42. ANOTHER TIME

/Charles/

- Just because I'm losing
Doesn't mean I'm lost
Doesn't mean I will stop
Doesn't mean I'm across
Just because I'm hurtin'
Doesn't mean I'm hurt
Doesn't mean I didn't get what I deserved
No better and no worse
I just got lost
Every river that I tried to cross
Every door I ever tried was locked
Oh, and I'm just waiting 'til the shine wears off
You might be a big fish
In a little pond
Doesn't mean you've won
'Cause along may come a bigger one
And you'll be lost
Every river that you tried to cross
Every gun you ever held went off
Oh, and I'm just waiting 'til the firing stops
Oh, and I'm just waiting 'til the shine wears off

“I don't know if it's the song or that precise moment when I was about to jump on him uncontrollably, knowing I'd be lost and I don't know what would become of me, but somehow everything has changed again. Changed in a way I can't explain or define, but it has changed a lot.
This song, one of my favorites by the way, makes me think unexpectedly.
Just because I’m losing doesn't mean I'm lost, or that I'll stop.
Just because I'm hurting doesn't mean I'm hurt and that I don't get what I deserve. I'm just waiting for the shine wears off. Is this what I was trying to do before?
I felt lost, but in reality I'd only lost control, not myself.
I hurt the people around me, and in return I have a messy life that doesn't allow me to be happy. I'd like to be with Max, but I'm with Pierre and I don't have the courage to leave him. I hurt everyone and I feel bad. But maybe I only get what I deserve. This suffering that I inflict on myself, in the end, is all deserved.
In the end, I want it all to stop: the pressure, the suffering, the anxiety, the feeling of being lost, even though in reality it's only control I'm losing. I want it to stop, but I don't know how, and I hope it all stops on its own, that everything stops, that everything dissolves. Because I'd like to take matters into my own hands, but I don't have the courage. Sometimes I try with crazy gestures, but nothing is definitive. It's never the right solution.
But if I don't find one, I'll end up losing myself...
All the obstacles I've tried to overcome and the struggles I've had resonate within me, showing me that in the end nothing has really been overcome, no battle has been won. I'm still here, exactly as I was at the beginning of my journey, with the same problems as before, unable to experience my emotions normally.
When the song ends, I realize I had closed my eyes and remained silent for the entire four minutes, so I wake up hearing another band singing, grab my phone and turn it off, letting the silence descend on us again. Only after a while do I notice Max still sitting cross-legged in front of me, looking at me with a patience I never thought he'd have, that perhaps I didn't actually want him to have. I was counting on his impatience, his impetuosity, his selfishness. That he'd take me and do whatever he wanted with me pulling me out of my fog, but instead he's waiting for me to emerge, and maybe he's right, after all.
First he said there's no rush, but that he won't do anything until I resolve things with Pierre, because he knows I'd freeze up at the best moment, otherwise. But I think I have to tell him something, don't I?
Because I almost threw myself into that typhoon, and now everything was perfect for the best sex of our lives, but I turned around and stopped everything, even though I want it with all my heart.
- Why would I rather be erased than solve my problems and my mess?
Do I realize what I just said?
Yes, I realize, but it's the simple truth and it's unthinkable for me not to tell it to someone who lives 100% by the truth.
If I were with a liar I could lie, but with Max, how can I not be disarmingly honest?
Maybe that's what I need right now. Honesty. But with myself. It's just that if I'm alone, I can't be honest, but with him I can.
So I'm sorry, Max.
I stay silent waiting for his reaction, but I don't dare look at him, I don't dare look up.
I stare at my hands, his scent still clutched between my fingers. The sound of the typhoon still hitting outside, along with the thunder that makes everything vibrate.
- I don't remember you ever being a spoiled, immature kid who let others sort out everything. I remember you as a child who was too grown up, who always did everything he had to. Doing things well, following the rules and pre-established paths. I remember you were always a perfectionist, even as a child.
What he says strikes me and I look at him shocked, understanding what he means and why he says it. His outside perspective is interesting.
- Since Jules died and then my father, something has happened to me. Anthoine has rekindled an old condition of mine that I had simply put aside.
Max returns my gaze which I can now bear. He doesn't have strange expressions of pity and he doesn't even try to be supportive, because in these cases, that's what you have to do. He's simply here with me answering my questions as best he can, with his sincerity and with the things he knows about me, the few things he knows from the outside because he's never really been a part of my life, even though he's always been there in some way. Almost always.
- You're stuck. - he says without specifying where, how, or why.
As he says this I light up, feeling as if the light is turning on.
- I'm stuck on the day Jules died. With my father I was cemented there. I'm stuck at those seventeen years. From then on I tried to grow, mature and become an adult; I was obsessed with it. I had to solve my problems, do everything right, not waste the opportunities others had sweated for me.
God, it's so easy to talk to him about this...
Max doesn't say a word, doesn't make a sound. I know he's looking at me even though I've now averted my gaze, letting it slide behind him, towards the dark windows where I can't see anything.
- I wasn't trying to kill myself before... - I then whisper softly, bowing my head almost ashamed but with an absurd need to clarify.
- You just wanted to come to your senses, to regain the control you'd just lost.
Why do you know?
I snap my eyes up holding my breath and as I do so, a bolt of lightning strikes so close it knocks out the lights, the storm outside intensifies and here, while everything is completely dark and we're as if erased from the world—just like that night at the club—feeling deeply shocked at finally being understood, I rise to my knees and lean toward him; I grab his shirt and pull him toward me, burying my face in his neck where I like to be.
Now there's no longer his signature scent, which I now know is Armani. Now there's only the texture of his skin against my closed eyes, which I squeeze like a madman. I'm still holding on because it's not time to let go. I'm not ready yet.
His hands, with surprise and delicacy, rest on my shoulders and gently slide down my back. He holds me against him in silence, in this darkness that seems to reflect my soul.
I want to be okay, I want to get out of here. Yet it seems I'm simultaneously afraid of it.
Max somehow represents the most instinctive and sincere part of me, what I really want to do, what I really want to be, but I'm stuck at 17, when everything ended and I'm left suspended in the middle of a half-adolescent doing everything he can to be an adult without truly succeeding; someone who deprives himself of the typical and appropriate experiments of different ages to better understand himself. I try, sometimes I succeed, I make small progress, I live more, I discover what I like, what I am, but like a 17-year-old, I mess up and I don't want to fix it. And I don't want to cry, because at 17 you don't cry. You have to be strong, and strong people don't cry.
And maybe I'm still depressed by the constant deaths. One every two years. I can't get over one when another comes. Will it always be like this? Is this what I have to prepare for? Will my life be like this forever? Will someone constantly die around me?
And I miss my father and I can't say it. Him, his advice, his positivity, his confidence. He died too soon; God, I wasn't ready.
And I wanted to confess my love to Jules one day, but I never got to. I couldn't even thank him because I'm in F1, at Ferrari, thanks to him. I have his place, after all. If he were alive, I wouldn't be where I am. I'm sure of it.
And I suppress this depression because I have no right to be, I'm so lucky, after all. I'm a Ferrari F1 driver, I'm rich, famous, I do what I've dreamed of since I was a kid. I have everything anyone could want. Depressed about what?
Max's mouth gently presses a kiss to my temple, that's all he does. Why are you so patient? Why are you so considerate?
Why are you so beautiful inside, where you're ashamed to let yourself be seen?
Still immersed in the darkness, I raise my head rubbing my face against his. Slowly our mouths come closer, I reach his cheek and am reaching the corner, but it's here that the light returns, as if it wasn't time yet and someone from above knew. The shock is sudden and in the same way Pierre returns forcefully into my head, between us. So I open my eyes wide and pull away at the last moment, just before our lips touch. I look at him shocked and out of me, my heart in my throat, the emotion alive beneath my skin full of shivers, my eyes burning threatening tears.
Until I'm ready to experience the emotions normally and to fix things with Pierre, I don't deserve Max.
With difficulty, enormous difficulty, I pull away and reluctantly leave him. Max lets me go slowly looking at me with bewilderment, and for a moment I read his doubts and worries; his thoughts and feelings are so clear that I speak immediately without hesitation, rushing to reassure him. I need to.
- It's not you, Max. It's like you said before. I want to fix things with Pierre because he's always between us. It's not fair, I can't do it if I know he's there waiting for me. I can't hurt him. I care too much about him.
Max, however, has a dangerous flash cross his face and this time he's no longer as tender and understanding as he has been until now. He takes my wrist firmly and whispers: - Remember that when you feel like fixing things with him, this will be there for you. - then he places my hand between his legs, on his cock, which even through the fabric feels hard and ready to please me.
If only I were a damned asshole and didn't give a damn about my damned duties.
Apparently, seventeen-year-old Charles isn't old enough to solve problems maturely, but he's not selfish enough to give a damn about others and do whatever the fuck he wants.
I'm such a complicated idiot!
My hand stays there for a few moments, intentionally touching his entire erection which is taking shape under my open palm. Max presses it against himself and moves it to better feel how long he is as he gets excited by my contact. My eyes, glued to his, will be thirty centimeters apart. I don't pull away and let him do whatever he wants to himself while he sucks his lip, ending up sighing with pleasure at my treatment, which isn't all that forced, but isn't entirely free either.
When he closes his eyes, abandoning his face to pleasure and his head tilted back, my own groin burns and throbs and I'm about to reach for his lips and close the distance, but Pierre's face comes between us once again and I stop, pulling my hand away.
Fuck, Charles.
- Sorry. - I murmur hoarsely.
Max opens his eyes still looking at me, dreamily yet annoyed, and whispers with a mischievous grin: - It's to yourself you have to apologize...
And he's damn right. I shake my head, get out of bed and grab my phone and perfume.
- I think you're right. - I grumble. He chuckles shamelessly and obnoxiously, lying down on the bed and stretching his legs out in front of him, comfortable and satisfied as if he'd won something.
A squabble between us, perhaps. But I can't hold it against him because it's really all my fault and he's absolutely right.
How the hell did I get myself into this shitty situation?
Before leaving I thank him for the shelter and the present. As soon as I'm outside, I walk quickly toward my room where I left Pierre, fully intending to confront him now and drop the bomb.
But when I open the door I'd left without a key, Pierre is shocked, staring at the clothes I'm wearing that aren't mine, just as he stares in bewilderment at the gift I'm holding, and he can definitely smell the perfume I'm wearing. He has a nose for perfume, he surely knows it's the same one Max wears; they were even teammates at the start of the season. Idiot, idiot, Charles.
Panic grips me as I freeze, as always happens now, and every brave intention I had fades in the storm outside. I don't have the strength to face him now, I can't, this isn't the time to drop any bombs and I don't want to anyway. I have the urge to run, but it's exactly at this point that I realize I have to tell him something, even if I don't want to tell him the truth.
Something, Charles. Think of something quickly. Because you know, he's Pierre and he knows everything about you. If you tell him you went to Max's and he gave you his perfume, how the hell are you going to explain it to him? Say something quickly, something plausible, or be prepared to drop that bomb now. Even if you don't want to. Even if you should.
- A door suddenly opened just as I was passing by and I got soaked, so the boys who were going to their room at that moment gave me shelter and took the opportunity to give me my birthday present early. We ate together ordering in my room. - I explain everything that happened in detail without lying, just omitting that of the "boys" there was only Max.
Pierre listens seriously and frowning, while I walk in anyway as if there were nothing strange about all this, nothing to discuss or probe. As if I hadn't disappeared for hours after an argument.
He remains in the doorway for a moment before reacting.
One more time, I tell myself as I enter, immediately thinking about the rest of the conversation I'm going to have now, the one about us.
I'll leave you another time, Pierre. I'm sorry.
Now I'll just ask you a little more of time. Just a little bit. And you'll make me happy, because you're special and you can't deny me anything. Because you love me and I'm taking advantage of it, because I'm not the good, kind and honest one. I'm not at all. Maybe Max is more than me, after all.
What an irony life is.”

/Max/

"But what's wrong with me?
Up until now I've gone ahead without thinking, because I'm not one that think. I just act, reasoning isn't my thing, even afterward and even though I realize I screwed up, because sometimes it's hard not to notice, I'm not staying on it. I shrug and move on.
And yet now, for the first time in my life, I stop and think about it and it's all Charles's fault.
What's wrong with me?
Really, Max.
The mirror reflects my image, I carefully examine myself to see if it's in my appearance or my character or maybe my manners or maybe it's just me.
It's not just because I decided not to give a damn and fuck him. I could have done it; tonight, if I wanted, he was mine. I know how to fuck someone and in any case we've established that Charles wants it too.
I mean, it's partly that too. What the fuck is wrong with me? Because when I don't have him in front of me, I tell myself to do as usual, I mean taking what I want without regard for anyone or anything, and then when he's there I can't do a damn thing. Am I suddenly without balls? What the fuck is happening to me, damn it?
And anyway, even if something somehow happens and what we want is about to happen, he finds the strength to stop and not continue. Damn.
He couldn't say no to Pierre; he was crying, but now he doesn't cry anymore and can't stop. But I know he wants me; he's told me so clearly and it's more and more obvious every time we collide, and I'm not talking about the track.
So, in the end, it's me. That's the truth.
I scrutinize myself in the mirror, trying to figure out how he or anyone else sees me, if I can be physically attractive. I think I'm nothing special, maybe I've developed in a vaguely decent way, but I've never seen myself as handsome and I don't even see myself that way now. Evidently I'm right and I’m not enough.
My body isn't as athletic as Daniel's, for example. I'm Average, in that sense. I'm not muscular, I'm just right for my height, but maybe I should decide to enjoy the gym instead of video games and stick to a more athletic diet.
Aside from my unattractive body, my face doesn't make up for it. It's not particularly harmonious; my eyes are my only strong point, perhaps. A neglected or well-groomed beard makes little difference; my hair can only stay short in this cut I've always had.
My mouth is too big for my face, I've always said so and that's why I try not to laugh too much unless I have to because I'm having fun.
It's clear that I'm not as handsome as Charles. He does have a harmonious and delicate face; everything is well-proportioned and his small mouth is so well-shaped that I want to run the tip of my tongue over it a thousand times.
I lick my own and snort looking away from my face.
I've always had complexes; no girl was ever interested in me before I became a famous driver.
Now it's different: I know they'll throw themselves at me. Just because I'm Max Verstappen and I drive in F1 for Red Bull. I can have whoever I want and sometimes I take advantage of it to vent my instincts, but that's not what I really want. It only leaves me with a pleasant orgasm, time to recharge and everything passes.
I've never liked myself, either physically or in general.
I've always been an asshole; I suppose that taking a leaf out of that other asshole who raised me, I didn't have much choice, although things got better when he stepped aside a bit once he entered F1. He's still here to be a pain in the ass, but less than before, when he was my coach and boss.
Then I came into contact with Daniel and was he who revolutionized my life and made me see and live differently; with him I felt different.
Daniel. It's thanks to him that now everyone around sees me as a normal, approachable, nice person. I have friends on the circuit thanks to him, people beyond my personal circle at home. Now I'm no longer completely seen as a walking piece of shit, many people still hate me, but overall I'm integrated and it's thanks to Daniel, I've always said so and I can never thank him enough.
But him? What the hell did he see in me? Why did he like me, why was he there when I tried with him without thinking, as I usually do?
How could he not reject me like Charles always did?
I bite my lip thinking back to how he deviated his mouth as approached mine, and angrily slam my palm against the bathroom doorframe.
Fuck, I know I shouldn't, that I'm a total piece of shit for this, but he's the only one who can help me right now and if I don't get a fucking answer, I feel like I might go crazy this time.
Charles rejected me again, even though I know he wanted me, but it's clear that I wasn't enough. But how could I have been that for someone?
How?
Without resisting, in a sort of pure survival instinct, I have to text him.
We agreed to give each other some space for a while, but Daniel said he wants to stay friends, that he cares about having a good relationship, especially since we're both drivers in the same competition.
I'm sorry, but only you in the world can help me right now and I desperately need a hand right now. I wouldn't ask anyone else for it.
I throw myself into bed where I was just now with Charles, pick up my phone, and text him without thinking twice.
'What the hell did you see in me when you accepted my tongue in your mouth?'
Obviously straight to the point, no beating around the bush.
Daniel takes a while to reply and in the meantime I play one of those stupid games on my phone that I stop as soon as he answers.
'And what was I supposed to do, bite it?'
This is followed by smiles of tears of laughter.
I smile imagining his face laughing as he reads. He's always been my sunshine. I'll always love him in some way, but Charles is now an obsession.
'No, but then we did it again!'
'Well, you weren't such a bad kisser...'
'Is that all? Was I a good kisser?'
I insist like a jackhammer, but he isn't evasive or holding back; in fact, he immediately understands what's going on.
'You've piqued my interest. I never expected you to kiss me.'
I sigh pursing my lip as I roll onto the bed.
'But then? What did you like about me?'
If I were him, I'd tell myself to go to hell, but Daniel has always had infinite patience with me.
For a moment I wonder how he's experiencing it. I know he's not doing well in F1, but he's with a team that's not exactly the best; you can't even expect him to have a great year. I hope it's not my fault that things go badly, but he would have stopped me from speaking and greeting if he felt like shit to me. After all, talking to me again should do him good, or we'd end up drifting too far apart and neither of us wants that.
'I liked you, Max.'
'But I'm nothing special. I'm not handsome and I have a shitty personality. I don't understand how you did it, what you saw.'
What did you like about me? There must have been something, I don't understand, I can't understand. What did you see that Charles doesn't? What does Pierre have that I don't?
How stupid that question is. Stupid and pathetic, but that's exactly what I don't understand. But actually, I know. Pierre is much more handsome than me, he's cheerful, he has a sweet, friendly personality. It's impossible not to like him, with me it's the complete opposite. Yet Daniel preferred me. Why?
'First of all, you're not ugly, you're a character.'
'It doesn't mean a shit.'
'It means you have a beauty of your own.'
'It doesn't mean a shit anyway.'
'It means that beauty is subjective. I'm not a beauty either, but I don't think that's a problem.
‘You have a great body and a fantastic personality. My body sucks and my personality even worse.’
It's always been like this, which is why I threw myself so much into him and couldn't leave him.
Only with him can I say and do certain things. Only with him am I completely myself. He's the only one I have these conversations with, the only one who knows how much my father devastates me just by existing.
Why did I leave him? Because I was too attracted to Charles, that's why. The same guy who doesn't prefer me to Pierre anyway. Good deal I made.
I bite my lip remaining on the bed, not even noticing that the storm outside has finally started to calm down. No thunder, no wind. Just normal rain.
‘You can train your body and your character would improve if you stopped being so insecure and idiotic!'
I roll my eyes and shake my head, sighing annoyed.
‘That’s not what I asked!’ I reply angrily, not hiding it.
‘I liked the beautiful world you kept hidden. You’re completely different from how you appear.’
I remain silent unconvinced that that’s enough to please someone. So he continues because he knows me and knows he didn’t satisfy me.
‘I liked your courage in coming forward without knowing how I’d react.’
I still don’t answer and he continues.
‘I liked how you tried so hard to be happy. And the sweetness you pretended not to have. And how we laughed together. And how easy it was to be with you.’
I suck my lips, my eyes shining and burning. Now I’m the one who wants to cry but is trying not to. I don’t have the courage, after what I’ve done to him and what I’m doing to him.
I’m an idiot. An idiotic asshole and I still don’t understand where he saw all these beautiful qualities. I don’t have them, but it’s incredible that he saw them.
'And you're beautiful, anyway, just not the way you conceive of beauty.'
Charles's face comes to mind. If I had to think of a standard of beauty, it's definitely him, but maybe I'm biased right now.
But if I had to think of the best body I've ever seen, it's definitely Daniel's. And his smile. No one has that smile.
Charles's dull, sad smile gets in the way of his. 100-0 on this one. And yet it's Charles who's driving me crazy. Absurd. I'm working the exact opposite.
'Thank you. I never deserved you and I still don't deserve you. You should have told me to fuck off.'
I imagine Daniel's sad face, now alone in his bed, a few walls away. I really am a complete asshole.
I roll my eyes and shake my head, but he answers me again, carefully hiding his true state of mind through a phone.
'You have to stop being so insecure. You're a beautiful person, Max. And you know how to surprise. That's what's so striking about you. Just be yourself and you'll see, everything will be fine.'
When he says this, I freeze. For a moment I think he somehow knew about me and Charles, but then I think he simply knows me well by now and knows I have something. Especially because from the outside, Charles and I don't show much.
'Thank you. And sorry.’
I conclude like this, putting down the phone and pressing my face against the mattress, where I let out a scream that I stifle.
How can I not love such a wonderful person? The only one who has truly seen me, without stopping at appearances?
Maybe it's like he says, somewhere deep down I have qualities and I know how to surprise others because I don't act like everyone else; maybe something in me makes others overlook my appearance which is nothing special compared to others, but how can you move beyond that, with me?
You have to be special to do that. Special like Daniel is.
And yet another beautiful face surfaces in my head, even now as I'm torn apart for having made Daniel suffer again.
It's a sad smile, two shining eyes that scream and want to cry.
Be that as it may, it's not in my DNA to give up, especially when I decide I want something. In this case, someone.
Charles will have to fight as hard as I am to reject me again.
I won't be able to violate him like I normally would, because I've obviously gone crazy, but that doesn't mean I'm giving up. Somehow, I'm going to win this damn race. Just another time, not now.”

NOTES: It's my idea that Max has complexes, but the Max of those years is different from the one he’s now, who is self-confident, serene and above all, shines like a star. Just as Charles has his problems, which I repeat are my inventions, Max must have had them too and they’ll all be explored very well over the course of this long fic. What's true is his disastrous relationship with his father (at that time) and his difficult childhood. I've sketched their personalities with great care and precision, as well as their growth and changes. In any case, the photos of Charles from that period are very different from the ones we see now, who is certainly happier and more serene, so I think it's true that he wasn't well once upon a time, but obviously he knows the reasons; I just wrote a fic.
It's well known that Charles likes Coldplay, as is the fact that Max doesn't listen to music except recently because he became friends with Martin Garrix, but he's always said has no particular passion for music. Thanks for reading and see you next time. Kisses, Akane