Behind His Eyes

He's always been my rival. Ever since Felix Vermeulen stepped onto my track all those years ago, he's been the thorn in my side, the man I was born to beat.

On the surface, it's simple: I want to take him down every time we line up on the grid.

But it's not so simple anymore.

Because somewhere between the stolen glances and the private moments we were never supposed to have, he stopped being just my opposition.

I shouldn't want this. The Formula One world doesn't make room for these kinds of feelings. But no one has ever made me feel this way. No victory has ever set my pulse racing the way his voice does when he says my name. No record has ever felt as intoxicating as the feel of his skin against mine.

I still want to destroy him on the track. Every time, without a doubt.
But off it?
God help me, I want him to destroy me.