23. DECLARATION OF WAR

/Max/

"I don't know how he does it. In his place, I would have made a mess.
Last time, my colleague was penalized for an identical move, and now you magically decide to be less rigid about the same maneuver?
Are we crazy?
The situation Charles finds himself in is mind-blowing and I recognize that from his point of view, it's pure injustice. Obviously, I'm not complaining and I'm convinced it was time they gave us more freedom in certain overtaking maneuvers. We've always complained that they penalize for every stupid move and you end up not being able to do anything, so for me it's fair how it went. It was an aggressive fight on both sides, but as I told the journalists right away, it's F1, we're racing. If we're not ready for anything, we should stay home.
But from Charles' point of view, it's mind-blowing. I would have told them to go to hell, not for sure 'thank you and goodbye.'
I mean, last time Seb pulled the same maneuver I did on Lewis, and without thinking twice. They penalize him immediately essentially depriving him of the victory. Today, just because Seb messed up last time—even if they don't actually say it openly, but it's known to be true—they decided not to penalize me for making the same move, effectively depriving Charles of the victory.
It's absurd.
I'm happy about it, but in his place I think I would have gone crazy. I don't know how the hell he does it, really.
I hear him telling the journalists with absurd calm that if this is the new standard of justice, he'll adapt; all that matters is that the rules are now the same for everyone.
He throws a dig, but he's really diplomatic.
For the rest, I understand he's pissed off with me. I mean, he's very polite with the stewards who messed with him, but in return he's angry with me even though he should be angry with them.
And he's angry with them, because I know him.
I know he's the most competitive being on the face of the Earth, more than me.
I'm a sucker for victory at all costs, but he's really competitive. It's not just the victory that counts, which is certainly what he races for, but the competition itself matters to him.
If he's fighting with someone else for a position or, worse, for the win, that's when he lights up. That's when you see the real Charles, and only I know it, only I've seen him like that.
Here in F1 others will see him, because it will surely happen that he will play for the victory with others and there they will see the real Charles, the bad guy who doesn't care and is willing to do anything to get through.
I know how furious he’s about this situation, and it's truly crazy that he's holding back from insulting those clowns, because that's what they are.
But I find incredible that he can hold back against the person who's really responsible for his failure to win, while he can't with me. He doesn't hold back with me. He openly shows me his deep hatred for me.
What's certain is that if before we were on the edge of uncertainty, there could be moments of tolerance towards me, now there are only certainties.
He hates me, stop.
It even makes me laugh, he didn't look at me, it was as if I didn't exist. He greeted Christian, the judges, but I wasn't there. It was so obvious that he was furious with me, that he considers me the ultimate evil of his problem today.
Of course, because even if he'll never tell me because his style is silence and pretending nothing's happening, I know what he thinks.
That I'm the asshole who doesn't know how to drive. That if I'd driven well, I wouldn't have passed him. That I passed him because I made a dirty move.
I know he thinks this, he'll never say it, but he thinks it, that's why my response to the journalists was, 'It's called race, otherwise you stay home.' Because for me, a race is a race.
You fight, damn it. Tooth and nail. With malice and ass-kicking. Everything is allowed to overtake; the rules were made by clowns. I don't care. For me, in a race, all that matters is overtaking and win.
But I realize you can't kick everyone out, because then I'd be overdoing it, but what I do is drive aggressively and to the limit.
I realize it's my father's fault, he's here now coming at home with us. The way he raised me from a young age dictates that winning is everything, that if I don't, I'm shit. But at the same time, he would destroy me if I made mistakes in the race. If I made a mistake but still won, in the end he'd say all sorts of things to me but he didn't hit me or punish me. If, on the other hand, I touched the others while overtaking because I was overbearing and this ended up making me lose positions and therefore I didn't win, then I could forget about going home in the car or without bruises on my head.
On my head, too, with hair that didn't show anything.
That's where he beat me. So I kept my helmet on until he cooled down; often worked.
First, he stressed me out saying I'm still the same idiot who can’t run well and I risk losing races like an idiot. When will I learn to overtake on the corner?
Am I really that retarded!
I'm so used to my dad's ways that when he's not being an asshole, I almost feel unmotivated. It's part of my very essence, his shitty voice insulting me.
My dad was waiting for us to go home, so he's here with us on the plane to Monte Carlo, but luckily he's quiet because aside from racing, we have no other topics of conversation.
He and I basically don't talk about anything else and we've already thoroughly explored that topic today.
If he's quiet, I'm fine; he's already thrown his shit at me. Luckily I won, otherwise I would have had to listen to him. I can imagine. 'There you are, you're still the same dumb idiot! You never learned to race! How the hell they keep you at Red Bull, I don't understand!'
While I'm lost in my own shitty mental journeys, brought on by his presence here beside me, my phone vibrates and I already know who is. Normally, it would cheer me up; I'd smile and feel better, but today it doesn't help, quite the opposite.
'So, are we celebrating?'
Daniel's text makes me smile briefly, then I quickly turn away. I try not to do anything that might let my dad know I have something. I shouldn't have anything, actually. I look out the window; we're still at the airport.
I'm about to use the offline card, but I realize he'll have seen that I've received the message, so I roll my eyes, huff, and text him.
'Yes, but I've lost the desire now! I'm close to my dad, you know how it is...'
Yes, he does. Maybe he's the only one who knows a little about it.
In the end, my dad is convenient for me. He even serves a purpose. Thanks to him, the answer is pretty easy.
Daniel tells me he's sorry and that we'll do something together tomorrow. Normally, it would be a nice boat ride, a jet ski ride, a lovely gin and tonic and him taking me in every position.
It used to be like that. Now that last part isn't in the package anymore.
I adore him, I have so much fun with him, I laugh and talk about everything. I feel really good, but the sexual connection is gone, and it's not just something I feel; he too can't finish anymore, so much so that we always pretend nothing's happening and try less and less.
He doesn't have the courage to admit it, but it's the same for him and I can't keep hurting him; he doesn't deserve it. He's the best person I know.
When the flight is announced I put my phone offline, then lower my seat and lie down. I turn my head toward the window, watch as the plane moves preparing for takeoff, and my mind rises along with the vehicle.
It's not that I've turned off sexually because I've satisfied myself. If Charles and I had happened to be on the same plane, I would have gotten incredibly hard at the thought of jumping on him. Maybe I wouldn't have done it knowing I'd risk being bitten, but I would have gotten incredibly turned on.
It's not that I've turned off, I haven't turned off for shit.
I was very interested before in the hatred I provoked in Charles when he tried to ignore me with little success. Not looking at me or talking to me isn't truly ignoring me, not when you only do it with me.
That's a huge sign saying that no one in the world pisses you off as much as I do, and that's a feeling.
It's a very strong feeling that I provoke in you, and it turns me on, that thing.
Because that's who I am.
I'm a fucking horny guy, I'm constantly turned on, only that before Daniel satisfied me, now he doesn't because all that's left is friendship. A beautiful, splendid friendship.
I just don't know what to do. I can't hurt him, just as he can't face reality.
It's so damn hard.
I don't want to, damn it. I don't want to hurt Daniel.

Charles' glowing neon sign becomes a message in the sky carried by a plane when he unfollows my Instagram account the next day.
When the notification arrives, I'm about to ignore it, as usual, since I get tons of them, but noticing that it's Charles, I read it with surprise. Realizing it's a notification that he's unfollowed me, I almost fall out of my chair, leaning forward too forcefully.
I'm having breakfast at 1:00 PM on Monday, practically brunch as the snobs say, and I imagine Charles among them. I'm alone because I haven't told a soul I'm awake. Daniel knows that on the Monday after the race, especially if I'm home late and regardless of my result, I sleep late. The boat is scheduled for early tomorrow morning so we can spend the day out with friends, jet skis, and a lovely gin and tonic that I can't wait to sip in the sun.
And Daniel. He's on the schedule too.
But Mondays are usually for me, for being a zombie.
Let's just say that yesterday was a huge victory for me, and normally I would have celebrated until late at night, but between the investigation and my dad, everyone started ruining my mood, so we're just went to dinner and I couldn't just dump him, even if I wanted to. So I went home without looking for Daniel or anyone else. Today I'm still in a bit of a weird mood, but while I'm having breakfast/lunch, I'm looking at my phone with a bunch of various congratulations on the win, and I almost choke on Charles.
At first, I stare at my phone in shock; the notification is clear and unmistakable.
'Charles Leclerc has unfollowed you.'
I ignore all the other notifications, but I stare at that one as if it were a joke.
It takes me a while to realize.
He's unfollowed my social media account like a child, but it's not this childish side that suddenly makes me laugh like I'm a schizophrenic lunatic.
What suddenly lifts my mood is the realization that I'm somehow on top of his world.
He's come out in the open. He hates me, he officially hates me, especially after this dramatic public gesture that could only be second to announcing it to the journalists!
I provoke something extremely strong in Mr. "everything is the same, nothing is worthy of interest." Surely no one provokes such violent feelings in him as I do, even if they’re negative, but they’re still feelings and reactions.
He, who as a boy had said that ramming me with his go-kart was just a racing accident and not an act of anger toward me to make me pay, he, who has never shown any disturbance in any case, unfollows me from my social media profile.
Not only is he childish for the first time—which I think only when he pushed me in that famous “inchident" race is on the same level, and he was fifteen there anyway—but he's also blatant and public. He doesn't hide, he doesn't disguise it.
He hates me so much that he practically says so officially.
I hate Max Verstappen.
As for Charles, it's one of the most significant achievements of our relationship, if not of him in general.
With a big, radiant smile, he restores my good mood and I can't wait for Silverstone. Who knows what he'll do when he sees me? I have to do everything I can to qualify well, he'll definitely have a fantastic weekend. I know him and I know that when he gets angry, he drives very well, and I have to stay ahead of him.
I'm already looking forward to another fabulous race.
I get up from the table, jumping and whistling, and head to the bathroom with the thought of getting ready and going to Daniel. How long has it been since I've had this much fun racing? Since my go-kart days, that's how long.”

/Charles/

“It was impulsive. Stupid and impulsive. And very centralizing.
In the sense that I attracted a lot of attention, and that's not something I like to do, on the contrary. Sometimes I think the more unnoticed I go, the better, which is why I'm obsessed with doing what people expect of me or what is somehow more appropriate. Like being cheerful, smiling, friendly, and never snapping, never talking back, never saying what you think if what you think is bullshit.
In short, I try to control myself so as not to attract attention, to be at peace, because that's how it works. You have to know how to behave, you have to get along, you can't be inappropriate. These are my father's teachings, to be honest, but they're part of me. Or at least I think so. I think, however, that there's a strong rebellious side to me that comes out every now and then. I'm particularly competitive, and when that part of me is trampled on or provoked, I end up losing control.
These are things I don't want to do, but I can't help it.
I was browsing Instagram and saw his shitty post celebrating the Austrian race and my blood rushed to my head.
It was mine, that GP was mine.
Damn asshole!
I unfollowed him without thinking; I was just about to throw my phone away and to avoid it I thought it was better to delete him.
If only that were how it worked in real life. One button press, and he disappears from your mind. I don't care if he's erased from the world. I'm not a sociopath, but I wish he were as indifferent to me as I always try to appear when I'm with him. But I realize that's not the case. When I looked back at yesterday's photos, when I was looking at him as if I wanted to kill him, I realized that my control had gone completely haywire.
In short I tend to live in my famous fog, and I agree with trying to escape it to be more normal and not feel bad in certain situations, but I know it's difficult and I don't always succeed. Sometimes I realize that everything is always the same, even if I try hard and I'd like to be more cheerful and easy-going with others, or have a quick wit like Pierre or Seb.
But when I'm with Max, it's always like this. I emerge from the fog, but not in a happy way. I emerge because I'm prey to powerful and often terrible instincts.
Look at the faces I made on the podium. Well, on one hand it's positive. That's what I want. To show what I feel, as well as feeling emotions.
I think Max is number one in this, he has a talent that no one else has. 

- You're crazy! - his high-pitched voice reaches me as soon as I answer the phone. When I saw Pierre's name, I knew what he wanted to say, so I was ready. This is followed by a loud laugh that makes me smile and relax, as I sink back onto the couch and swing my legs up onto the armrest.
- You think so?
At this response, Pierre laughs even louder.
- I didn't think you'd do something like that! You're absurd! You don't look so reckless, you had courage to make such a move!
- Well, it's nothing really, I just removed a stupid 'follow' from a stupid profile of a stupid person! - I try to downplay it without fully realizing what it really means, but Pierre is thinking about it now.
- Let’s see if I can make you understand... - he says at this point while busily bustling around his house. - Being public figures that everyone knows even if you scratch your ass, unfollowing another prominent driver is like an official declaration of war, and not a fun and joking one, but a serious one. In the age of social media, a "like" or a "follow," in this case removed, carries more weight than a statement into some microphone.
Now it's much more comprehensive, actually. I curl my lips down and stare at the ceiling remaining lying in disarray but definitely comfortable, my legs dangling over the armrest while my head reaches halfway down the sofa.
I'm in boxers, a tank top, and all disheveled. I haven't even washed, but I feel damn good now. Because I finally understood what I did and I'm incredibly happy about it.
- So I've officially declared war to Max Verstappen?
- I'd say so!
- Good! - I exclaim suddenly cheerful and excited, with a jolt I roll off the couch landing on my knees, but thanks to the carpet I don't hurt myself.
I hold on with one hand while the other still holds the phone. 
- Where did you say you were going to the beach at the end?
Pierre, perplexed, tells me the city and the beach, a beautiful place in Liguria, a very popular region of Italy for those who live in Milan and love the sea.
Actually I was planning something for two with Giada here in Monte Carlo at our favorite club, in a last-ditch attempt to keep together a relationship that I find increasingly pointless, but the idea of spending time alone with her suddenly weighs me down and since I'm in an absurdly good mood and don't want to ruin it, I invite myself to their place in Liguria.
Luckily I live in Monte Carlo, the most popular destination for vacationers and between the sea and boat trips, whenever I have a few free days I can easily have fun without traveling. But for Pierre, it's not exactly convenient and when he comes he has to organize and stay at least two or three days. However, if it's a short trip, since he lives in Milan now, he likes to go to Liguria.

Genoa is halfway between Monte Carlo and Milan, a two-hour drive away. The hotel we chose obviously immediately provided room for Giada and I, even though we weren't scheduled, but playing the VIP card is always a surefire win. The hotel's lido and beach are really beautiful and even though I improvised for once, everything went well.
Stepping out of my comfort zone, not doing what I always do, diving in without planning or thinking too much is something strange for me, but today I felt like it and I'm glad I did. I feel really good and my mood continues to be sky-high. I've been thrilled ever since I decided to do this improvisation and I still feel maybe even happy, even though I don't think I have a real reason.
I wonder if it's one of those moments again, where I’m going crazy about something specific that excites me, even if I don't know what it is. The declaration of war on Max? I think that's what triggered me this time.
If so, it'll be enough to never be alone with Pierre and I shouldn't be an inappropriate maniac who jumps on him.
I've planned every moment of my entire week away from F1 in detail: now here with Pierre, then something with family, and finally my usual friends; filling all my time outside of racing is kind of my attempt to escape the fog and I think it's good for me. In the end, it's about always having something to do with someone, avoiding nothingness and loneliness and maybe breaking up the routine every now and then.
I feel better when I fill my weeks with people I like and with whom I feel good. Then the activities Andrea organizes for training and preparation are often atrocious, but since this winter, ever since I told him about how I was feeling, he's been trying to introduce me to different things and make me do new things. Sometimes I curse him, but other times it's wonderful and I always feel better. I discover so many things about myself, new interests, or literally discover what I like to do. Even just going to the gym at a more rhythmic pace, I realize that Slowly, it helps me feel more dynamic. I think all these things combined are bringing me out of my foggy, sleepy state.
Now, when something happens that makes me feel excited, I can control myself. I avoid people I know are my weak points and maybe I appear more lively and cheerful, but I don't do crazy things, nor am I rude. So I think my path is slowly bearing fruit.

In the evening we went out to dinner and for a drink somewhere, the four of us. It was only fun because Pierre was there, and I'm clearly aware of that, but I can't help it. In reality I know it's like that and that I clung to him precisely because I needed to feel good during these days that I was supposed to take for myself. If you're with someone, you have to spend that damned time with them. Luckily, I followed my impulses and found a way to feel good anyway.
Pierre is that way.
He and I spend the rest of the night on the terrace while Giada and Caterina are inside watching who knows what together.
We talk a lot about Max, about my supposedly crazy move and about Austria. We talk about how I felt robbed and why I'm so angry with him. Pierre knows many things on his own, but he understands the others without making a big deal out of it. He laughs about it a bit and teases me, trying to defuse the situation, until, after a brief silence during which he loses himself in the gaze of the black sea that merges directly with the starry sky, he blurts out: - You know... - inspired, his tone a bit strange.
I look at him in surprise, sensing an unexpected confidence.
I scrutinize his regular profile, his hair still perfect as ever, his well-groomed beard that suits him so well.
- In Austria, I inadvertently witnessed a strange exchange between Max and his father.
He'd already mentioned a tense phone call he'd overheard a few weeks ago, but he hadn't gone into detail because he hadn't understood what they'd said. However he'd seen Max particularly down, so much so that he'd tried to be nice to him and almost brought him to dinner with me. He risked being lynched.
- Did you understand what they were saying this time? - I ask, more out of habit than genuine curiosity. Pierre is the curious one among us, I'm not, but since he's talking about Max, something moves me, I admit.
Pierre shakes his head, continuing to stare at the nighttime spectacle this hotel room on the beach offers us. His legs crossed, a slightly crooked pose, like a model in a photo shoot. Not only is the pose model-like, he himself looks like one. Partly it's intentional because I know he cares about his appearance, and partly it's nature which has been generous with him.
I'm enchanted by watching him every now and then and now it happens even though talking about Max usually makes me angry, but declaring war on him without actually planning it, at least not rationally, has filled me with vitality and a strange joy. Now Pierre and I are alone and I promised myself I wouldn't stay there, but I've let my guard down a bit; my strange personal situation seemed to be improving.
- No, they always spoke in Dutch, but you could clearly tell his father was scolding him as if he were still a child. With such arrogance and malice, I can't explain it to you. I think if you heard them, you'd understand.
I don't want to see that man again. I remember him well; he was unpleasant.
- Well, with the others he was normal. I can't say anything bad from the outside, but I know he wasn't thoughtful or nice to Max. - I reply thoughtfully, looking away from him to focus on the faded memories of my childhood. I've locked certain things away in a corner of my mind.
- He tormented him a bit all weekend since he was there, but especially after the race, instead of celebrating his victory, he scolded him with a slap on the back of the head as if he were still a child. And he said something I didn't understand, but it couldn't have been anything nice. He must have scolded him, probably because of the investigation. Max's expression changed. He was happy about the victory, he thought he'd had the race of the year, he was very happy, but as soon as he spoke to him he became dark and tense. The scene struck me and he made me... - Pierre thinks about it, reflects, I see his eyes lower, I look back at him here beside me, in the dim light of the night, the bedroom lights are off, I think the girls are asleep but we don't care. Pierre hesitates, trying to think of what to say, but my mouth moves on its own, out of my control.
- Pity? - I finish for him, as if I knew this was exactly what Max must have inspired in Pierre. He nods and finally turns his head to look at me, our eyes meeting, he's shocked and melancholic as he talks about this fact, about this situation of his. I know well what Max inspires with his father, now that he's told me about it I remembered it.
This conversation makes me feel strange.
- You know, I've gotten to know him over these months there and I have to say I've seen a completely normal Max; he's even very funny and cheerful. Very different from when he gets in the car, which turns into some kind of demon, but with his father I think he's even more different. I think he's very fragile underneath. Is that stupid?
I let him talk absorbed in his thoughts, totally aware and suddenly melancholic like him. As I've always been, as I've tried not to be anymore. I've worked hard to get out of this depressed state of mine, but absurdly, talking about this side of Max, so human and fragile, has thrown me back into it and for the first time, I feel so down not for myself, but for someone else.
For him.
I shrug and shake my head looking away, quickly returning to the sea that I can't see, right where the horizon should be.
- No, why stupid? I know Jos was very hard on Max even as a child; I have some vague memories of him. Alex told me some rumors about alleged abuse, but nothing concrete or certain. I can't tell you, you know, but they definitely never had a peaceful relationship.
Pierre sighs in disappointment and then lets the silence fall. I'd like to ask him why he told me about this now that I was venting saying bad things about him. I've declared war on him; why is he coming out with this humanization?
Abuse? The idea inevitably crosses my mind and I'm careful not to say it and immediately let it go because these things are bigger than me, now. Especially because I'm nobody to him except his rival and that's exactly what I want to remain. That's what I need to be to get out of my hole and become the person I've dreamed of since I was a child. The happy, winning F1 champion. The one who fulfilled his dreams.
I just want to be the one who beats him. That's all.
And then everyone has their problems, their traumas, or their ghosts.
I look at Pierre and for a moment I see Jules in his place. Would we have gone out like this if he were still alive? And maybe without a double date with two girlfriends for whom neither of us feels anything. Who knows what life would have been like if he hadn't died? Would we be together?
But as I think about it, I come back to the present, to Giada, with whom I'm truly at the end of the line, and to Pierre, for whom I definitely feel more than I do for her, whatever that is.
Sometimes I wonder what the point of a life full of lies is, where you have no one to be truly and completely yourself with. Where you can never be.
Will I really be able to do this my whole life?
- Shall we go to sleep? - I say, as if to close the subject of "Max" and never bring it up again, to never risk anything again.
Pierre comes to life and it's as if he were waking up from a daydream, perhaps the same one I had.
We look at each other and nod, then look back at the room where I know the two girls are, simultaneously making puzzled faces at the darkness and silence.
- I think they're sleeping together... - I say, sensing danger around the corner.
- I think we'll have to do it too... - he says in the exact same 'trouble is coming' tone.
Because if I had any doubts before, now there are only certainties.
There's something between us, it's just that neither of us wants to ruin our friendship and we're both careful how we approach each other. Too bad we'll end up sleeping together by mistake tonight.
Nice try, Charles. Really nice try.
Without realizing it, Max is finally swept away. At least for tonight.”

NOTES: We know all too well every detail of that famous race and what they said before, during, and afterward. And we know the relationship between Max and Jos has always been complicated and problematic, he was harsh with him as a child, but I repeat, I made up the details. I know that Charles’ unfollow Max happened precisely after that race and there's little to interpret. (Moreover, I don't know if it's possible to receive a notification when someone unfollows you, but Max absolutely had to find out about Charles action!) 
On the one hand, there's a Max torn between the exaltation he finds in racing thanks to Charles, a relationship with Daniel that's coming to an end, and his intolerance toward his father; on the other, there's Charles torn between hatred and the strong feelings aroused by Max, that strange sense of well-being caused by Pierre, and the shadow of depression he's trying to fight. Different worlds intersect and collide, when will they merge? See you next time. Kisses, Akane.