67. 51 G

/Max/

"He'll kill me. 
How the hell can I focus on what other people say if he's always flirting with me from afar, showing how sexy he’s and how much he wants me?
How can someone like him want someone like me so much? I'm nowhere near his level in terms of looks and sex appeal.
I mean, I have other qualities. I can fuck well, but he doesn't know that, and I'm funny, a quality I'm proud of.
But he's really attracted to me. Why?
As I think about it, I'm here talking to the guys gathered before going to the usual pre-race parade. We're crowded together, even though we're wearing masks because we can't be so close together, but the places are always the same ad before, always full, so we don't have much choice. We can't keep our distance even if we should, so we're surrounded by a pleasant, dizzying chaos.
The conversation is lively and entertaining; we're all talking bullshit, more or less, and while everyone here with me is caught up in the latest bullshit, shoot by me and Lando for a change, a presence behind me clings to me as if there's no room left to move without rubbing against me. I'm just about to turn around and tell the person who's acting like an octopus to go to hell, when a hand dares to crawl on my ass adhering and checking the firmness of my buttocks, which immediately flex when I feels the touch. Here I clearly realize it can only be one in the world. One who, if he doesn’t stop immediately, I’ll grab, flip him over in front of everyone and fuck him in grand style.
Realizing it's Charles, I lean on him nonchalantly, thanking Lando who attracts the attention of a group that, fortunately, is quite safe: even if one of them saw us flirting, they'd laugh and not make a big deal. My heart is still in my throat and my dick is immediately pulling and pressing in my pants.
His hand goes up quick and skillful in the lower back, he reaches the center of my back, then leaves me while he comes alongside and greets the guys fluently and cheerfully, as if he hadn't just harassed me in front of a lot of people.
I give him a dazed, sideways look that's a mix of happy, excited and shocked.
You're crazy! There are cameramen everywhere filming us. What the hell are you thinking?
But then the area around his eyes, the only one visible through the mask, reminds me once again how fucking handsome he’s even with a bag over his head, and my brain shuts down completely, sending all my rational worries to hell.
If he doesn't care about getting caught, what the fuck do I care?
I say something I don't even know and he laughs with such fervor that hits me and demolishes me almost as much as his hand on my ass did.
It's like a slap. A beautiful slap.
Despite the mask I can clearly see his laughing eyes. Not yet like normal laughing eyes, but anyway much more than before. Last year I was scrutinizing him with the mask on because his lack of expression and inclination was even more noticeable, but now his eyes have lit up in an unmistakable laugh and they did it because of something I said.
He's still a little blurry, but he's there, that's the point. You couldn't see before, that smile wasn't there before. Now there's a light and I can't help but hurry to fuel it by adding another stupid thing so that Charles laughs even more, so that he doesn't stop.
I'd like to take the fucking mask off him to get a better look, but I can't. Too many people. Too many damn people.
But I have to take this fucking mask off him while he's laughing: I want to see his smile, I want to see what it's like if I'm the one making him smile, because for a few years now it's become my obsession and I'd like to Just drag him into a corner and pull down his mask, make a stupid joke and see his beautiful face lit up for me. How far are we from the light I'd like to give him?
But they call us back outside and everything passes, we untangle ourselves and leave the meeting room, pouring out towards the usual vehicle that will transport us around the track for the parade.
I'd like your hand in my ass again, too.
As we walk away, we stand side by side for this short distance and I look at him amused, mischievous and communicative.
- You know, I was just wondering what it was about me that you liked so much.
I didn't think of it before; if I had, I wouldn't have said it. Charles's eyes become more serious and struck by the true meaning of my words, but I immediately remedy this by adding the rest.
- My ass is the answer?
So Charles takes the assist and accepts the exchange as I want it to be. He flirts with me verbally, trying not to be heard by the others around here and that's fine.
- As if you didn't know it's your strong point! - he exclaims ironically. I move closer, waiting to be able to climb the steps of the bus.
- How should I know? I don't even look at it!
- But you're squeezing him into those damn jeans so tight!
Feeling that he really appreciates me and not pretending, and realizing that he appreciates my outfit which I never wore with that intention, but simply because I liked tight jeans, I feel on haven again.
I let him get in before me like he was a princess, and here I have the crystal-clear knowledge that I'm going to have another fantastic race.
It's incredibly hot here at Silverstone today, so no easy accidents caused by the rain are expected, but that doesn't mean we can let our guard down. This year it looks like Lewis and I are going to face each other for the world championship, and considering that he was my hero as a teenager and that I even fantasized about him sexually once, when my hormones went crazy, I have plenty of reasons to be enthusiastic and determined.
This year things are finally going well and I have many reasons to be happy. Even though my dad has come to bust my balls in this race too. His presence, both yesterday and today, made me nervous at times, especially with the things he says, but then Charles arrived; both yesterday before the Sprint, which my dad watched from the garage, and today when he gave me his precious, bullshit advice. Luckily, Charles's hand on my ass has relaxed me, as if by magic.
I'm pretty good at letting my dad slide off me, but it's not always easy. This year I don't want to be upset by him; my nerves have to stay steady, and thanks to the excitement of the races with Lewis and Charles's close attention, I feel better than I think I've ever felt.
I'm happy; another superlative race awaits me. I'll win. I know it. I have to win, because if I don't, Lewis will. And given the comments he's been making about me—that he always drives differently with me than with any other driver, and that this annoys him because it's unfair—I want to show him that this is precisely my strength.
So far, he and I have been practically always alternating on the top podium and it's fucking exhilarating to do it with him, the best driver in the world.
My father did everything he could to raise me with this aggressive, thrilling driving style that prevents any opponent from racing with me; it's a system he's worked hard on, with lots of punches and punishments. I don't have to ruin my race, but I have to make sure no one has any room against me.
Charles calls this attitude incompetence or dirty driving, but everyone is convinced of their own. Although I must say that after that famous race in 2019, right at Silverstone, when he purposely drove by mimicking me, gently driving me off the track, I stopped doing it against him and I try to be fair just with him. Even though sometimes it's not easy because that dangerous, borderline style is now in my DNA.
Charles is still the only one who makes me slightly change my driving style, even if he doesn't notice it, but I do since we no longer collide wheel to wheel, and that's because for me he's not like the others. In some way he's always influenced me and now that this relationship between us is about to go on, I realize even better what we'll be together and I'm no longer afraid or upset by it.
I think that in the end we are who we are and things come naturally, spontaneously.
I think I could only allow Charles to influence me and make me change something, especially in my driving; only he and no one else can.
I have to drive the way I know and my father, who always pushes me, taught me that. If I made exceptions for everyone and not just one driver, who would even hear him?
Even before he told me, in his usual shitty way, to take advantage of Lewis' annoyance with me, and that irritated me. In other words, I have to be dirty on purpose. Not dirty driving, or rather, well... a matter of point of view. Charles claims so, I just think I'm aggressive and on the edge.
But I mean being dirty more like Rosberg did in 2016 with Lewis, who used means that went far beyond driving. He took advantage of their friendship, and probably other kinds of friendship, to make him lose his mind and get on his nerves. Driving against another driver who perhaps behaves badly towards you is one thing, and in any case it's something that bothers everyone; doing it with your life partner or best friend, destroys your brain and that's how you end up not driving clearly.
That's how it went that year; everyone knew it, especially the drivers who were there, including me.
My father tells me to exploit Lewis' emotional weaknesses; he's been telling me this for a couple of races. Lewis is annoyed by my extreme driving style, because he can't do the same with me as he does with others, and he doesn't like it; so if I keep teasing him with this kind of driving, perhaps even on purpose, he gets nervous and ends up losing his perfection on the track.
Lewis is a nearly flawless driver; he never makes mistakes, but he always puts his own safety and that of the other drivers first. Between overtaking someone risking an accident and coming out unscathed, he'll always put the latter first, perhaps recovering later in the race. But if I make him more and more nervous, he'll end up driving badly against me every time doing stupid things, and that way I'll be able to take advantage.
These are the litanies my dad has been repeating to me for a couple of weeks. On the one hand he's right, on the other if Lewis were Charles, I'd never do it. There would be no saints to stop me, because I'd lose him and I couldn't bear it.
Charles has changed me, but only in his regard.
In any case, this is an important race, so Max, today we win. No ifs or buts.

Standing in the cockpit in front of everyone, I think back to the greeting I exchanged yesterday with Lewis when I won the Sprint ahead of him. It was a great race, even though we all hate Sprints. Anyway I won and that's definitely a good thing, considering I'm set on winning the world championship this year. I can feel it this year.
It's exciting to race against someone who was my hero before I arrived in F1, but now he's my rival and we're close. I'm ahead of him, but only by a hair because he's practically next to me and he never gets a start wrong, so I have to be exceptional and not look any hero in the face, just a rival.
I think about my father and the annoyance he instills in me every time and I think I've found the right motivation.
Winning at all costs. That's who I am. The others around me don't exist.
The engines roar, the lights come on, it's all a vibrant chaos everywhere, there's even a suffocating smell of gas, but then the lights go out and it's all over for a second. Just one second.
The next there's an explosion and we're off at full speed, there's nothing left in my head, only the anger and fury that define me. I won't hear my disappointed father scold me for yet another stupid thing I've done; I'll shut his damn mouth once and for all.
I haven't wasted his time and money.
'If you're capable, try to beat the best.'
He said that when he saw the qualifying results.
I'm the best and I'm capable of it. One day you'll tell me that.
'You're the best, Max, but I knew it.'
But for now I can only race for that. To hear him say it and then shut his damn mouth.
And I race. I'm just racing like this, looking for a demon to beat, a demon that for a moment, while we're doing the first lap, I think is Lewis overtaking me. No, fuck, you're not going to overtake me. I accelerate and try to hold position, but at this, at the insane speed we're both going, everything explodes and it's just an instant.
I know there's contact only because I find myself speeding along at 300 kilometers per hour into the barriers on the side of the road, otherwise I'd barely notice.
Our tires touch and the next thing I know, it’s him past me, stealing my position, while my fucking tire rolls away from my car and the crash is so fucking fast and fucking hard that I don't understand a thing.
There's just a moment where it seems like after accelerating like crazy, after everything was going at this insane speed, finally stops and I think 'Thank goodness, I stopped.'
Then, a short while later, as I come to my senses still dazed, confused, vibrant and with my body still charged with adrenaline that prevents me from truly feeling anything, I realize I'm inside a wrecked wreck and that I'm alive.
Fucking bitch! Lewis pushed me off the track!
You damn bastard!
You'll pay for this.”

/Charles/

“I wasn't that far behind, but when I quickly passed in front of them, the crash had already happened and as the news of the yellow flag and then the red one came in, I just realized that the car smashed into the barriers was Max's. At first, I wasn't worried because I couldn't see much and after all it’s track accident. It’s normal.
I didn't want to think about Jules, but I'm glad that after his accident, when bigger or more serious ones happen, they stop the race instead of continuing to keep the other cars on the track like idiots.
On my way to the box, I ask for some details on the radio and they tell me that Max was the worst of it in a collision with Lewis, who, however, stayed in the race.
I ask how Max is, but they say they don't have any detailed information yet, even though they saw him exit on his own two feet, so we think he's generally fine.
In our job these are things you take into account. Accidents and racing problems are our daily routine; I myself had a bad one a few years ago and it went well.
And yet, even though I keep telling myself this while I wait for more news to arrive and for us to be able to race again, I know exactly what date today is.
I try not to think about it when the anniversary of his death or his accident in Japan falls on a GP.
But even though I don't want to and try to stop myself, now that knowledge is drilling into my brain as quickly as they tell me more details about the accident.
300 kilometers per hour.
A speed we all always go at, especially at certain points and moments of the race.
Jules died on July 17th, today is the 18th. A bad date. A shitty date.
It's been six years already, Jules.
But today you won't take away any of my friends or anyone I care.
Horner announces that Max is fine because he walked away on his own two feet and that they're taking him to the circuit medical center for routine checks in these cases.
From here on nothing else is said, but the relief I feel is immediate. And huge. I close my eyes and take deep breaths as the shaking increases. It's a brief moment, while I feel nothing short of hallucinatory and don't even know how I really feel.
It takes me a while to push it all back.
He's fine, Max is fine. I knew it, anyway. He had to be fine. It's no different from the crash so many have had, the one I had myself. So all good. All fine.
He was walking. Horner said he's fine. He's getting checked out; he may be pissed off, but he's fine. That's all that matters. All I need to know to come to my senses and think about the race.
Don't dwell on what you felt before, Charles. Don't fixate on it in your brain and soul. Put it aside. Push it away and forget it because now you're the one who's going to risk your life and you don't want to see Jules so soon.
Put Max aside and focus on racing well.
Be pragmatic. Think about your safety. Think about the race. Perfection, Charles. Only with perfection can you achieve everything you want. And you want to win and get to the finish line alive. There are no other priorities right now.
You'll think about Max later. You'll calm his anger and take full advantage of it; maybe he'll be so out he'll even decide to kiss you.

The race resumes and as I drive, the speed overwhelms me. The speed and the overtakings.
Corner after corner, as always when I'm in my car and with my helmet down, I'm completely absorbed and nothing else exists but the race.
It doesn't exist to the point that I finish second and despite the points penalty given to Lewis for the contact with Max, he still remains first because of his lead.
This speaks for itself.
It's still all overwhelming: I'm second, it went well, I'm happy. We celebrate, we congratulate each other, we answer interviews and I still can't reconnect with the usual Charles, the one who isn't a driver. I'm still the driver, a driver who's on the podium and who's happy about it, but I have the feeling that there's something I'm missing, something I should know.

Lewis' hand squeezes my shoulder as he wraps mine and leans against me jokingly.
I bend to hear what he's saying.
- You know, I thought of you first!
I look at him without understanding what the hell he means; I see him excited and happy. Well, I get it; he won a race that started out crazy, winning in a tackle with Max. Usually things like this always go badly for others.
- Oh yeah?
- I understand how you feel when you race with Max and end up making risky moves even though you know you shouldn't! - I look at him with wide eyes, not immediately understanding what he means, and he, still keeping his arm around me, looks at me more closely, becoming a little more serious though still happy.
- I remembered that race when you drove his way to make him understand that you would never back down in a driving dispute with him. You took a big risk, but in the end it was a move that paid off and he never did those things with you again. I've been thinking about it for weeks, since this year it's me against him, and his driving style always drives me crazy. - It's no secret, he's often repeated it in press conferences. Perhaps hoping Max would get the message, but imagine! The more you tell him one thing, the more he does the opposite out of obstinacy! Only mean things work with him!
He's referring to the 2019 Silverstone race.
The memory of that race and how I felt is vivid in my mind and I laugh, now understanding what he means.
- Didn't you move on purpose? - I ask knowing that's true because I did it that time too, and it was precisely to imitate Max and teach him a lesson.
A lesson he apparently learned, since he didn't bully me on track anymore afterward.
- It worked with you, maybe he understands it with me too, right?
At Lewis' hope I laugh ironically, not at all convinced it will work with him.
He probably just had the opposite effect, but I can't tell him that, because I'd have to explain to him why Max would only lift the pedal with me.
Apparently, only I am special.

During the race highlights, in the cooldown room before the podium ceremony, I see images of the accident and the actual wreckage of Max's car; here I realize the true extent of the accident, something that hadn't really been clear to me since no one had given me any further information.
Lewis provides some details on the specific moment, explaining what caused his car crashing like that given the speed reached on the first lap and at that point of the track.
I wonder how he's really doing; is he in our medical center? Maybe I could stop by and see him; if I did, it wouldn't be strange, right?
I think about it throughout the ceremony, even though I manage to celebrate my second place well; then when I go back to change, I ask Andrea, who brought me a change of clothes and a towel, if he has news from Max.
- From what I understand, he was taken to the hospital for tests and a CT scan. - he says aware that I would ask; he must have checked before coming to me. I'm frozen for a moment at the news, overwhelmed by unexpected realizations; many thoughts race through my head as I move like a robot, carrying out my duties.
I dry off, change, go to do the interviews with the broadcasters and then to the press, knowing that I have no choice, that I must fulfill my duties as a driver. This is what I must strive to still be. A driver.
I have no choice.
I can't run to Max and see if he's really okay.
I try to rationalize, between one damn duty and another.
I rationalize and I do it very well, because I'm the best at it.
These are routine checks when there are collisions of a certain type. His car was in pieces, you could see it on the screen first. It's not necessarily that he's bad, otherwise the news would have spread immediately. Bad things can spread like hell, unfortunately. I know something about that.
Stay calm, Charles. It's nothing. It's definitely just caution. Anyway, he got out of the car walking, right? If he was walking, he can't be sick.
On my way to celebrate the end of a great race for me, I look toward the Red Bull garage near the Ferrari one where I'm taking the ritual final photo. It's all closed, you can't see the car or what's left of it, but I know it's totally destroyed in the half that hit the rubber barriers. Before I let out a smile, I remember what they told me in press.
Max suffered a 51G lateral impact.
I'd like to go to them and get information; asking in cases like this isn't strange, it's appropriate. Many drivers take a personal interest in colleagues who have had bad accidents, but now only the logistics people are there to clear things up; the people who might know more have already left. So I give up for now.

I resign myself to leaving the paddock and as I do so, I sigh uncertainly texting him: ‘How are you?’
He doesn't answer; in fact, the message isn't even received. Maybe his phone is dead. How can I get news from him?
I move like a ghost toward the exit, feeling Charles himself dive back as the driver go away.
I walk thinking about him, with ever-increasing obsession. Soon he fills my mind and soul; I don't even remember how we agreed with Joris and Andrea. How do we usually do when I end up on the podium? No, I don't think about it, I don't ask myself. I only have Max in my head. Max, who's in the hospital after suffering a 51G.
Only when I hear two familiar voices does the mental confusion begin to lift and I focus on them as if they were a lifeline.
For a moment I feel like I'm drowning, while Jules's face tragically overlaps with Max's.
It's not the same, Charles. Don't be an idiot. He's just having a CT scan.
- I don't know if you know what 51G means! - It’s Seb's voice and I think his question is rhetorical because when my eyes partially focus on his figure, I see he's talking to Lewis. Lewis knows exactly what 51G means.
- It means 51 times his weight. All on one side. It's not a joke, you know? The fact that he walked out doesn't mean a damn thing, because there's the adrenaline of the race and the accident.
It's on the second train that I realize he's arguing with Lewis, and I don't want to get involved with them, but hearing them talking about Max I approached them like bees to honey.
Lewis has his hands in his pockets and stands there silent, staring at him with a hard look, saying nothing. But Seb doesn't need an answer to continue. He's a train hurtling at breakneck speed; I don't think he's furious, but he's definitely annoyed and the fact that he's annoyed with his boyfriend impresses me.
- A blow like that could have serious consequences. I'm surprised you, of all people, are acting so indifferent!
- I'm not indifferent, Seb, but you reap what you sow.
- It's no joke driving like that.
- And you're telling me that? He's the one who always drives like that!
- No, I always tell him that too, but you're my boyfriend. - on ‘boyfriend', Seb lowers his tone and is almost inaudible. Then he adds: - I know you, you get emotional sometimes and you're not clear-headed. I know you're remembering 2016 and you get nervous becoming less clear-headed, but I want you to always come back to me in one piece at the end of every race.
- It's up to him, Seb. I'm fed up, I won't lift off the pedal with him anymore, like he always does! No one will take the piss out of me anymore by using my fairness on the track and my clean driving against me!
Lewis is harsh when he answers and it impresses me. As I witness a discussion I don't quite understand, shock hits me with a delayed blast, and it's through Seb and his concern which manifests even in an argument with his Lewis, that I panic again and my rationality completely goes to the hell!
Max could be not well. Worst than they told us.
As I realize this, as my conscience emerges under Seb's stinging and severe words, terror grips my legs and my eyes widen, I become paralyzed and completely lose the consistency of myself and my body.
I no longer know who I am or where I am; for a moment, all ability to feel and show disappears and I return, swallowed up by the thick, freezing fog from which I've done everything, all these years, to escape. Instead, I'm there again.
There in that pure, dense white that penetrates my lungs.
Max could be not well. It could be worse than I thought.
Jules. Will it all have to happen again? Must everything really repeat itself at regular intervals? Every time I think I've escaped, something will always come along to throw me back into that atrocious fog of apathy, depression and pain?
Must I lose them all, always, systematically?
Is this how it will be? Is this how my life will always be? Absence, losses, pain, suffering, deaths, people abandoning me?
I can't see anymore. I can't hear anymore. Lost. Alone. Abandoned.
I can't breathe. Air. I need air. Where am I?
While I'm in anxiety and anguish, two hands grab me, firm and strong, and shake. They do it several times so forcefully that my vision returns to clarity and I visualize two blue eyes.
- Max? - for an absurd moment I think it's him, but then the rest of Seb's worried face forms before me, and I understand and remember.
I look around dazed and see that Seb is still here with me, while Lewis must have left.
Did they argue about Max?
- Charles, what's going on? - I hear his question and struggle to answer as I realize I'm still in the reserved parking spot and that I was about to leave.
- Max... I didn't realize he wasn’t well... - my voice is barely audible and carries far away, but at this point Seb, as if he understands—and perhaps he does—puts his arm firmly around my shoulders and literally drags me away, I don't even know where.
- Let’s go.
Perhaps I ask where and he, quite obviously, reaching the rental car, replies: - From Max, obviously.
As soon as I hear him, it's as if something starts to feel better; the warmth slowly returns to my legs and I move independently after Seb whom I cling to, trusting blindly in this moment of dispersion.
He knows what to do; I'll follow him.
Jules, you're not taking Max away. Please, don't play any jokes.
I couldn't handle it. I just couldn't handle this."

NOTES: The race in question is the famous Silverstone 2021, when there was indeed that contact between Max and Lewis that caused Max to crash into the barriers and suffer a 51 G, resulting in him being hospitalized for tests.
That year there was a heated rivalry between the two, which at a certain point became unhealthy. Fortunately it all passed, but 2021 is history. In interviews that season, Lewis often repeated that he raced differently with Max, that he always had to be more careful and lift off the pedal, knowing that otherwise he risked damaging himself. Until he finally said he wouldn't do it again, and then the accidents began. It's true, however, that tension between them skyrocketed race after race that year, so both did and said questionable things and weren't clear with each other.
I then fictionalized it by including Max's father issues that encouraged him to overdo it (though in reality Max's probably just like that) and Lewis's excessive annoyance which reminded him of the painful 2016 events with Rosberg on which he's sensitive (as true as it may be, I think that season he simply brought out his strong competitive spirit. In other words, he's known to be obsessed with winning, although the fact that he’s always polite is misleading about his true character).
I also fictionalized and dramatized Charles's role, as I always do, heightening his concern for Max and linking it to the anniversary of Jules's death (the dates of which actually coincide).
Seb is my guardian angel whom I occasionally have to include in roles he may not have had in reality, but my love for him will always remain very strong. I liked the idea of ​​him helping Charles in that moment and I wanted to create some tension between him and Lewis.
See you next time. Kisses Akane