44. RISKY STRATEGIES

/Charles/

“It's like a series of continuous implosions, one after the other.
I feel like I'm schizophrenic. On the one hand, I want to let me go and be more myself, less controlling, but on the other, I can't.
I can't let me go as I'd like. There's always something holding me back from doing what I want. Jumping on Max, for example. Leaving Pierre. Racing selfishly and dominating the track.
I've never wanted to do it because I was instilled with the cardinal principle that a good driver is the one who manages to be the best together with the other drivers around him, without ruining anyone's race. Only then can you be truly good.
But I hate having to take others into consideration, especially when perhaps they don't take me into consideration.
In other words I'd like to be like Max and not give a shit about others, but after having spent my life despising him for his ineptitude on the track, because he was faster only if he ran over the others or pushed them to let the pedal go so as not to collide with him, it's not like I can do the same.
I know, in my head I know very well that if I weren't a fair and clean driver, I wouldn't like to win.
But there's a selfish and competitive side of me that just wants to wipe out the others.
I'm second to no one, damn it. Just because I'm the youngest and came after, I'm not second. Why should I race like a second if I have all the qualities to be first? And I don't give a shit about being first or second.
Just let me run my fucking race!
But I'm so overwhelmed by my duties, that I'm imposing myself like an idiot, that this time on the track with Seb I can't do it and I'm not the fair and clean one I always try to be.
But maybe I am and he's the one who isn't.
Maybe who knows what's going on, maybe I'm getting on his nerves so much now that he drove like shit too, precisely because he was against me, on the track, in that moment when we ended up contact.
Whatever the truth, our race in Brazil ends here and it really pisses me off.
I'm struggling to regain control; I know I have to do it before I open my mouth and get out of the car, but I'm struggling.
Up until now the track and the car had been my refuge. Things had only worked there. But now I can't, I don't feel like I'm succeeding.
As we drive away, abandoning the race that was almost over, neither of us speaks or takes off our helmets. We're completely silent, probably prey to the same instincts.
He, like me, wants to scream and say everything; I've seen him lose his mind at times, but I wonder how the hell he manages to hold back most of the time. I'm sure he's been wanting to insult me ​​since Monza, but apart from that sentence that stuck with me from the dinner, he hasn't said or done anything.
He's funny in front of the cameras and jokes with me as if there were no problems, then as soon as they turn off or there are no obligations to shoot videos with sponsors or journalists, he ignores me with such coldness that I admire him.
That's how I want to be, that's the kind of control I want to achieve.
Even if I deeply hate someone, I don't have to say or do anything to make it known.
But can you live a whole life like this? How long can you go on like this?
I've always admired Seb, as well as Lewis, Kimi, Fernando... all great drivers. I've experienced Seb more than the others since he was my teammate this year and before Monza he was welcoming, cheerful and very protective. I've seen his work style, his enormous professionalism. He takes care of every detail; he doesn't just do his job as a driver. He watches and studies everything else. He's extremely complete, he participates in everything, even the mechanics' issues, he sets the tactics, he sacrifices himself in the race to try risky strategies that he knows could go against him, but which could still help understand and improve the car.
From a professional point of view, he's crazy. I don't understand how he manages to sacrificing his races, knowing that doing that particular thing could go badly. Even if that might help you understand the car better, in the end it's a race that's ninety percent going to be a disaster. Who cares if the next one goes well? He's the driver; the engineers should do their job and deliver a winning car; he shouldn't be the one building it.
But no; he does it not only for his own good, but also for mine and the whole team. If the car improves, I benefit too.
But on the track, he can no longer see me as his teammate, like he did before Monza.
He's convinced himself of this double-face of mine and I've never made him understand that it's not double-faced; it's just that I implode and suffocate. I suffocate what I consider to be a mistake on my part, a flaw, something that's wrong. I hide it because I realize it's not right, that it's not good.
Unfortunately when I race, sometimes I can't control myself because I let myself go completely. There, on the track, I'm the real Charles, 100%, and I don't care about anything or anyone; I just race. I don't think about the others around me except to avoid colliding with them; I don't think about strategies, orders, or the good of the team. I only think about how to win or have the best race possible.
I'm selfish when I put my helmet on. And that's the Charles that only Max knows, because he's the one who's "tasted" me the longest.
‘Your true character. You shouldn't keep hiding it to always give others what you think you should be. Everyone is made the way they are, you can't decide that. If you always hold back, you end up losing control and it usually happens in the worst possible way, and you regret it. But at that point the damage is done and it's hard to undo. Instead try to let you go, be yourself. Don't try to follow someone else's rules. Make your own rules.’
Seb's voice resonates in my mind as if he were telling me these things now. Every now and then I think back and I always feel like saying, ''Look who's talking!''
Seb is the first to hold back and then explode, but perhaps that's precisely why he's the only one who can give me this kind of lecture.
Be yourself, make your own rules. It was almost fatherly advice and it made me feel strange that night in Monza; too bad he ignored me every time after that. When we had interviews or shared opportunities with Lewis, he seemed more like his teammate than mine; I didn't exist, there was only him.
I wonder if he'll tell me something now, when we take off our helmets and go to Mattia. Will he say nothing the whole time?
Will it end like this between us?
If I were Max, I'd be yelling at him like a madman right now and maybe I'd feel better, but I'm not Max. My mouth stays shut while I think only that I wish everything were different.
Different how?
But what do I know? Different. Not like this. And yet I can't say or do anything. I just have to keep my mouth shut, my head down and not show any signs of arrogance or domineering. Because that's how you have to be. These are the rules set by someone else.
Be yourself, Seb told me that night.
Easy to say. But if I were myself, how the hell do I know what I'd be?
Maybe the problem is that I don't really know myself, I don't know what the authentic Charles is like. That's all. And I'm afraid of that unknown that opens up before me.
I don't even want to look at the mirror out of the corner of my eye. I think I wouldn't like what I'd see, not at all.

In the end, nothing happens. Mattia Binotto doesn't face the situation, as always, and perhaps it's precisely this lack of character that's slowly causing this place we all care about to collapse. We won't give up, but that's when we realize it and there's no need to talk. While we both look at him with the same perplexity, he simply tells us to just be more careful and not screw up another race. That's all. Calm, as if we hadn't just made such a mess.
We know exactly what we're thinking and it's the same thing.
We're alone and perhaps that's precisely why we should unite instead of distancing ourselves as if we were polar opposites.
In this moment I understand Seb. He cares so much about this place that he'll do what others, Mattia first and foremost, can't. He's sacrificing his races and his very position as the leading driver, because now everyone says I'm the future and he's finished, but they have no idea how things really are and Lewis is the only one publicly defending him, saying that I get results with the car that Seb is improving.
I'm not surprised he says that, knowing they're together. It makes me smile a little and I envy them at the same time.
Seb, even though he's going through a period I think is horrible, insulted and criticized by everyone, has him. He has Lewis.
Me? I have Pierre, of course; he's always incredibly supportive and I'm happy he's here, but I always look at Max from afar, greedily, like a dessert I crave but forbid myself because I'm an idiot.
That dessert won't hurt me if I eat it, but I'm convinced I can't. So I fall back on another food that's less bad for me, or at least that I think I can eat without feeling guilty.
I'm such an idiot, that's the only conclusion.
I watch Seb as he moves on, preparing for the post-race interviews, as is customary.
I expected him to say something, a reprimand, a look, but instead he acted as if I didn't exist.
How much longer will this cold war go on? Why the hell do I have to put up with this if I don't like it?
- What’s the problem, may I ask? - I hear my own voice speaking to him, not as annoyed as I feel inside. Once again, I can't be honest with myself. I want to scream, but I don't.
Seb turns around, his eyes wide as surprised as I am. He definitely wasn't expecting such a reaction from me.
My heart runs and it's a moment of sudden, unexpected wave. Wave of what? Something strong. 
- Why? - he asks calmly and without betraying emotion.
His blue eyes, a different shade from Max's intense ones, stare at me with feigned candor.
My nerves rise, but I remain polite, as I should be.
- Will it always be like this between us?
- Like what? - Seb insists, hands in his pockets and seemingly nonchalant. He doesn't seem angry, nor does he seem to be holding back an insult because he's surrounded by too many people, half of them our team. Maybe he's provoking me, wanting to see if I can come up with something.
- As if we were strangers!
- And what are we, excuse me? - he continues as if he really doesn't understand. But I know he understands. I know he knows.
Nervous. Nervous on a cosmic level. What the hell is he trying to achieve? Why is he treating me like this? What the hell does he really want from me? What did I do wrong with him?
- Teammates! - my mouth speaks for itself, knowing it's somehow the wrong answer. We're teammates only formally and I'm the first to think so.
But maybe, in reality, that's what really bothering me. I want the Seb of the first few months back.
I'm a living contradiction.
Seb lights up as if he were falling from the clouds.
I clench my fists, promptly stuffed into my pockets to hide how pissed off I am. My face is still under control.
- Oh, are we teammates now? I thought we were just two drivers like any other on the track! - argumentative. This time he is. I'd like to cover him with insults, what the hell does he want from me? Why is he acting like this?
- You weren't like this before. Why have you suddenly changed? - and it's the first time in my life I've confronted someone face to face, even though I'm trying to contain myself as much as possible.
I'm shocked by what I'm doing. I'm truly shocked both by the fact that I'm speaking and by the fact that I'm trying to resolve something I'm responsible for.
I'd like to do it differently. I'd like to scream, get upset, insult him and act crazy, but instead I'm here, straight and composed, hands hidden in my pockets.
Why can't I do it?
- I just adapted, Charles. You're the one who wanted it this way.
With that he turns and starts to leave, still cool and calm. But I'm not okay with it, I'm not okay with it at all. This time I can't resist, even though one side of me, through my father's imaginary voice, admonishes me not to be rude and to show respect; the other, a voice more similar to Max's hoarse one, tells me to scream and assert myself, don't let him turn his back on you.
- I didn't want anything at all! - I hiss through clenched teeth, almost to myself and cold. Seb stops suddenly, unexpectedly. He turns, looks at me with genuine surprise and scrutinizes me with interest, almost as if to see if something he was trying to get out of me has come out.
I don't know what the hell he's doing with me, but I shouldn't dare. No one in here is my father. No one can tell me or direct me towards what I should be.
I'm alone here and I've been for years; I have no one to help me and give me lessons or advice, nor give me rules.
'Make your own rules.'
Seb's voice from that night in Monza echoes in my head again, while his eyes stare at me, scrutinize me, penetrate me leaving me uneasy. He silently challenges me to bring out the real me, to let me go, to do and say what I really want, but I'm not ready yet. I'm not ready with him either.
Why is he doing this?
As I turn and walk away first, fleeing this confrontation I'd first sought out impulsively, without really being ready, I realize in a clarifying moment the magnitude of a bolt from the blue.
He's trying to help me, somehow, in his own bizarre way, but I have no idea why, or even what the hell he's trying to achieve.
He wants to help me unlock myself and bring out the real me, but what the hell does he care?
Perhaps the same thing he cares about when he sacrifices his races for risky strategies that jeopardize his results just for Ferrari, for the entire team, for the managers, the president, me.
Because, as he's always said, he's a Ferrari fan first and an F1 driver second. He sees me as the future of Ferrari and wants to invest in me. Because if he fails to win with them, and that's happening, it will be my turn, and he wants me to succeed.
I don't know if I could. His contract expires at the end of next year. If he doesn't perform well, they won't renew it. Rumors says that he's at risk and judging by the environment, it's likely so. But he's continuing on his risky path, as if in a stubborn and contrary direction, against everything and everyone, convinced he's doing the best for the team. A team that I'm sure wouldn't think twice about stabbing him in the back.
Why does he do it?
As I walk toward the waiting journalists, following my press officer, I wonder if he knows it's not worth it.
Dear Seb, this is just another risky strategy that precedes a resounding defeat. I fear there is no hope.”

/Max/

“I thought he'd ignore me and run away like a popsicle, like he always did after every time something happened between us.
Instead I have to say with amazement that he hasn't stopped talking to me and not only that, but he's holding me close as if he needed me.
After that, I haven't made any more advances or demands for any more dirty things. It was partly to test him, partly to figure out how to proceed myself.
Every now and then, when I find him alone in a corner trying to concentrate on something, I feel like reaching and busting his balls, bothering him, upsetting him, but then I remember that serious conversation we had in Japan. When he opened the door with the typhoon outside ready to catch him and send him flying.
If it hadn't been for the recoil that sent him flying back, we would have lost him. I caught him in mid-air, preventing from falling backward and hurting himself, and everything went well, but even though he says he hadn't attempted suicide, anyway he tried to hurt himself.
I talked about it with my mother when I went to visit her right after that race in Asia.
I thought about that fact for a long time because it touched me deeply, in a way I never would have imagined.
Until that moment, Charles was just the one I wanted to fuck, the first one after Daniel that I truly desired, because the fantasies I occasionally had about Lewis were just parentheses, like I could have about anyone else who fits my tastes. 
Charles was the first and I thought I just wanted to fuck him, but after that something happened inside me; even though I laughed with Lando, making a thousand battle plans aimed at not giving up and pushing him to leave Pierre and throw himself on me.
I remember the conversation I had with her as if it were yesterday. 

**

- Why do people physically hurt themselves? Is it just masochism? Do they enjoy hurting themselves? Or maybe it's suicidal instincts?
I'm putting it simply, but I know it's not. She looks at me in surprise and I can immediately see the concern in her eyes. She scrutinizes me as I stir the cup of tea she's made for me.
- I don't think it's that simple. - she says, quickly regaining control with her typical sweetness. I could have taken her character, but instead I took my father’s. This also sometimes stops me from wanting to settle down seriously with someone. I'd hurt them  like he did with her. We're not made for serious relationships.
- No, I don't think so either... I say mesmerized by the dark, warm liquid in the ceramic cup. It's mine, she keeps it for me and lets me use it when I come to visit her.
For me this is still what I call home, even though I left when I was little. Is she the one who means home to me. Even though I've always lived with my father.
She gives me peace; when I'm alienated, and it's usually because of that man I spent most of my life with, all I need to do is hear her voice.
- I don't think it's suicidal instincts, but could it be a way to regain some lost control?
I need to know if I said something stupid to Charles that night or if it could be true, so I ask her who certainly knows more than me, given her social studies.
When I said this to Charles that night, he instinctively hugged me feeling understood, but I'm still disturbed by that gesture, I can't erase it and I don't know if I was right.
He's so fragile.
We both are.
If we were together, could our fragilities become strengths?
- It depends on what you mean by losing control... - she says patiently and delicately, without asking me direct questions. I lean back, placing the no longer hot cup on my stomach. With my head tilted back, I let my eyes wander to the ceiling not really seeing it, and I think back to that conversation of ours.
- When... when you never want to let you go, I think. When you can't truly be yourself because you're stuck in a teenage trauma. You try to grow up all at once, but you never really succeed. You force yourself to always maintain control, only to lose it when everything becomes too big and unmanageable. And then you try to take it back by hurting yourself. In this case, could it be a way to regain control of yourself? Or maybe it's just suicidal instinct?
In this we're very different; my father used to beat me down; I didn't need to hurt myself. I always ran away from pain until I couldn't feel it anymore because I was numb. Physical pain chased me, so I might as well toughen myself so I wouldn’t suffer from it.
Have I succeeded? Have I become numb to physical pain? And emotional pain? How do I experience that? Maybe I don't experience it, maybe I've become numb to everything.
Thinking about it, what I suffered by leaving Daniel answers me involuntarily.
What the hell are you talking about, asshole?
You really suffered.
- People sometimes physically harm themselves to remind they're alive. - she says candidly at this point.
As soon as she says it, I feel like a bell is ringing in my head; I look at her struck, because I feel like she's just understood Charles so much better than I have.
Then I return to what bothers me most about him.
- But what's wrong with losing control of yourself? - I always live without the brakes, I never pull the brakes. I've done it since I was little to escape from my father and I've taken this attitude of mine onto the track, becoming a rather hated driver precisely because of this lack of ever pulling the brakes. I always make others pull them.
- There's the fear of what could happen if you lost it. There are people who need to have everything under control at all times, every aspect. People who follow all the rules and are committed to doing everything precisely and properly. Taken to the extreme, it's the fear of the unknown. But there are a thousand different cases; I can't give you a correct answer without knowing the details.
She's an expert on the subject; she's a former social worker, but even if she weren't, I think I'd still talk to her about these things because I feel like doing so.
- In this case, how can I help him? - I unintentionally use the masculine gender, indicating that he's a boy.
She's not bothered by this and doesn't flinch. She calmly responds, shrugging her shoulders and smiling sweetly: - By making him understand, very calmly and gently, that even if he loses control, nothing bad will happen.
- Should I push him, pressure him?
She immediately shakes her head decisively.
- With this kind of person, it's worse. You have to be more patient and gentle. Little by little, he'll understand.
I think back to when I told him that he's in no hurry, that he doesn't have to rush to resolve the matter with Pierre at all costs, that he can do it whenever he wants. When I told him this while hugging him, he calmed down and slowly came to his senses.
Sweetness, then?
Me?
Haven't I been too brutalized to understand how to be sweet? My mother smiles tenderly at me and gets up, asking if I want some cookies before the tea gets completely cold and I nod, smiling back.
Perhaps some of her DNA has passed into mine. Who knows...
I really hope so.

**

So I was sweet and patient and didn't push him like a crazy, dickhead maniac, as I'd decided to do when talking to Lando.
But I have to say it actually paid off, because Charles didn't avoid me and smiles at me like a sweet puppy.
Today is the last race of the year, the last chance I might have with him for a good few months. For days I've been wondering if I should continue to be patient, or if I should screw everything up and try again; maybe not shamelessly, without putting myself in the position of being rejected again, but something that reminds him he wants me.
IF he wants me.
At this point maybe that's not the case. It's not that he wanted to fuck me because he wanted me, but because he likes my unconventional ways. It's kind of like what Daniel said: he liked me because I was totally different from how I appeared and I piqued his curiosity. I think I pique others' curiosity as soon as they take the time to go a little further.
But now we're almost at the end of this year and I'd really like to figure out what to do.
If I let things go like this without even throwing a stone at him, maybe he'll lie down too much. He seems fine now, but that's probably because no one's pushing him anymore.
I think he talked to Pierre that night and made him understand that he's not ready to talk about it. Pierre is sweet and patient and loves him, so he probably still gave him time and if everyone always gives him time and doesn't bother him anymore, he's fine.
It's when everyone busts his balls that he feels bad and becomes delusional and goes crazy, except I had never seen him try to hurt himself before that night.
I thought he'd jump on people, maybe get irritable. But now he's reached a point that worries me and now I'm afraid to push him, I admit it.
The last time didn't go well at all; even if... well... I finally have a picture of his dick on my phone. It wasn't that bad for me.
But how can I forget that door being opened in front of the typhoon and him being pushed back?
Fuck, I hate to think about it. It's all your fault, Charles Leclerc. Everything with you is a damn risky strategy, the kind that if it works you win the race, but if it's wrong you lose it badly.
That's what you are. A fucking risky strategy. And I don't want to risk you, because it's not just about not fucking with you if it goes bad, it could mean watching you get hurt again and that's not something I could stand.”

NOTES: Seb's role in Charles's life (in my fic) is important because I needed a figure beyond Max and Pierre or his friends. A figure capable of helping Charles without any interests.
Their relationship was truly special, because at first Seb cuddled him a lot, then after Belgium there was a sudden estrangement between the two. I remember that all their interactions were very cold and that if there were moments when they were with Lewis or someone else, Seb was much more sociable with the third person and completely ignored Charles. Luckily, it was only a temporary period. At a certain point the two were back on the same wavelength and by the end of Seb's career, the two were close. The times they see each other now, it's clear that the relationship has continued and is genuine, so I thought Seb was perfect for that role.
He's not overly significant, in the sense that he's there and I include him every now and then, ‘using’ Seb to make important points about Charles clear.
On top of all this, as I said right away, Seb is one of my favorite human beings and I absolutely had to include him somehow.
I remember that race where Seb and Charles collided and ended in a DNF, there was a lot of uproar and everyone was convinced Mattia would use the whip, but in reality it seems he didn't say or do anything.
As for Max, I know his mother was a social worker (it's written that way online) and I know they've always had a good relationship. He describes her as a sweet and understanding person and I think he could talk to her about certain topics. I needed someone who could give him a more precise perspective on Charles. We're focusing on him right now, but the Max-centric parts will come (and they'll be pretty shocking, too).
Enough, I'll close the endless notes now. Thanks for your attention. See you next time. Kisses, Akane