NOTES: We're still in the Monza 2019 weekend and we pick up where we left off. We have Charles in an existential crisis, far from solving even one of his inner problems, and Max as a predator determined to get what he wants at all costs. Yet, at a certain point, the roles will reverse, and the predator will suddenly become the prey. Because Charles is wonderfully complex and full of constant surprises, you can't fit him into a simple, short and banal definition. Max will find this out the hard way. Happy reading. Kisses, Akane

34. PREY

/Max/

“I look at him like it’s my business.
Is he with Pierre? What the hell do I have to do with them? What right do I have to know?
Suddenly, for the first time in years, Charles is expressive. He's truly expressive.
He finally shows how much he fucking hates my snooping in his life.
No, I can't give up. The hunt has just started. I've spotted the prey and I'm grabbing him. I just need to sink my teeth in deeper to make him mine.
Charles grips the edge of the bench he's sitting on, he’s partially turned toward me. He wants to run away, but he would play the coward and he knows he has to answer now. Especially since he's the one who came after me.
I've literally got him against the wall.
- What the hell do you care?
Actually, he's right in a way. I'm nothing to him, not even his friend. What the fuck do I have to do with him? Why would he tell me? Why do I care?
But obviously my mouth speaks without primary brain activation. I speak and I don't know what I'm saying, but definitely some meanness, knowing me.
- And why the fuck don't you want to answer? What are you hiding, what are you ashamed of? You know Daniel and I fucked, you even know we broke up! You know things about me that no one else knows. Like that night I was so out that I needed a fucking hug! Why can't you tell me if you're fucking Pierre and if you're with him?
I can't take it anymore, damn it!
- What the hell do you care, why do you want to know so much? - he insists raising his voice. He wants to shout even louder, because he can't take it anymore either, but I don't give a shit, you know? I really don't give a damn what's wrong with you, I have the right to this answer.
- Because yes! I care, I want to know! There must be a damn reason to know this? - I always defend myself by attacking, one hundred percent. Most of the time I'm wrong.
A small part of me knows I'm wrong, but there’s no way to make amends, unfortunately.
Charles turns his torso toward me and now we look at each other closely, both annoyed and on the defensive. A defensiveness that's an attack.
Because you can't come looking for me hearing that I’m arguing with my father and that’s I’m pissed off; what the hell do you think I'm going to do? I want to jump on you, damn it! But if you refused me because you're with Pierre, fuck you, I'd never get up again and now I need a victory. A fucking victory for myself.
I need it.
I'm going crazy.
After this brief period of time in which we look at each other relatively closely, in an intimate and disturbing atmosphere, Charles suddenly changes direction completely. He sighs and shakes his head, shrugs his shoulders and closes his eyes, trying to find what to say. Something he honestly doesn't know.
- I don't know, Max. That's why I can't answer. I don't know. Anyway, you don't ask things like that...
He's about to manipulate me into not talking about what he doesn't want without arguing. I've already got my prey and I'm not letting go.
- Don’t change the subject. - I say immediately, still firm and hard, though a little calmer. - Either you fuck him or you don't, you'll know that! Did your cock go into his hole or not? Did you suck his dick? Don't bullshit me, Charles!
As I speak I get fired up and I can't control my mouth, which starts to blurt out things that might shock him, scratch him and... excite him?
He stiffens on the bench squeezing his legs together, then bites his mouth hard remaining there staring at me, his eyes wide with the panic I can see in this dim light.
- Yes, I'm fucking him. Since last Saturday. But you knew. Why do you keep asking me this?
Damn asshole, if you tell me this in that thin voice, what am I going to do? How can I keep attacking and holding on?
In the end I loosen my grip. I'm completely deflated. I lose all my fighting spirit and the attack goes to hell.
His voice is thin and on the verge of breaking. Is he about to cry?
At this absurd hypothesis that flashes through my head, I looking away; I lean back again to stop this thing I can no longer handle. It's overwhelmed me, for a change.
- Because I need to know. - I murmur low and hoarse.
Charles sighs and leans back too, helplessly, slumps and lets everything go. Everything.
He doesn't even ask me anymore what the hell I care about, since I've learned from him not to respond to uncomfortable things. Nice, huh?
- I don't know if we're together. - he finally says in a faint voice, as if he's finally giving up.
As if he's stopped strenuously fighting windmills. A senseless fight.
I'm nothing to you, so what's the point of not talking about your sentimental life? Why wouldn't you?
Unless you trust me. Do you trust me, Charles?
I don't dare look at him anymore, I stare at a random point in front of me, I'm in this more relaxed, perhaps more submissive pose. Hands in my pockets, no expression.
I'm no longer furious, nor on the hunt. I'm just Max, the remnant of all the other forms of oppression.
- We act like a couple and I know he's living what he's longed for. But he caught me in a moment of weakness. If I had been myself I would never have given in because I knew, deep down...

He hesitates and doesn't finish, but at this point I do it because I know what he meant.
- That you don't love him that way, that you don't desire him, that you don't want him that way.
Charles nods and I watch him briefly as he does, ending up staying there with my gaze, right where I didn't want. On his regular profile, a bit of unkempt beard from a few days ago, the disheveled hair of someone who's run away from bed.
You just did him, huh?
I don't ask, but he turns around, this time, and our eyes lock at the proximity of two shoulders that brush against each other without touching. Shoulders that want to touch, now.
- But now how can I tell him to stop and that it was a mistake? Right now, when he's so fragile and needs me the most? If I told him to stop, we wouldn't go back to the way we were before. We'd inevitably lose each other and I don't think that's right, at least I don't think it's the right time.
He talks more than I ever thought, especially on a topic he'd been avoiding for a long time. I listen to him without interrupting, continuing to look at him; he's looked away now, talking more to himself than to me.
Maybe if we were friends and had a relationship, he wouldn't be able to tell me so many truths, right? Because people like him never say anything to those who are truly close to them, not even the most intimate and profound things.
- If he really knows you as he should, he'd know it on his own. But if he pretends nothing's happening and keeps fucking with you and keeping you close, he's doing it out of selfishness.
As usual I shouldn't have said everything that comes to my mind, not just as it comes.
As soon as I hear my own voice, I widen my eyes with a worried look, convinced I see him getting angry; he actually looks at me. He's surprised, but he doesn't get up, he doesn't yell at me, he doesn't do anything I imagined.
He looks at me, his face smoothed by the ice that seems to be melting. I see him in the balance, on one side closing behind thick layers of ice, on the other turning into water.
He's at the limit, he can't take it anymore and I just want to help him. Really, I just want to help him in some way, but I don't know if I have the power.
It reminds me of the way I felt when I had to leave Daniel, a few months ago. As I think about it, seeing that Charles, instead of harshly putting me back in my place, goes back to staring straight ahead, I feel like I'm doing something rare, by my standards.
- I dragged myself along for months before deciding to leave Daniel. I knew it was time, but I couldn't do it because I cared about him and didn't want to hurt him. But in the end I realized that staying together like that was an insult to both of us, him first of all. He deserved a chance to recover, one day, and find someone capable of loving him properly and making him happy. He's too wonderful person to be kept to me because of my whims. But it was hard and even now we don't talk like we used to; I give him the space he needs. I know that when he feels like it, he'll come back.
I'm not sugarcoating the pill—that wouldn't be like me—but the truth is exactly that. He has to do what's right for both, not just for himself. It's right for Pierre, too, after all.
Charles stays quiet for a while and thinking he should say something this time, I look at him to ask a question, but when I see him close his eyes and shake his head, I realize he's about to cry and I don't know why. I don't really know how I know, but I just know that it's like this and that I couldn't bear it.
I know crying would do him good, but instinct tells me he doesn't want to, so I put my arm around his head and pull him forcefully and suddenly to me, forcing him to hide his face against my neck. My hand in his messy hair.
His eyes press against my neck, his forehead creases letting me know he's holding them tightly; his hand clutches my shirt and I rest my cheek on his head. I stay like that, silent, saying nothing for a while.
And he stays there saying nothing, doing nothing. He doesn't run away, he doesn't speak, he doesn't cry. He just fights with his desire for who knows what.
Who the hell am I to tell him what he should do? Everyone sees things for themselves and does their own stupid things.
- There's no expiration date, you know when something has to be done. There comes a specific moment when you have no more doubts and you just do it. So until you're sure, don't do anything.
What the hell am I saying?
Am I crazy?
Didn't I want to be able to jump on him without the risk of being rejected for Pierre?
You're an idiot, Max.
A certified idiot!
Charles nods and says nothing more. He stays here against my neck, with my arm around his head. Sitting here together, in the evening.
An evening we will surely never forget.”

/Charles/

“Cry. Who knows what's wrong with me doing it.
It's just that I feel like if I did, I'd never stop, you know?
How many things do I have to cry about?
I don't think I've ever done it, especially for the things I had to do it for. Maybe at the funeral, the moment I received the fateful news. But have I ever really cried? For a long time, sobbing, screaming, cursing until my brains exploded.
No, but I think if I did it, I'd never stop, so I hold on and hold on.
Luckily, Max's neck is comfortable and wonderful and Pierre isn't here to ask me what we are.
Max doesn't put pressure on me like before; he's let go and since he finally did, I've decided to do it too, even though he'll have to tell me, one day, why the hell he wants to know about me and Pierre.
But right now I'm too much of a mess. If he were to insist, maybe he'd tell me he likes me, but then what would I say? Yeah, I like you too, but I'm messed up and I don't know what I want from everyone around me. I know I like cock and fucking a guy and as long as Pierre gives it to me, even if I don't love him, I'll compromise.
We lick each other's wounds, right?
He gives me the sex I need and I like, I give him the intimate and moral comfort he wants. Or maybe just myself.
What does Pierre want from me? What is he taking? I'd say my soul, but I don't think I have one, so maybe yes, he wants that, but I think he's not really finding it.
You can only have my body, Pierre. I'm sorry, you're in the wrong place.
Maybe with Max it would be fair, I think neither of us would be looking for something the other doesn't have.
We know we don't have souls, we wouldn't look for one. We would take each other's bodies, giving each other pleasure and relief and that would be enough because we are the same, somehow, inside.
Identical, but not too similar. Identical in the right amount.
We'd be fine, between one argument and another.
He needs someone to stand up to him and so do I, I think.
No one gives up, but after all it's right this way. Both of us should be on the same level. Two people drive, right?
What the fuck am I doing with Pierre?
How long have I been here against Max's neck, smelling his perfume? His skin smells of his body wash, a masculine scent I love like crazy. I wonder if the rest of him smells the same?
My hand is still clutching his sweatshirt, but I don't realize I'm opening my eyes, which are no longer burning with the urge to cry. Now they're in clear focus, even though it's dark and hard to see. But I can see his zip and taking it between my fingers, I slowly undo it, keeping his arm around my head.
He won't leave me and I'm glad about that.
What do we feel for each other? Something; it's definitely something. But this is definitely not the time to delve deeper or talk about it.
Maybe it never will be, but certainly not now.
I open his sweatshirt completely and feel him breathing more slowly, my forehead pressing against his jugular vein, which is currently pounding. He's excited, perhaps aroused.
Then I slip my fingers under his shirt and, with relief, reach his skin. It's warm and smooth, his body is soft, firm and toned, and who knows how many other qualities he has that I don't know about. I move my head on his neck as I turn, facing him more closely, to press myself better, to look for something else.
I move my face against the patch of skin that was freed after opening his sweatshirt; I smell him, my hand slides to his side, seeking a more intimate, more wrong and out-of-place embrace, and he stays still while now I'm the one taking advantage. But I think he doesn't mind, judging by the way his heart is pounding. I could reach under his waistband to a confirmation, but I don't want to cross that line.
I hold him tighter, still keeping my hand under his shirt, the other behind him still under his clothes, on his back, as if I had to take it off.
He remains still, one hand in my hair, not directing me, not telling me where to go or what to do, he accompanies me, accepting me into himself and I feel like a snake coiling around its prey.
His scent is fantastic. What is it? I have no idea, but I like it and I'm about to open my mouth to taste his neck and lick it, to understand what it tastes like and the texture under my tongue, but suddenly I come to my senses realizing that I've completely lost my mind. But I'm not crazy, I'm in reality. Wake up, Charles. Wake up.
I stiffen and suddenly pull away slipping my hands and face away; I straighten up still sitting on the bench, looking at him with wide eyes, my heart in my throat and the awareness of having gone further, much, much further.
A road of no return, for a moment, but maybe I stopped in time. Before I fall into the ravine.
Cheating on Pierre with Max without even knowing what we are?
Stay still, Charles. Be quiet.
Max opens the arm he had around my head and puts it in the air without touching me, looking at me with a mixture of amazement and excitement.
I don't know what I look like; I'm probably panicking, because he immediately speaks so calmly and serenely.
- Don't worry, everything's fine.
If I don't stop jumping on him like this, sooner or later it will end badly.
Last week I couldn't stop myself. As soon as I saw him after winning my first GP, I absolutely had to hug him, then I ran away like an idiot without saying anything.
Now this. Next thing I'm going to give him a handjob? What are you going to do? He's not my blow-up doll available to me whenever and however I want. Stop it, or sooner or later he'll react and you know that he does it hr doesn’t mince words.
- Sorry. I'm not myself these days. I'll get my shit together and get back on track! Sorry, I...
So saying, unable to finish, I almost run away hoping he won't catch up with me and ask me for the rest. Or, perhaps, hoping he will. But I get to my room and, with both relief and regret, I see that he doesn't. I'm alone in this dark corridor, so with a sigh that's a mix of disappointment and relief, with my heart still in my throat, I go inside and return to Pierre and my not-a-boyfriend, but not just a friend either.
I watch him sleep peacefully, still naked after we've had sex, for a change. It's as if we have to make up for all the lost time. At least for him.
I'm just a spineless, exploitative person. After all sex with him is truly beautiful, but I know he does it with his heart, to get to mine, because he loves me. I know I don't love him and I never will. I know I'm just scratching an itch of mine, one I've had for a long time. I'm the most horrible person in the world.
Maybe only Max could truly be with me, that's why I'm so attracted to him.
I undress as I was when he fell asleep and get back under the sheets. When he hears me, he hugs me in his sleep and I take him back with me.
I couldn't take it before. I handled the situation well, but I had to go out onto the balcony and inadvertently heard Max pissed off at his father. The only thing I could hear on the phone were ungraceful screams; they were speaking in Dutch, so I couldn't understand what they were saying. I don't know why, but when I realized what state he was in and that he was going out into the garden, I had to go after him. It's as if I thought... I don't know, he's just as shitty as me, he can understand.
But my shitty feelings were about something else.
It's because Pierre asked me what we are. Another obsessed with this fucking question. I snapped at Max because he wanted to know too. Why is everyone obsessed with this question? Even Alex the other day.
What the fuck does anyone care?
I take a deep breath to calm myself, I certainly don't want to wake him.
'I don't know, Pierre. I'm sorry. I'm confused about us, I don't know the answer.'
I was only half honest. I know what we are. We're friends and we shouldn't be fucking. But just not telling him we're together is a step forward.
He sighed and nodded understandingly without making a scene. Because he knows how to do with me, damn it. He knows too well.
Maybe he shouldn't indulge me instead. Maybe that's the problem.
'When you find out, I want you to tell me. Whatever the verdict.'
Because Pierre is still Pierre. He knows I'm not letting myself go the way he does, he knows it's different for me. So what should I do? What should I say?
It's just a matter of finding the courage to do it.
I need the electric shock that gives me that courage, the jolt of life, the kick in the ass.
I hope something, someone, gives me that jolt. I really hope so, dammit.

His lips touch mine in a sweet greeting. I stand there receiving him, smiling God knows how, and then I open the door and slip away. As soon as I'm out of the room, I take a deep breath shaking my head, then I move on.
I need to get in the car and run. I need to run, run, and get away.
Where's my car?
The only thing that makes me feel good right now.

Isolated despite being in the midst of a sea of ​​people: fans in the stands behind me, journalists and photographers literally everywhere around me and then all the people working on the preparations for the upcoming race.
Today no commemoration; today, everything is normal.
The parade and then the wait to begin.
There's this moment I manage to take, that I need for myself, even though it would have been better to hide somewhere, but I remain here at the edge of the track, sitting on this strip of grass, a few meters from the asphalt, the cars and all the preparations.
Surrounded by chaos, between applause and photo, I put my hands on my head, my cap pulled down tightly, sunglasses covering my eyes; I withdraw into myself.
Once. Twice. Three times.
How many times can I do this?
Erase all the mess inside and out and everywhere.
Erase this disaster.
Pierre, Max, the grief, your stifled tears, the pressure to do everything. Not feeling human enough, the monster I don't know if it's inside me or if I am myself. This inability to feel emotions like others, this feeling of being different. The need to live my sexuality, the refusal to do so to focus on duties for my father and Jules, taking my life and my profession too seriously, using Pierre to satisfy me because with Max I would lose control.
Max, what do I feel for him? And what does he feel for me?
I think of everything and compress it to the nth degree inside me to make room, to be able to put on my kit, my helmet and then get in the car.
As soon as I do, as soon as I sit in my now-familiar cockpit, I finally begin to come back to my senses, I breathe.
I'm here, I'm on the track, I'm ready.
Finally the roar of the engine makes my insides vibrate, the chaos of the car drowns out every other noise, especially that of my brain.
I need a jolt to wake me up and get back to life, maybe this race can give it to me.
I need it. I really need it.
As soon as I lower my visor, everything disappears and only the traffic lights remain, no one in front of me because I'm above everyone else; the roars, everything shakes, everything vibrates, I can't hear anything, absolutely nothing. And then the lights go out and we go.
Again like last time, the momentum and the speed leave me alone. Alone with myself.
It's me, the car and the curves of the track. It's just us.
My comfort zone.
Now I'm fine. I can finally breathe and my nerves relax, my head my head no longer beats the war march. I relax completely. There's no one left to disturb me.
It's just us. We who were made to be together.
Me and my car.
Me and speed.”

NOTES: As I was saying, the interesting part is really starting. So far it's been background work for the real story that begins now. In fact the next chapter brings the second part, the second sector, titled "Awareness and Attraction." I'm not good with titles, but I think you can pretty much tell what it's about. I hope you'll continue to follow the fic. See you next time. Kisses, Akane.