Lights Out • 1 • Formula One ✔️

Chapter 111

this was uploaded for a bit yesterday but i took it down after the f2 incident. nothing has changed except for a warning given later on x

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"Are you sure you're not too sick to race?" Kudzai wearily asked as I sipped tentatively on my hot drink. We were currently sat in the Force India hospitality centre during the session between FP3 and qualifying. The symptoms of whatever I had caught were really flared. I had to cut my session short by twenty minutes since I couldn't verbally give any feedback to the the team on the pitwall. They needed me to get out of the car and then write any of my comments down into their spreadsheet so they could work on any improvements for qualifying.

Ignoring the searing pain when I swallowed my drink, I gave Kudzai a reassuring smile. "Of course."

"Hun, I can't hear what you're saying."

"That sounds like a 'you' problem." I shrugged. With every exhale, it felt as if I was breathing out tiny bits of paper which were giving my tonsils a billion little paper cuts. When I visited the on-site doctor (I requested to see my favourite, Sofía, again), they just gave me some anti-inflammatories and some painkillers. She was hesitant to prescribe anything else, such as antibiotics, in case it was a viral infection or the sporting rules had banned the drug.

It's a good thing I'm stubborn or else I would've probably considered having Robert take my spot for the race. My frame of mind wasn't in anyway compromised and, when I'm driving, I found it relatively easy to ignore pain of any kind since I was distracted from it. Brazil is the penultimate race of the season which means I only have two opportunities to win a race before the end of season. I would like to be able to get it done before I'm a Mercedes driver if preferable so that my abilities aren't just put down to the fact that I'm driving the fastest car on the grid.

"You have a fever, Lys, a full degree above what you should be," Kudzai pointed out. "No-one will blame you if you sit this one out and let Robert drive for you."

I beckoned Kudzai closer so that she would be able to hear what I had to say. "Maybe when I'm dead."

She immediately moved back and rolled her eyes. "You're unbelievable, Lys, you know that? What's it going to take you to not race?"

Knowing that I needed to rest my voice and that my throat was one word away from exploding (or at least it felt that way), I grabbed a napkin from the centre of the table and the pen that Kudzai kept in her breast pocket. I clicked it dramatically and got to writing: 'It's like you don't want me to race, and you know what lengths you go through. Did you give me this illness?'

I shoved it in front of her and watched as her eyes scanned across my scribbly handwriting. Kudzai scoffed. "You're so dramatic - worse than Esteban sometimes. Of course I want you to race, but you also need to know when to step down."

'I do know, and this isn't one of those times', I wrote back before showing it to her again.

Kudzai sighed heavily and lightly shook her head. Just as I thought she was about to lecture me about being responsible, she cracked a smile. "Geez, your handwriting really is awful. It's a good thing I've known you long enough to be able to interpret this chicken scratch."

I opened my mouth in mock offence before quickly closing it when the strain hurt my throat. Instead, I decided to scowl and cross my arms across my chest. The middle finger is has universal meaning so it was no surprise that she didn't seem too impressed when I flashed it to her.

"How am I younger than you?" Kudzai rhetorically asked, resting her chin on her hand as she leaned against the table. I shrugged before bringing my drink up to my lips. I hesitantly took a sip and attempted the mask my discomfort through a forced smile. Obviously she had seen through it and gave me a pointed stare.