to. She'd be tapping her thumbs on the wheel, and one-hand texting her dad that she was on her way —  back when he would duck out early from work and take her out to dinner to celebrate the season's end.

He'd skip all the formalities just to take her.

He hadn't done that in a while.

In fact, a couple moths ago, she'd had the thought — however naïve in seemed now — that if she asked him to take her this year, with the added promise of bringing a date along, he might've brushed off the meetings and taken her this year.

But it was too late for that now.

Her dad was too busy to duck out early.

And she'd just left her date on the side of the road.

She glanced briefly at the rear-view mirror, the reflection of the road behind her empty and calm, except for the thin silver drops of rain chasing her taillights.

She couldn't turn around now.

She had left him, and there was no going back.

And she was certain, in the quiet of her mind, that she had done the kindest thing possible.

Andi's lips pressed together. She tried to smile at nothing — forcing the feeling onto her features as an attempt at self-deception. But it was brittle. It hurt more than it helped. Already, she felt the beginnings of a tight, uncomfortable knot in her stomach. Already, the hum of the engine, the endless road, the relentless rain — it all began to press in.

She tried to keep it together, best she could. She told herself she had done the right thing. She repeated it in the rhythm of the windshield wipers, in the beat of her heart, in the sharp shake that came every time the car hit a puddle and jolted her forward.

"It's okay," she kept whispering. "It's okay, it's okay, it's—" she bit her tongue, making sure the sting in her eyes died down before she carried on. Her cheeks were dry. She wanted them to stay that way. It'll feel better, she nodded. It will feel better. You knew it would feel like this for a bit, but it will get better. It will.

The rain ran down in a blur, catching the early dawn light, refracting it into colours she didn't notice because she couldn't. She didn't care if the sky burned gold, or if the sunrise mirrored the orange of his race suit. She couldn't see any of it, anyway; Her eyes were red-rimmed and threatening — and her reflection in the side mirror had caught her off guard just long enough to let one go.

She hadn't meant to cry.

She wiped at it, making it go away. She ignored that it ever fell. She pretended it never did. And still, she drove. Still, she told herself she was fine.

It's for the better. He'll get it one day, just—

A lump has suddenly risen in her throat. She tried to swallow it down, but— but it wouldn't— it wouldn't go down, so she tried to blink it away, to force her chest calm, her hands calm, her heart calm. She was fine. She was. She was doing the right thing.