A Vida Barco

【7】

【7】

"Well, that was fucking stupid, you know that?", my dad said, his voice trembling.

I held the ice pack on my forehead, which didn't help at all.
"I know", I said quietly, not really interested in what he had to say.

I sat on a chair, my back against the wall, the fire suit half down, tied around my waist.
I had a headache, my foot hurt and I could feel the bruises already.

In lap 56, a boring race, I found a little motivation. Mainly because the car in front of me was Ryan, and I wanted to pass him. Just to tick him off. For what he had said to me the week before.
He had been blocking me which made me angry, so I bumped into him.

Obviously, I hadn't just lost the fun that came with racing, but also my abilities to race. I did something that for sure never happened to a proper race car driver, I bumped into him so hard that I took myself out. Yes, really stupid and super unnecessary.
My dad had every right to be angry with me. But still, I felt peeved, too.

Because of my stupidity, but also because of the way my dad kept yelling at me.

"Hello?", I heard him, waving with his hand directly in front of my face.
I looked up at him, wondering whether his face could get any redder.

"What the hell were you thinking?!", he repeated, yelling and waving about.
"I don't know", I groaned, my eyes closed because of a headache. His loud voice didn't help it, at all.

"Obviously, you weren't thinking at all", he continued.
I pressed the ice pack even harder against my head.

"Now can you please say something to that?"
He fell on the chair next to me, finally gasping for air. Otherwise, he might have choked.

"Stop it", I managed to say, listless.

I started up as something hard hit my arm, followed by a loud exclaim
"Chase!"

I squinted my eyes, looking at the small medical kit he had just thrown at me.
My dad could pitch a fit very easy, and to be honest, I could understand him.

"What is that attitude?!"
He started it again, I rolled my eyes, mentally of course.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?", He had started wandering around the room again, ignoring the fact that I had the worst headache and wasn't in the condition to discuss with him.

"Nothing", I said, pushing me back up from the wall, trying to find my balance again as I sat straight.
"I want to go", I said.
"Yeah, you want to go", he repeated, nearly hysteric.

For a while, it became quiet.
Then, all of a sudden, he came to me, wrapping his hands around both my upper arms, squeezing them nearly painfully.
"What is wrong with you, boy?", He asked. His voice was a mixture of desperation and anger.
He shook me, and it hurt my head.
"What is wrong with you? Talk to me", he demanded, clearly with despair in his voice.

Yeah, what was wrong with me? I didn't know. I wish I knew.

I shrugged.

"Fuck, Chase!", his hands slamming on the table. There he was again, my angry dad.

I just realized that his despair wasn't because he worried about me, no, it was because he worried about my racing.
It made me kind of angry. Actually, the longer I thought about it, the more I couldn't remember a race weekend we were actually talking about me and my personal life.
It's always been about racing.

"You don't care, anyway", I muttered, getting up.
"I do care!", He replied, pulling me back painfully by my wrist.
"No", I started, "you care about my racing. Not about me. You've asked what's wrong. But not with me, you've asked me what's wrong about my racing. You're just here to see me race, not to see your son"
It just came over me.
My dad looked at me, shocked. His face was even redder than it had been a few minutes before.

"Mind what you say", he said quietly.
"Why?", I hissed, "it's true".
"You come here to see me race. But do you give a shit about wha -", he interrupted me.
"Language"

I shook my head. "Now listen", I said.
"You don't care about me or my personal life. Do you know about my fight with Ryan? Among others, a reason why I bumped him, might be interesting for you. Do you know who I've been hooking up with? Or who I was in love with? No, because all you think of is me, being the big champion"

Silence.

"I'm sorry for wanting my son to be successful", was the only thing he had to say.
I snickered bitterly.
"You know Chase, I think it's because you haven't won yet. If you don't appreciate my help, that's your fault. But don't blame me for not having won yet"

Why did everyone bring that up? I couldn't care less about a goddamn race win.

"I'm not blaming you"
"Yes, you are"
He made me angry. So very bad. How could he?
"You know what, dad, I couldn't care less about a fucking race win. I don't want to win. I don't need it. Because I hate racing. I hate it. It has become boring, every week I'm doing the same, every single week, I waste my time, for what? For nothing. I hate my life. I hate my team, I hate the tracks and places we go to, I hate the people around, I hate people pressuring me for something I couldn't care less about!"

When I stopped, I saw an emotionless but also a shocked dad looking at me. I just realized what I had said.
I had said the truth. Finally.

I felt a burning sting in my right cheek, followed by warmth.
My dad just had slapped me. For saying the truth.
Like I had expected.

"I knew that you wouldn't understand", I replied, disappointed.
"That's not the attitude I've taught you", he hissed.
"You don't get it", I said, "nobody does"

I hobbled to the door. Tears started to form in my eyes, and I did my best to hold them in.

I saw Ryan sitting in the corridor, also holding an ice pack, giving me a death glare. I wondered whether he had heard everything.
"What are you looking at?", I hissed, causing him to turn away.

I didn't want to talk to anyone now. The two only things that had kept me from faking my death were gone. My friendships. My family. Maybe I was overreacting, certainly, I was, but at that moment, it just felt right.

That day was the day that made me decide to actually do it.

.

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