21. RACES

/Charles/

“Only when Seb and Lewis compliment me, surprised and happy, do I understand what has happened and as soon as I realize it a wave of happiness invades me.
In my second race in Ferrari I got the Pole.
Above Sebastian Vettel and Lewis Hamilton.
I have always known what my ambitions were, my dreams were always very clear and I never had any doubts about what I would do.
I also know that I have the chances to succeed, I believe in myself and in my abilities. I’m also well motivated thanks to my father and Jules.
But what I’m experiencing now is something very different. It’s like a revelation that hits me in the face and leaves me pleasantly stunned.
I want to be here among them because this is my place.
This MUST be my place.
They’re both very happy for me and obviously I’m pleased, I’m happy too, but here while I’m taking photos between them after they have both hugged me proudly by the shoulders, I’m certain that I want to leave my mark on F1 just as they’re leaving it. I want to make my own history as they have done and continue to do.
The sense of exhilaration that takes over me makes me feel alive again as I did last week in Melbourne and I understand that even if outside of F1 I’ve nothing, at the moment, that makes me feel so happy and excited, what matters is that in here instead there is.
It doesn't matter what I look like or what I should do, it only matters that when I race I’m happy, slowly the rest will come.
I’ll try not to think about it too much, not to obsess and if something happens to me again that makes me lose my mind and go out of line, maybe making me do something that I later regret, never mind. I’ll react in that moment, sooner or later I’ll get used to.
I’ll continue on my personal journey in search of that something else outside of racing that can excite me and make me feel alive. Alive and awake. But certainly without thinking about it too much.

I immediately realize that I’ll not win and although I’m a fanatic of victories, especially when I lead almost the entire race, I’m still extraordinarily realistic.
As soon as the engine loses power and I understand that it’s not temporary and that nothing can be done immediately to fix it, I accept it in the blink of an eye because brooding over it while I’m driving would cost me the entire race. Going out for a bullshit is a moment, in F1.
I have no choice but to step aside to let Lewis who was behind me pass and then also Bottas.
I try to maintain third position, but when they tell me about Max's approach I get nervous.
And no, uh! You'll not overtake me!
Mercedes will do, even Seb at a certain point if it had been the case, but not you, Max!
While I was prey to my lucid realistic realization that I would not win despite having literally smelled it for the entire race, suddenly I wake up again and a surge of pride, anger and fire invades me like a powerful wave.
Everyone but not Max!
Immersed in the speed of the race, even if you have the readiness to understand what is happening and accept it for your own good, you don't seriously realize it in the sense that you’ll only really experience it when you stop and get out of the car. So in the moment you run and just try to make the best of a situation that you know is shit.
I know that as soon as I stop I’ll experience my disappointment, my anger and who knows what else. Because I know myself and losing when I'm about to win hurts me deeply. It's perhaps the worst thing ever, for me, because I'm competitive and I live for racing and victories. Take this away from me or ruin it for me, I become a mixture of devastating and powerful negative feelings, but as long as I run I can't experience them. I can't feel. It's as if I was also running away from what I feel, my disappointments, my shocks, my emotions. Everything I don't like to feel. I run and run away from everything, sometimes myself.
So I was like this until I understood that Max could overtaking me, grinding out kilometers and getting closer and closer. The asshole had pointed at me and at that moment it was yet another shock caused by him.
The feelings I was running away from and that I had put on ice to experience them only later, at the end of the race, arrived all at once and hit me badly.
Anger, passion, denial and pride.
You, damn you, will not catch me.
This damned podium is mine.

When the race finally ends with me in third place held by tooth and nail and a little luck, I feel relieved for a moment that I didn’t let that asshole, who certainly didn’t deserve more than me today, pass me.
For a moment there is only this and it’s surprising because it’s almost a good feeling. Almost.
Until Lewis squeezes my shoulder consoling me with an unexpected delicacy. My eyes through the visor meet his free ones from the helmet and I read sincere regret.
The champions are such because they’re thirsty for victories, for them it’s never enough, even if they have won a thousand, they always want another. So what I read in his black eyes is exactly what it is.
Disappointment not for his victory, but for my failure to win.
I understand precisely the type of feeling he feels and I understand that he’s sincere, he smiles encouragingly and says that next time it’ll go better, not to think about it too much because I was extraordinary.
For a moment I’m stunned by this. I’m still in the grip of my burst of pride towards Max who at least didn’t surpass me, as if it was the only consolation today, but to give Lewis a hand, once I take off my helmet and balaclava, is Seb who, still wearing his arsenal, the first thing he does as soon as he gets out of the car is look for me and console me.
He puts his hand on my cheek with a paternal manner and an extraordinary sweetness, at this point it’s as if he was giving me the final blow.
Up until this point there was still the adrenaline of the race and the typical dizziness, the feeling of still running and maybe in some cases even running away. The speed was still inside me, but now with Lewis's hand first and then Seb's, everything stops suddenly and it's as if through their touches, they were giving me the reality of my situation.
I was about to win my first race in F1 and Ferrari, and I lost it.
The disappointment and the burning sensation hit me all at once, unexpectedly and in a way I didn't want, even though at this moment I feel like the son of a couple of great champions.
I think I'm envied by many, now, if nothing else by Pierre.
It's shit and thanks to them I realize it better, I preferred to stay in my world suspended in the speed that prevents me from thinking, feeling and understanding.
Stopping is really shit, but I think that this is also part of the 'being alive' package.
Disappointment is also an emotion that I have to deal with and that I have to learn to tolerate without letting it eat me up. It’s not evil, but just one of the parts of everyone's existence, something that often makes you grow more than the good things.
While we proceed with the usual post-race things like the interviews on the track with the top three, in which Lewis tenderly holds me to himself trying to cheer me up, I understand from how he insists on consoling me that perhaps from the outside I look like someone even more depressed and disappointed than I actually feel from in here.
Why? Why can't I show the outside how I am? Why is my face frozen?
While Lewis jokes with me with the interviewer, I end up returning arm around him, usually I avoid doing it because I don't like physical contact with anyone, but with him I feel like doing it and maybe it's just to show myself and the world that I can also have normal expressions and reactions, of any kind, but that are there.
I smile with him and I really hope to make him understand that I'm fine, that I'm not made of glass, that I'm not as fragile as I think I appear, given how everyone treats me and how they compete to calm me down and cheer me up.
Drunk with these sensations and amazed by the immense effort I voluntarily make to show what I want to be seen of myself, serenity and not stupid childish discontent, I wonder if the world will believe it.

- BUT YOU WERE ADOPTED BY THEM AND YOU DIDN'T TELL ME?
This time Pierre's voice exceeds many decibels and I’ve to cover my ear where he screamed so as not to go deaf, subsequently I try not to suffer an injury to my shoulder since he hung on me and pulled. He ambushed me as I was moving towards the cooldown room and instead of making me go up the stairs with them, he literally tackled me to scream his hysterics in my ear.
I knew he would say something like that and I end up giggling.
- Yes, now I call them mom and dad. - I reply promptly, at this point he lets go of me and has a flash that I know will make him say some bullshit.
- Mom Lewis and Dad Seb! You don't know how much I envy you... - he says in fact as I prepare to climb the stairs from which I almost fell because of him. I shake my head with the amused smile still printed on my face. I'm better thanks to them and this idiot here.
However, before making me disappear upstairs, the idiot peeks out from below and shouts: - ASK THEM IF THEY WANT TO ADOPT ANOTHER!
I close my eyes and stop before making my entrance with Lewis and Bottas who are already sitting in their chairs in the cool cooldown room, I shake my head, give another giggle and then regain my composure. Just in case too much of me is seen.

My pole in Austria inevitably brings me back to the other one I did this season, in Bahrain, which didn't go well but not because of me or anyone else, just the car.
Today I'm showing the best time, but what makes me absurdly euphoric is not the second one who will start next to me tomorrow, that is Lewis, but actually the third.
Max will literally start after my ass, tomorrow, and it gives me an unreasonable and inappropriate excitement.
Here it is, the feeling I have been fearing for months and for which I tried to prepare myself so as not to lose my mind by doing bullshit.
By bullshit I mean things that I could later regret, because since I realized these sexual tendencies of mine that a part of me wants to live like I was never been able to, if I get too excited about something or lose my mind, my hormone literally goes off and it would be fine if that hormone pushed me into the arms of Giada, who doesn't always accompany me to GPs but is often there.
Unfortunately, however, it pushes me into the arms of the wrong people.
Guys. And not guys in general.
Pierre or Max. But with Max I’m always held back by the fact that I hate him and he irritates me, so I’m quite calm. I know that even if I were to find myself like in Singapore in one of my rare predispositions towards him and fantasize sexually about him, surely as soon as he opened his mouth he would be able to make me come to my senses.
What I fear when I’m in these states is Pierre because I think that he too is torn between attraction and friendship towards me, so our situations aren’t easy, but I know what I’ve to do. Now I know because I remember the previous times, I know that when I get so excited about something that happens to me related to F1, I just have to avoid Pierre like the plague.
I'll avoid him and everything will be fine. With Max it’ll be enough to hear him speak and I know that everything will return to my comfortable normality and I’ll not do irreparable things.
We shake hands, but I also let out a damn wink and I even think I’m being mischievous while I do it. I’m not very aware of my expressions because I’ve learned that while I feel a certain way and think of making certain faces, from the outside I always appear differently.
But I know I winked at him and I know I'm smiling terribly out of place, like I'm happy.
Damn it Charles, don't go off with him. Don't end up alone with him. Stick with Lewis. Mom will help me!
Oh God, what am I saying?
The side of Pierre in me, the crazy and out of line side, comes out in my head. Luckily only in my head, but it's exactly the kind of thing I was afraid of.
Why, why am I so excited?
For a pole? I already did it in my second race in Ferrari, a few months ago.
Come to your senses, Charles!
- Finally we're back to fighting directly against each other, huh? Like the old days!
Exactly, the other time he wasn't behind my ass, nor next to me. That's the difference.
Max is just as excited as I am, I realize it in this split second that he's squeezing my hand tightly. It gives me a rush that reminds me of that erotic fantasy I had in Singapore, and besides, he and I haven't spoken seriously since then, I think. We met in a press conference this year but I know we almost ignored each other, we had a brief exchange that was completely normal and then I think I saw him in some driver parade and I might have exchanged a few sentences with the others, but that's not really talking to each other.
I was fine, very good. I was balanced and in control, then my pole position arrives followed by him who will start after me and a well-closed vessel is reopened.
The truth is that we’re both extraordinarily happy about the same thing, there's no point in denying it.
He and I against each other like in the karting days, as if no years had passed. A start like that is a bit different from the others, where we were maybe close on the grid, there have been races where we had moments of struggle, but tomorrow is different.
There's no one in front of me, he has me. I'm in front of him and on top.
I mean in front. Only in front. Not on top.
It's nice, I didn't think I could like it so much and I hear my voice answering automatically without my brain having reconnected.
- It's about time! I still remember that I have to give you one or two back!
Charles what the fuck are you talking about, are you crazy? I don't even know what expression I think I make in reality, but Max laughs and shortly after I do the same. Well, laughing is perhaps a big word. I smile. I smile amused, that's it. Or at least that's how I feel.
- We'll see who teaches who a lesson! - he always replies cheerfully, suddenly we descend to the same childish level and we’re happy both with this position on the grid and with racing together tomorrow.
We continue to talk normally about qualifying, stopping talking childish nonsense, while Lewis answers his ritual questions on the track after qualifying, and I think it's beautiful, this moment between us.
He’s always an open book, you can understand what he thinks and feels. He’s excited and happy about the idea of ​​fighting me tomorrow, on one hand I know it’s risky, on the other I know it’s not a real victory, for me, if I don’t do it after having beaten him or held back in a strenuous and equal fight. By equal, I mean starting from the same row or close together. It wouldn’t have the same value for me to win if he was behind on the grid.
If I can do it tomorrow, and I stress IF since Lewis is next to me and the last time I had the chance to win it went to hell because of the car, it’ll be fucking satisfying because I’ll have certainly done it after a tough fight with this exciting bastard that I’m still daydreaming about live while I talk to him.
It’s a good thing I can’t show what I feel. Sometimes the flaws are the best qualities!

After that good dose of bragging, we also have the post-qualifying press, so before I can ‘get rid’ of him I’ve to endure at least another half hour of his proximity. He’s right next to me because I’m the poleman and I’m in the middle of Max and Lewis. In the first photo I was stuck to my mom and I didn't even touch Max, but even if I'm not in a pitiful and dangerous condition down there, I mean, it's not that I want to jump on him like a horny maniac out of mind, it gives me a feeling of suffocation to be too close to him.
Luckily during the press everything slowly returns to a good normality. I no longer have the need to touch him in a frantic way that I had barely stopped before. No winks or strange jokes that were uncharacteristic of me.
Let's say that in reality that hallucinatory state didn't last long, but it was definitely triggered by Max. My luck was not to be alone with him, I was out in the open in front of a lot of people and with cameras filming us. Then everything we did was with Lewis. I think I would have stuck with him even if he had dared to go to the bathroom alone and leave me there with Max.
Besides, I was counting on the fact that if my hormones had started again with him, I would have managed it thanks to the fact that I hate him, but today was pleasant and acceptable. He has never made me hate him!
In the end it went well, but I wonder what I’ll do tomorrow if it goes as I hope.
If I were to win after a strenuous fight with him, would I know how to stay in my place?

Before leaving the circuit I take a shocking cold shower in the Motorhome, not that it’s really suffocatingly hot, especially because I came from the conference room which is air conditioned, so I wasn’t in the water, but having been with Max the whole time I needed to freshen up. After that I change my clothes and start walking alone towards the hotel where I sent Andrea and Joris ahead, and only when I get to the drivers and staff parking, after half an hour of searching for the key to the car assigned to me for this week of racing, I realize that it's not just that that's missing, but also the car itself.
Then a bolt of lightning lights up my brain clouded by my fucking hormones and hitting my forehead with my hand, I insult myself out loud in French.
- What an idiot! I sent them ahead with the car saying that I would find a ride and now they’re all gone! What an imbecile!
I'm still insulting myself before I figure out how to get back to the hotel, whether to go back and look for someone or call a taxi, when a cheerful, scratchy and familiar voice sends shivers down my entire spine. The ones I had just chased away with the cold shower.
- Have you lost your car? - Max comes up behind me, turning the key in his index finger while pointing at one of the remaining cars. I hope I keep a decent face because inside I feel horrified by my bad luck, but from the outside I might seem horrified by him and I know that's not nice.
- I forgot I sent Andrea and Joris ahead... - I mutter discontentedly, I'm already savouring with terror his ride to the hotel. What the fuck do I do? I didn't know how much time I would have wasted on the circuit between the various things we had to do, but I should have made them leave with someone else. In fact I notice that Max is alone but he’s not without a car, I’ll never say this even under torture, but he was smarter than me!
- What's going on? - Lewis's gentle little voice reaches us from behind and when I see that he’s there too with his faithful personal trainer Angela, I light up immensely inside.
My salvation! He'll give me the ride! Ending up in the car with Max would ruin my cold shower.
- He's not used to the top three positions in qualifying that on Saturday make you lose more time than usual... - Max's summary is damned derisive and annoying and I give him an incinerating look that I know for sure is clear.
I hate you, Max Verstappen, and don't think you're superior to me just because you're more used to certain things than me!
- Don't talk bullshit, the previous 2 races I was third in qualifying, I never got left stranded. This time we misunderstood each other with Andrea and Joris!
The fact that I specify it with a piqued voice makes me feel like an idiot digging his own grave, because while I'm seriously annoyed and offended by how he thinks I'm a stupid child, he laughs at me thinking I'm joking or thinking I'm funny.
Fuck you! If you want I'll tell you by making you understand that I'm annoyed instead.
I hate being laughed at in general. I'm touchy, what the fuck!
Then you just have to keep quiet about it!
Lewis gives a polite little smile while Angela loads their stuff into the car and opens it.
- Do you want a ride? We're all in the same hotel. - and just as I hoped, Lewis plays the mother and saves my life. I emotionally cling to him, my eyes full of hope lighting up my face and I nod frantically.
- Maybe, you'd save my life!
Lewis laughs, but not in a derisive way, in any case it doesn't bother me like Max who continues to do so while he opens his car. I see that he didn't even pretend to offer a ride.
You really regret trying to kiss me that night, huh?
Good for me!
My hormones will definitely be better from now on.
- Are you sure it doesn't bother you? - I say kindly and to make a scene; I would force you to do it anyway, dear mom.
I follow Lewis to the car and with a wave of his hand he reassures me downplaying the matter..
- Don't worry, these things happen. You were kind to leave your car to them.
It was completely normal for me, they’re like my two guardians, I would never separate from them.
Thinking back, I’m full of adoptive parents, while I get into his car in the back seat, I notice that Lewis goes in front but in the passenger side, letting Angela drive instead. This surprises me, but I know how to control myself perfectly so I don't ask him shamelessly.
However, he seems to read my mind and laughingly explains: - I almost never drive outside of the circuits. It's something I really hate! Seb teases me by saying that I'm a princess!
He ends up laughing happily in his engaging way, but as soon as he mentioned Seb he lit up in a really obvious way. In addition to casually inserting him into almost every conversation. God, how you can tell they're together!
Okay, Pierre get out of my head!
In the end I laugh too, but Lewis doesn't mind and before saying to go, he waves goodbye to Max by down the window; only as soon as he does that do I remember him and turning around I give him a cold nod. He was actually staring at me, his eyes fixed on mine from a few meters away. I can see well even though the sun has now gone down and it's dim in the 
parking.
He looks at me and gives an amused little smile.
What the fuck are you laughing at, asshole? I hate you and it shows!
But you could have made me the proposal. I would have refused, but the gesture would have been nice, but imagine.
Yes, good, what if he made you and Lewis didn't? Weren't you forced to go with him?
Well, it went well and the fact that he was rude remains.
Fuck you Max! Tomorrow I'll beat you!
And then... I can also manage to control myself in the moments in which my hormone goes off and not do stupid things, like what happened before on the track, but the basic problem remains.
Until I calm the hormone by satisfying it, I'll be a time bomb. I can't get horny with every pathetic excuse! I'll have to find a fucking solution!”

NOTES: the races I'm talking about went as I wrote, but obviously I invented the background, especially when Charles was left stranded. I don't think it could happen and if it did I know that after qualifying and press there are also briefings and it would be easy to find a ride, but it was obvious that that scene had to go like this. I know that Lewis always has a bodyguard with him but at those hours he might not be there, I also know that he never left Angela, the only one he trusted blindly, and the scene I invented would be plausible because I often saw him moving exclusively with her. And it's true that he doesn't drive cars other than single-seaters on the tracks, except for a few exceptions he hates driving and always lets himself be carried. I remember the race in which Charles was in the lead the whole time, but then he had to abdicate due to car problems and I remember that Lewis and Seb then cuddled him a lot. I also remember that I was struck by the appearance of this sad young prince. The photos I put in the banner are all from the races I talked about. See you next time. Kisses Akane