68. IF ONLY... 

/Charles/

"On the one hand, I try to rationalize and tell myself that Seb has gone too far and that I shouldn't be so dramatic, that we all have similar incidents but we get over them well. On the other hand, the fact that I text him but he doesn't reply incites me even more, although I try to tell myself that he might not have his phone with him or that it's out of battery.
On the road I can't speak and Seb stays silent while driving because he had an argument with Lewis, and even though he had already shown me they were together, this time he actually said it. But apart from that, I think he's angry with him, even if more than that, he seemed disappointed.
As I approach the hospital where Max is, my anxiety level rises dramatically until I feel as tense as a violin string.
He's fine now, obviously, but I can't help but think about Jules and Anthoine; it didn't happen today, but it could happen in the future and that hits me like a slap in the face.
If something serious were to happen to him, I wouldn’t stand it. I would endure it. I wouldn't get up. I don't know what I would do, I can't even imagine it.
It's here, as I walk following Seb like a robot through the corridors with cap and mask, that I clearly realize that what I feel for him is real and serious. I don't know what name is, I don't want to give one, I can't right now, but I know it's something that's gotten under my skin and into my bones; it's part of me.
I have feelings for Max like I've never had for anyone else. And I just want him to be okay.
I let Seb handle everything and find the information; when they lead us to the room where they're keeping him under observation and awaiting the CT scan results, I'm about to rush in without thinking, completely disconnected from the world, but Seb's hand tightens on my wrist and stops me, so I look at him and focus. My heart stops from its frantic race, just as my breathing slows.
- There's his father inside, and a member of Red Bull. - he tells me as if the implication were obvious. I look at him blankly, so he sighs immediately understanding my confused state of mind; that’s why he adds, pushing me around a corner.
- Wait here, when you see us going out, you come in. Or do you want to meet his father?
The idea of ​​what I might do as soon as I see Max assails me, and being struck by the fact that Seb understood it before me, that he already knows, reassures me. I can't think clearly or control myself, but apparently I'm in good hands.
I nod and he leaves.
I'm actually quite close, Seb leaves the door ajar so I can hear. I concentrate on their voices, but I can barely make out. Max's voice is low and hoarse and I can't hear him from here, but I hear his father saying they're waiting for the CT scan results, that it'll take a while, and then Seb scolds Max.
- How many times have I told you? You shouldn't rush like that; there are long-term consequences that aren't felt right away and one day you'll understand what I'm telling you, but it'll be too late, and you'll be pissed at yourself for how stupid you were to drive like that! I'm sorry, Jos, I'm just saying what I think.
I think Jos looked at him bad because he must have always told him 'win at all costs.' I know full well that he's the one responsible for Max's reckless driving.
- It wasn't his fault now, it was Hamilton who overtook recklessly... - the two argue and the fourth person in the Red Bull staff, tells him to go out and talk about it because Max needs to rest.
The fact that he says this hits me like a punch in the stomach. Then he's really sick, otherwise I would have heard Max yelling right now; I know he's pissed, imagine that, but if he's not cursing, it means he's sick.
My heart is pounding in my throat again like crazy and my ears are ringing. I try to stay focused to understand what they're doing, but all I realize is that the three of them finally leave and head towards the vending machines for a coffee. Wherever the machines are, thankfully not in this corridor.
As soon as they leave, I rush into the room without hesitation. The frenzy is devouring me; if I don't do it right away, I'll faint. I have to see him. I have to see him with my own eyes and truly understand how he is.
How the fuck are you, you stupid idiot who won't answer my phone?
As soon as I'm inside, I immediately close the door behind me, simultaneously pulling down the mask that was shielding me, along with my visor cap.
We're safe inside: there are no windows in the door or the walls.
Perhaps they put him in a more private room to protect him, since he's not a common patient. He should have been in one of the curtained cubicles in the emergency room, but I see he's been moved to a real room, or perhaps a makeshift one, given how small it is. It almost looks like a small room with a cot; the bed doesn't even look like a real, comfortable hospital bed, but rather a stretcher. I know something about hospital rooms, sadly. This one definitely isn't, but it has a window that looks outside and it's amazing!
I close the door behind me and immediately see him lying there supine, his eyes closed and his forehead twitching in the dim, orange sunset light that filters in from outside, while the day lazily fades, creating atmosphere. A beautiful atmosphere.
I'd stop to look at how beautiful he’s now in this golden light, lying there with his eyes closed, but his furrowed brow and the sign of tiredness on his face tear me apart.
In an instant I'm there with him, sitting on the edge of this pseudo-bed with its lowered sides, taking his head in my hands and pressing my face to his cheek.
Max instinctively stiffens, takes me by the shoulders without realizing it's me, but as soon as he does, he relaxes and his hands slide delicately under my arms, enveloping me gently.
- Hey Charlie. Look, I'm fine, I'm not dying... I'm just exhausted, I’ve a terrible headache and my ear is whistling like a train inside me, but these things pass. I'm fine... hey...
Max caresses me, realizing that instead of relaxing I'm tightening my grip on him. I think I'm shaking. I don't really know what I'm doing, what I'm like. I don't even understand why I threw myself on the bed. I don't know anything at all. I just know that I can't take it anymore.
He's fine and that's all that matters, but the way I feel is engraved on my soul and for the first time, I feel it. I feel it without a doubt. It's there, my soul. I have one too and Max is the one who pulled it out of the thick blanket of fog where it had been frozen.
I'd like to speak, but I know if I did now, I'd cry and I'm not ready for that yet, so I take all this chaos of powerful, excruciating stuff I'm feeling and separate myself from his face for a short distance. 
So, to keep from bursting, I focus on his rough skin under my fingers now gently on his face, his cheeks and his chin, where the beard of recent days makes it prickly to the touch and fascinating to the eye.
After his face, come his lips and they're soft and warm when I touch them; Max doesn't move, he remains silent, watching me curious to see what I'll do, but I don't know either.
I caress his lips and I look at them with such intensity that suddenly the desire becomes urgent and powerful to the point that I can't tame the instinct and I close the short distance between us. I press my mouth to his, intertwining them with force, anxiety and need; I suck his lower lip, stopping just before intruding with my tongue.
As soon as I realize what the hell I'm doing, a jolt of electricity runs through me and I, hot and shocked, suddenly retreat, get up and jump out of bed; I remain standing, rubbing my face in despair and frustration.
- Sorry! I shouldn't have! I know what I promised you and I don't want to be the same selfish bastard I am, doing whatever I want without even considering your wishes! I remember saying I'd wait for you. I was just out of myself, I thought about Jules, it's his death anniversary! When I realized how much you'd risked, I panicked! Sorry, I didn't mean to.
I would go on talking agitated and in total panic for a long time if Max, recovering from his more than justified moment of shock, hadn't reached out and tried to stop me. He can't because I'm moving around the room like a madman, but since it's small, he manages to intercept me; he calls me repeatedly in a tired tone, like someone who wants to shout but can't.
- Charlie... Charles, come on... - but at the umpteenth time I slip away from his fingers, which occasionally catch a piece of my dress, Max gets fed up and summons the last of his energy his headache allows him.
- CHARLIE!
At this I stop, pressed against the door, hoping he won't be able to touch me; I look at him as if I'm noticing him for the first time.
He's really worn, pale and exhausted. He looks like he just wants to sleep for 24 hours in silence and darkness, and maybe that's what he needs. I sigh.
- It’s all right. - as he says this, I shake my head, but I'm careful not to approach him again. His voice is thinner than usual, he leans forward tiredly and he reaches out for mine.
I look at him doubtfully, unsure whether to initiate yet another contact. Then, when he closes his eyes and calls me indulgently, with the tone of someone about to run out of patience, I decide and move closer, taking his hand. I remain standing next to his bed as he lets himself fall back tiredly; he looks at me, squeezing my fingers between his.
- You’re overthinking. - he says simply.
- That doesn't mean I'm not right. - we’re about to talk about it, but at this point I get a message from Seb, which I read with a lump in my throat, remembering the situation.
'If you don't want to have an unpleasant face-to-face with your father-in-law, I advise you to run away immediately. Wait for me at the car; I'll catch up with you shortly.'
And so, saved at the last corner by Seb, I lean over and kiss him on the forehead, quicker than I wanted.
The anxiety of catching his father is now taking over, so I don't enjoy it, and I don't even know what I've done.
Max tries to grab me.
- I have to go. - I say, slipping away before he can. Max stares at me clearly annoyed and displeased with my decision to abandon him now.
- Charles.
Max tries to stop me, but I open the door and with a hasty: - We’ll talk about this later. - I run away and disappear like the wind, hiding behind the corner of the corridor just in time to hear the other three approaching. There's nothing wrong with that, maybe, but his dad is still stuck on the fact that Max and I hate each other, and since he's an asshole, I don't want to put him in weird situations. Knowing him, it would fill his head with 'You have to hate your enemies, not get along with them!'
So, it's better to avoid him for now.
I think Max is a little on edge today. I saw him mentally and emotionally tired, more than physically exhausted, although the part of his body that sustained the 51 G is really in pieces now and it will be that way for a while.
I think he's basically sore and maybe his ear will be ringing from the impact. I'd just like to lie down with him and hold him while he falls asleep, but that would definitely be too much and I don't know if I could control myself right now.
I made him an important promise that I intend to keep.
I'll wait for him to lead this thing between us; to decide. After all my impositions, which have only made him suffer, it's right this way.
Come on, Max, hurry up!”

/Max/

"Why? I don't understand what the hell I did to be here with my dad, I just don't understand.
I had a fucking accident, I feel like I've been through a meat grinder every minute, I'm tired, I'm in pieces and I have to put up with this man complaining like a buffalo about everything and everyone?
He's mad at Lewis, and thank goodness this time it was his fault, but he's also mad at me for daring not to hold the car and crash like that.
- What the fuck is the point of the strategy we agreed upon if when he finally makes a fucking mistake, one of his very rare mistakes that he makes once every five fucking years, you don't keep the car on the track and take advantage of it?
Not satisfied, he continues moving around the tiny room they assigned us because he made a mess out there for a change: - They gave him ten seconds, damn it! If you were there, maybe that would have been enough! But not you! You went out like a bullet! I want to see if he and Toto are coming to see how you're doing! I want them to keep you under observation for at least two days! Fuck! You're always the same! You never do what you're told! What was it costing you to be careful?
My dad obviously also blames me for not being bionic and not holding the car that crashed into the barrier. How incompetent I am, right?
My head explodes on its own, but with him it splits in two. My ear from the impact, as well as the entire part that hit the barrier and suffered the famous 51 G they told me, is sore and I can feel it getting more and more sleepy, but they told me it's normal and that everything will be fine.
My ear is ringing and I just wish it would stop. I just wish everything would calm down and go away.
Him first, my body that I'm hating right now, the shitty race gone to hell, every fucking thing.
He even brought me a dead phone without a charger, He explains it to me what the fuck's the point? Two of them don't make one!
He talks while bumping into the gurney they've put me on every time he moves, and every time he does, it's like he's giving me an electric shock.
I just want to be erased.
I turn to the half-open window because there's no air conditioning in here. It's not a real hospital room, just something improvised because he was a pain in the ass saying I couldn't stay among all those strangers full of who knows what kind of shit, with all that's still going on these days!
At least there's this window; I don't know what they were doing in here, but it's fine anyway. I really don't care, I could even fit in a closet. I have to stay under observation while I wait for the CT scan results, then if they're good and I'm not too sick, I can go home if I want. I dream of my comfortable bed with my damn air conditioning. Despite the window, I miss the air; after all it's the middle of summer, it's normal.
The sun is setting and I'd like to set with him. I lie down, rub my forehead and say nothing. I don't have the strength. I'm physically tired, but even more so emotionally. I don't think I've ever felt so tired of him.
Why can't I have a fucking victory in my life?
Relief. Nothing.
If I could just turn on my phone, I'd text Charles. I wonder if they told him I'm in the hospital. He'll find out sooner or later and be pissed off that I didn't tell him.
Why must nothing at all go the way I want it to?
While my father is grumbling freely with the Red Bull representative who accompanied us, the door opens after a light knock. Seb appears in the doorway and looking at him gives me a pang in my chest, as if I expected to see my Charles appear behind him.
He'll be worried. If Seb knows, Charles knows too and he'll be thinking about Bianchi and Hubert and feeling terrible. He'll make who knows how many movies in his head, trying to escape from this world, closed off from the emotions that destabilize him.
Don't go back, don't leave me, Charlie. Don't close yourself off.
I see you're not coming after him, that would have been too much, right? Imagine if he could have risked being caught here.
Seb is Seb, it's not unusual for him to come and check on me; I know he does it with other drivers who end up in the hospital or at the medical center. He always comes to check on me, he's a very nice person and he's actually changed a lot since the beginning of his career, which I've followed closely.
- How many times have I told you? You shouldn't drive like that, there are long-term consequences that don't show up right away; one day you'll understand what I'm telling you, but it'll be too late and you'll be there pissed at yourself for how stupid you were to drive like that! I'm sorry, Jos, I'm just saying what I think.
There he is too!
I roll my eyes. No, Charles, no interest.
Leave me alone, damn it. Can someone leave me alone? Why don't both my ears ring so I can't hear anyone?
Seb and my dad get into an argument but I'm turning my brain off because I don't give a shit and I can't take it.
John, the Red Bull secretary, finally makes himself useful and tells him to go out and talk, so Seb, who calms down but apparently isn't afraid to tell my father how to handle his son—something I've never heard anyone dare do since I was born—says he'll buy him a coffee from the vending machines in the nearby department.
They tell me they'll be right back, but I don't even respond remaining indifferent. I don't care, you don't have to come back.
I sink into the uncomfortable stretcher, lying down while I close my eyes and screw up my face in pain. My head is thundering; I can't take it anymore. Yet if Charles were here, I'd definitely be better.
I close my eyes and relive that brief moment between the contact with Lewis and the crash into the barrier. It happened so quickly I didn't even have time to realize it. From being on the track to being against the tire barriers that were crushing me.
I just thought I wouldn't be able to stop and when I did, it was a brief moment of suspension from the universe.
I focus on that precise moment, trying to fix it in my head. I'd like to return to that state of mind, where there's nothing, for a moment. I'm nobody. I'm nowhere. Nothing happened. I almost manage to get back there, but shortly after the door opens again. Probably someone among them has forgotten something. I sigh but don't open my eyes, disinterested.
They disappear immediately.
The door closes and a few seconds later a weight falls on me as if I were a mattress myself. There's a pang of pain, but then hands grab my head forcefully and squeeze, while a face sinks against mine and remains there, breathless.
He trembles.
My eyes widen and only when he presses against me do I realize it's definitely not any of the three of them, that it's actually him.
Charles finally arrives and, with extreme recklessness, lies down on top of me. What could this be, a hug or an attempt to kill me?
A smile appears on my lips, my forehead relaxes and the pain relieves me.
Finally, a feeling of well-being begins to creep in, but perhaps it's an illusion of my mind. I don't know, but I hold it close, just as I hold Charles tightly, wrapping my arms around him as if I were the one to comfort him.
And perhaps so.
I'm the one who had an accident and is physically ill, but it really seems to me that he's the one who's destroyed.
After a moment of normal tension, I relax and try to reassure him; I know why he's like this. His two friends who died on the track must have come to visit him. I didn't mean to make you feel this bad again, I'm sorry.
- Hey, Charlie. Look, I'm fine, I'm not dying... I'm just exhausted, I have a terrible headache, and my ear is whistling like a train, but those things pass. I'm fine... hey...
Me comforting him. So ironic! 
I caress his back and let him calm down, but Charles is still trembling until, little by little, his face pulls away and he looks at me, troubled and intense.
He caresses my face, his fingers trailing down my cheeks, then my chin and lips.
I watch him, curious to see what he'll do; he seems out of himself. Maybe he's so out that he'll kiss me... I can't even stop thinking about it before he closes the remaining short distance and sucks my lower lip. In reality he doesn't do anything else, but a hot, impetuous wave hits me through his mouth intertwined with mine, his hands gripping my face forcefully to hold me still and force me to accept him. I wouldn't dream of pulling away, there was no point in holding me so tightly, but I like it.
I absolutely love feeling his need for me, to touch me, to hold me.
I'm fucking hot and melting, I'm like jelly, I can't find the strength to do anything, so I let myself be blissfully ecstatic as his lips suck mine, finally taking me to heaven. And just as he's about to stick his tongue in me, the bastard pulls back like a spring jumping off, takes a step back and stands there with his face covered in his hands, like a teenage girl in hysterics.
Charles, in a panic, is babbling bullshit that I try to catch as I reach out in a vain attempt to stop him, but he starts walking around this microscopic room. He doesn't get very far and I intercept him more than once, but he slips away like a tarantula. You damn idiot, what the fuck are you doing? Come back here and shut the hell up!
He says something about the promise he made me about letting me handle this thing between us, to make me understand how much he cares and something fundamentally beautiful. I understand him well, okay, but with my headache and the speed at which he speaks, I still miss most of what he says. So I have to struggle hard to stop him and only after yet another louder: - Charlie! - that cracked my skull even more, did he finally calm down.
I still have the wonderful feeling of his lips on mine, his soft face against mine, his fingers on my skin. Even though I feel sore and numb and my ear is ringing and I want to bang my head against the wall, him lying on top of me was the first truly wonderful thing I'd experienced today, and he was ruining it. Actually, he did!
The idiot resists remaining against the door as if I had COVID, so after having called him leaning forward with my back, with the related pain for even this simple movement, I hold out my hand and he looks at me. Damn idiot, if you don't take it, I'll spit to you from here. It'll get you, you'll see!
The idiot finally makes up his mind and takes my hand, staying close to the bed. I lean back and relief washes over me again, not because of the position, but because of his hand in mine.
How wonderful.
- You're overthinking.
- That doesn't mean I'm not right. - Charles sighs, letting himself be compliant with a tender pout and the dejected look of a kitten who wants to be cuddled but fears it's not a good idea. I tighten my fingers around his and it relaxes me enormously. Don't go, stay here.
He wants me to kiss him and make the big move between us, deciding when and how to get together. But this way it's comfortable. This way, it's truly comfortable.
I know that for him it’s an act of attention towards me, but he hasn't asked me anything about it.
He says he doesn't want to always be the one making the decisions, trampling on my feelings, but he's never asked me anything about it. He never listened to my opinion, and now, right now, I'm so tired. So damn tired of always feeling like I'm in competition, even at war, sometimes.
I just want to give up, let go and let others do everything.
You do it, do it all, leave me alone.
Fuck, I'm so tired. As I try to find some peace of mind by intertwining my fingers with his and focusing on his beautiful, bitter face, I try to understand what's going on in his head, but I can't read it now. And after he reads a message, I assume from Seb, he dumps me without listening. Without talking about it. Without asking me what I want to do.
I try to stop him, but he leaves me a tender kiss on the forehead, but he's so hasty that it seems like he's running away from the devil instead of comforting me, and seeing the famous devil walk through the door shortly afterward, I have confirmation that this is indeed the case.
My father, as always, invariably, comes to ruin everything.
If only he weren't here. Sometimes I tell myself that. In fact, often.
I wouldn't be the winning driver I am today. I wouldn't have the victories, satisfactions and joys that come from being a driver of this caliber, I realize that. But I look at him with a spontaneous hatred, quickly diverting my eyes to the window to avoid him. Even though maybe someone notice it. Not him, obviously. Too caught up in his bullshit to notice how I am.
Yet if he weren't there, so many things in my life would be different. Easier. And I wouldn't be so exhausted from the constant racing against everything and everyone.
And Charles wouldn't have left now, running away in terror.
If only someone would listen to me for once, damn it. If only.
Seb's eyes meet mine when he says he's leaving; he immediately understands that I'm not well. Perhaps he imagined finding me happy and ecstatic, but instead I nod to him and then immediately turn my head again toward the incandescent sunset streaming through the window. A half-closed shutter allows the small room to be flooded with golden light.
I'm a living mess, damn it. I'm a fucking living mess. No one, right now, knows what to do with me. But imagine, I don't know either. How can Charles think I'm the one making decisions for him?

My number ends up in Seb's phone, and I read his message when I've finally managed to charge it and turn it on, a couple of hours later. My mind struggles to focus on what I'm reading; it takes a while, but then I realize what it means.
'Try to disconnect from everything and everyone for a bit, you'll see, you'll recharge. It helps me when I feel exasperated and close to the limit.'
I cast another wild look at my father, who continues to rail and thunder against Lewis, Toto, Mercedes, the FIA, F1 and everyone else, giving me no fucking peace.
'It would be easy if my father just walked away,' I reply quickly.
It would be easy, yes. But even though we're out of the hospital and on our way home, nothing is better. Because here with me is the last person in the world I want by my side, while the only person I want by my side isn't here.
My dad walks me home still talking. Ranting. Criticizing. Break the balls!
I'll do what Seb said. As soon as he goes, nobody'll hear me anymore. One more race and then there's summer break. I intend to take it all to myself. All of it. I won't talk to anyone. I'll take my fucking vacation however I fucking want, I'll do whatever the fuck I want and I won't hear from anyone who's driving me crazy. No one.
A month.
Yes, yes, I really think I'll follow the advice of the guy I wished, for a moment, in the hospital, was my real father. If he had been, I'd definitely be happy now. Instead I must have done something wrong before I was born, since my real father is someone exasperating and hateful.

I didn't talk to Charles, purposely waiting to see what he would do, whether he would text me or contact me. But since he avoids me like the plague, waiting for me to do whatever I want, I don't do anything.
Because I'm fed up.
I avoid Charles to see if he'll contact me, if he'll find me, if he'll do something.
But here in Hungary, we're playing the opposite game we've been playing up to now. Suddenly, instead of chasing each other, we're both running away, and maybe it's better that way because the more he does this, the more I want to tell him to go fuck himself.
ASK ME WHAT THE FUCK I WANT INSTEAD OF TAKING IT FOR GRANTED!
Who the fuck asked you to let me decide everything now?

I'm finding surprising peace on these first family vacations, so to speak, with Kelly and sweet little Penelope.
Her daughter is two years old and she's a sweetheart. At first I was scared of having such a little girl among us, but then I told myself it would be her daughter and that I had nothing to do with it.
But now, here on vacation with her and even during the days we spend together at home or off the tracks, I love it. It's absurd, but this little doll gives me the peace I never thought I could have. The peace I've been searching for so long, especially these last few days.
It's by being with her that I'm slowly realizing it. I never even thought about having children, being a father, truly starting a family. I looked for Kelly because I was exhausted and wanted something that would finally make me feel normal, but ultimately it was a reaction to Charles. I wanted a family, but did I really want it?
And yet, now that I've been living with her and her daughter for a while, I realize that maybe, after all, it was true.
Maybe this is what I really wanted.
A family of my own, a place where I can feel good, be with people who understand me, or at least who I feel good with.
No one to pressure me, to order me around, to demand anything. Only what we feel like doing.
Family. I'm starting to consider the concept of family. One of my own, where I'll never make the mistakes my father made. I don't want a family to make my son experience what I couldn't experience; I'll experience what I want to experience!
I want a family to feel good and happy.
I suck on the pacifier Penelope puts in my mouth, while the warm breeze of the sun and the sea caresses us on the boat. It's one of those days where finally, for the first time in a long time, I feel recharged. Even though... it's nice here with them, better than I ever thought, and I think I could do this for longer than I thought. Maybe for years, who knows. But something's missing, right? Someone's missing.
Charles, you idiot. How long will it take you to get back to me?”

NOTES: I never received a 51 G, but I read Max's interviews about that accident and used them to write about it. Excruciating headaches, soreness on the side that took the hit, tiredness. In those conditions it's easy to get exasperated, especially with someone like Jos next to you who must have been a pain in the ass. The situation I imagined is what I wrote. In any case he was in the hospital for a CT scan where he remained under observation for a while; I didn't make that up. Then every now and then I have to insert moments that 'explain' and give meaning to Kelly, of course, since she's actually there and I can't completely ignore her. But you just need to know how to manipulate reality well and I'm good at that! Until next time. Kisses, Akane.