71. NOT DISAPPOINT HIM

/Max/

“Gliding on Lewis' head is not one of the things I'm proud of, nor anything that I was honestly planned or would ever want to do in my life, but fuck him, the stewards and everyone!
When I got out of the car crashed into Lewis's, in the middle of the race, I certainly didn't think that my wheels had literally gone over his head, or rather his Halo. I certainly didn't understand it, from the inside you don't know what the fuck is going on. I was just furious because I was convinced that I had done everything right and that he had pushed me onto the curb, causing me to then lose control of the car which ran over him. 
I was convinced I was right—and I still am, regardless of what those asshole stewards say—and I was pissed off like a beast at him, but not for the accident itself—because I already understood how this year will go between the two of us, seeing as he's been saying it for weeks that he won't lift the pedal with me again and drive like I do. It's not that that made me leave the car mad as hell without checking if he was alive.
Yes, in short, my race had gone to shit because of him, I was very sure of it and I still am, it's annoying because this year I have a serious chance of winning the world championship and since it's my first, I'm passionate about it like crazy; but that's not why I'm furious.
It was a crystal clear thought. The only one I had in that moment, emerging from the tangle of cars on top of each other on the edge of the track.
He didn't come to see how I was at Silverstone. He didn't come to the hospital, he didn't come to my box, he didn't call me or write to me. He never showed up with me.
Seb probably told him I was fine, but he never came, he never opened up to me.
In that moment the champion who I have always looked up to and respected, for me became just a rival to crush. I forgot everything else before that moment. Anything I ever thought or felt for him, of any kind—admiration, esteem, respect, interest—has all been swept away.
He hadn't come two months ago, so screw him.
So I thought.
After receiving the shitty judgment of the stewarts who will penalize me with points and positions for the next race as if I had deliberately tried to kill him, as if I really wanted to do it, I smash everything in the garage, then shout and rant at Gianpiero who has been trying for I don't know how long to show me the images of the accident.
- I DON'T GIVE A SHIT, I KNOW I'M RIGHT! - I don't know why I'm convinced of this. Naturally I continue like a truck that demolishes everything and everyone, I kick left and right, my favorite objects are the already worn tires of the car.
I can't do it, I have a war drum in my brain, I'm so furious that I have to break something or something ends up breaking inside me. The vein in my head, perhaps, banging on the back of my neck like crazy.
- THEY COULDN'T WAIT AS ALWAYS TO GET ME OUT! BECAUSE THEY HATE ME, BECAUSE I AM NOT LEWIS, THEIR HERO. I AM THE FUCKING ANTAGONIST AND AS SOON AS THEY CAN THEY DEMOLISH ME, THEY HAVE ALWAYS DONE IT! BUT HE'S THE ONE WHO DIDN'T EVEN COME TO SEE HOW I WAS THE OTHER TIME! HE'S JUST AS ASSHOLE AS ME, ONLY I SHOW IT AND HE HIDES IT BETTER! FOR EVERYONE I'M THE BAD GUY! JUST BECAUSE I SAY WHAT THE HELL I THINK AND DON'T LICK ANY ASS AROUND! FUCK HIM! FUCK THEM!
- It's not exactly like that! - the clear and distinct voice that rises behind me is not Gianpiero's or even anyone else on my team, it's not Christian, it's not Helmut, who are currently busy with the stewards for my punishment. 
But he's someone who has the balls to go after me while I'm in freakout mode. Everyone knows that when I’m like this, they just have to let me break everything and scream. 
Who the fuck dares to go against me?
I whirl around before I register who owns the familiar voice I know, then two blue eyes stare at me sternly and steadily.
For a moment my father comes to mind, but a correct and better version of him, then I come to my senses focusing on Seb.
- What the hell do you want? Goes to your Lewis, doesn't he need you?
Seb nods to Gianpiero, the only one left in my garage to put up with me. I must say that he has a lot of courage too, but that's why I admire him and allow him to tell me whatever he wants; he's the only one I allow it to.
Gianpiero sighs, shakes his head and rolls his eyes before leaving. As he goes, he nods to others who were evidently about to enter.
Seb is absolutely calm, his arms folded, he approaches me without even a shred of fear and it’s for an instant, while we observe each other. It’s as if he recognized something in me. Maybe himself.
It's an absurd thought, but I think he knows what to do with me because in some way he resembles me and maybe it’s true, even at the beginning of his career he wasn't well-regarded and was highly criticized for having a language that was too much and not an impeccable driving, but still brought remarkable results.
Yes, maybe we're similar in some ways, maybe he sees himself in me and that's why he's been following me so hard lately. Because he knows I'm at a crucial stage in my career and has understood that if he leaves me to my father's psychopathic care, I might not get what I want, that’s now or never.
I know he also loses his mind sometimes and overdoes it. Canada 2019 is history, with him.
Seb sighs for a moment, then takes out his phone, a very old model but with color images, and shows me a video. I think about what Gianpiero wanted me to see.
For a moment I think about throwing the phone, but I think Seb would throw me instead. It's not out of fear of his reaction, but so as not to argue with him too.
Absurdly, he's the only one I don't want to argue with right now. Him and Charles. But since he's reached the podium, he can't come to me right now.
Without speaking, he starts the video which I resign myself to watching, and at a certain point he says: - Look carefully here. 
I reluctantly concentrate, but finally I see what Gianpiero wanted me to see, and it's as if someone pulled a plug and cut off my electricity.
I deflate as if by magic.
- Your wheels literally ran over his head. If he's alive, it's not thanks to you, but to the Halo. If it hadn't been there today, you would have killed him and you would be ruined for life even if you were right, because believe me, something like that ruins you. And you certainly don't think that it was him who pushed you onto the curb causing you to lose control of the car. This ruins your existence.
His words are like blades that open the flesh with millimeter precision. He doesn't have to go through it twice. The cut is immediate and clean.
I sigh again, shake my head and roll my eyes, now realizing the point.
- If I'd stopped to ask him how he was, would they have been less severe? - I ask ironically. Seb shrugs with a little smile and a softer expression.
- Probably. - I look at him in surprise. My father would have told me everything, and as soon as I get my phone back, he will. Luckily, he wasn't here now.
- I certainly didn't want to kill him or even try to, I was just pissed off because he didn't come to me in July. And anyway, it's an accident by definition. 
As I say this, annoyed but less furious than before, I quickly think of Charles as a child saying 'just an inchident', referring to his purposely pushing me off the track out of revenge, and, ironically, it relaxes me a little.
- Lewis made a mistake that time and I argued with him to make him understand, but he asked me how you were. - Seb continues calmly and condescendingly, still looking me straight in the eye without fear.
- But he didn't say anything. - I retort, still on the warpath, though less than before.
- I love him even if he's the most touchy and proud person in the world. - in an instant, with disconcerting candor, he comes out and isn't bothered by it in the least. I'm shocked to see him admit they're together. Why me? Who am I to him? I'm nothing. What does he see in me? Why does he trust me so much?
For a moment I'm stunned, and he continues calmly, placing a hand on my shoulder and squeezing comfortably. This contact calms me. Seb shocks me as I inevitably compare him to my father. No, my father definitely would never have done that. So understanding with me after screwed up an important race? Imagine that!
- You don’t have stoop to the petty levels of others; you must use your head and your conscience. Now that you know you've walked all over him, I hope you'll prove yourself better and show him how to swallow your pride, anger and whatever else you can, to do the right thing. I know you can do it. - he talks to me as if he sees me as better and more mature than I am, and for a moment I think about laughing and telling him to go fuck himself, but at the best moment I stop, sigh again, stomp my foot and let out a kind of nervous grunt.
He chuckles taking it as a yes, and I absurdly believe I'll actually do it.
Crazy.
Absolutely crazy. What power does this guy have? And what does he want from me? Why is he so into me, why does he look at me so much?
I don't know, Sebastian Vettel is a mystery, but as he smiles at me with a joke and then walks away, I feel grateful that he likes me. At least someone besides Charles likes me. Someone who doesn't have ulterior motives like fucking me. And that's beautiful. Stupidly beautiful.

I decide to do it right away because if I wait, it's over.
I'm going to look for Lewis right away, while I'm riding the wave of Seb's do-goodism and his wise, positive influence.
Walking toward the nearby Mercedes garage number 44, I think Seb has changed a lot since the beginning of his F1 career, where he had a nickname similar to mine, Crash Kid, and was heavily criticized for his unclean manners on the track and how direct he was when he spoke. He still doesn't mince his words and has some memorable outbursts, but fundamentally he remains a good and altruistic person; he's also matured a lot, I think.
But even if he perhaps sees something of himself in me, I don't really see it. Maybe there are similarities between us, but I think that's all there is to it. He's too good, while I don't find even a shred of goodness in me.
Maybe because after everyone treats you like the bad guy, you then convince yourself you are and act like it.
Thinking about it, I wonder how Charles sees me. Does he see me as the bad guy too and does he like me for that, or does he see something else beyond that awful surface and he likes that?
In the Mercedes garage, they look at me amazed and for a moment a deadly silence falls. Then, when I ask about Lewis, their looks become even more worried and irritated, so much so that I'm about to change my mind.
- Look, I just came to see the effect my wheel had on his head... - I try to put it ironically so they understand I have no bad intentions, even if they'll say I did it on purpose and wanted to kill him. But the fuck do I care!
One of the mechanics shows me his helmet and I don't know if he's being ironic, argumentative, or simply genuinely trying to please me. I don't investigate, but his helmet clearly bears the marks of my wheel; you can clearly see the impact with the tire. As I make a genuinely shocked face, the other guy points to his room down a small corridor from the garage, so I nod and go in without asking permission, and, again without asking permission, open the door. Seb isn't here anyway, since he was with me earlier.
As I imagined, Lewis is in there, but he's not alone.
His physiotherapist is massaging him on the massage table in his room, like all drivers have precisely for practices of this type.
When he hears me enter, Lewis turns around abruptly, then immediately complains about the movement; his grimace of pain tells me that it must have had some effect, despite the Halo having essentially supported most of the weight. Besides, there wouldn't be a mark on his helmet.
Actually I'm sorry now; I certainly didn't mean to seriously hurt him.
But as soon as I'm inside, I freeze: Lewis is in his underwear and I blush instinctively, suddenly remembering that I once had an erotic fantasy of him covered in champagne foam. The foam in my fantasy was semen and it stood out beautifully against his dark skin.
I bite my lip and stiffen, then I lean onto my side like I'm a pathetic teenager embarrassed by a nude.
I have to say I'd fuck him if there weren't any other implications involved. Like Seb and Charles. But just to fuck him, not because I like him or anything else. I mean, he's a good-looking guy.
Hey, Max, come to your senses and remember that he kicked you off the track this year. Twice. And that they blamed you for that.
- Max?! - he asks, convinced he's hallucinating.
I roll my eyes cursing and nod. Be a man.
You're not a child and you're not an idiot either.
Seb said to show that you're different from how everyone sees you, start now.
- Yes, I just wanted to know if you're okay. I saw my wheel mark on your helmet...
I'm speaking quickly and nervously because it's obvious I don't want to be here and I don't know how to hide it. But it's not for what it might seem.
- Have you just seen it now? - he says acidly.
I roll my eyes again and snort, looking at him spontaneously, but now he's sitting with his physiotherapist behind, preparing to put the elastic bandages on his neck.
His gaze is accusatory and hard.
I know he keeps saying he won't lift his foot on me because he's tired of having to change his driving style because of me. It just irritates me that Charles feels the same way. He's always said so.
I don't know how to drive, in his opinion, and if someone did with me what they'd do with anyone else, they'd end up off the track. And that's because I drive badly, dirtyly. Because only those who drive cleanly, drive well.
But he's Charles, and it's thanks to this nonsense that we've become closer, paradoxically. I mean, he doesn't understand anything, but he's free to think whatever bullshit he wants. But he’s him. He's different.
So I end up comparing Charles and Lewis after I've already done the same between Seb and me. Vague similarities don't make us the same. Everyone is different, everyone is made in their own way, everyone has their own story.
Our eyes remain locked and stormy for a couple of seconds, neither of us willing to make peace.
- There was no way I could see anything before. I was too pissed off.
Lewis raises an eyebrow as he straightens his neck to allow his therapist to apply the patches; they're like long elastic bandages that stick to his skin.
- Seb, right? - he goes straight to the point and as soon as he says it, I can't help but laugh. The woman behind him laughs too, probably knowing, and Lewis also releases his tension with a grin, but he doesn't move so as not to ruin the work she's doing.
I watch his muscles, mesmerized by her fingers running through the blue patch on his dark skin covered in tattoos almost everywhere; I shrug and scratch the back of my neck in embarrassment, answering vaguely.
- Well, you know how it is... - I really don't know what to say. I just did what was apparently the right thing to do, even though I didn't really care before; then seeing his helmet, I do care.
- Did he tell you you have to be better than people see you? - at this I move my eyes back to his and grin again.
- You know him well, huh?
Lewis nods and this time the smile is soft, but it's clear it's aimed at him. He who isn't here among us, but it's as if he were.
- I don't know if he sees more things than what is in me, but since he apparently has me at heart, I wanted to prevent his interest from going to shit.
That's a twisted way of saying I'm doing it for him. Lewis gives another peculiar half-smile that I can't decipher, and this one is aimed at me. He looks me silently as the therapist finishes and releases him, so Lewis gets up and comes before me, still in his underwear.
Inevitably, my gaze drops to his crotch, where his tight white boxers stand out, making no secret of his excellent gift. Pretty excellent, in fact.
Damn, look up! Don't look at him there! You idiot! He must have noticed, I'm blushing like a fool.
His eyes, Max! HIS FUCKING EYES! WHERE ARE HIS EYES!
Ah, there they are!
Don't look down again, you idiot!
- I'm sorry I didn't do the same for you last time. I could have asked someone for your number and at least texted you, but I just asked how you were to Charles and Seb. I have no excuse for that. But Seb is right, we have to move on from certain things.
From this, I understand he said the same thing to him. I nod slightly, my eyes still fixed on his; terrified, inside, of letting them go down on his cock. I know we're not alone, but there's a moment when I think again of my white cum on his dark back, as he's bent over in front of me.
I'm really sick.
If Charles doesn't fuck me soon, I think I might end up doing some crazy shit with the first fuckable guy I meet, and if that were Lewis, I think I'd really be dead.
Yes, it's the hormones. I fuck Kelly, but not that much and it's not the same. It's not the sex I like.
- We’re rivals, not enemies. I didn't want to end up with tyre on your head. I hope you're okay. - I say slowly, trying to focus on the important things.
He nods slowly.
- Of course, I didn't want you to end up in the hospital that day either. I hope from here we can both run without any more risks. 
There are risks, we're drivers, and I certainly won't change my driving style for anyone except Charles, but I need to get out of here and away from his nakedness, so I nod and, without arguing, with a final nod, I leave his stifling little room.
I don't know what condition I'm in, I just know that my face feels hot and I'm no longer breathing, so I take a deep breath of relief closing my eyes, and start walking, but as I do I almost crash into someone.
As soon as I focus on my face, I think it's incredibly expressive. So much so that his beautiful green eyes run after me, into the room I'd escaped from; as soon as he glimpses Lewis half-naked, he stiffens and his face becomes wonderfully expressive.
So much so that I wonder when we ever doubted his expressiveness.
- Charles?
But he, with his still very expressive gaze, pierces me, nullifies me and then flat as a knife blade, says: - What the hell were you doing with him?
It's right there, that I realize he's misunderstood and that he's incredibly jealous. So much so that for a fucking moment I actually contemplate making him believe something really happened, but then the thought of backtracking makes me sick.
No, I don't want to ruin everything and start over again.
- Nothing, I asked him how he's doing. We both know who Lewis is with and I would never dream of hurting him.
Fuck you, Max, is that a reason why I shouldn't do erotic things with Lewis?
Seb? You really say something like that, not 'you know my dick is devoted to you!'
But then that would have been a lie. He's not devoted to him. Technically, I'm with Kelly and he's never even touched my dick, so I don't owe him anything!
Charles stands still in front of me, waiting for me to get up so he can come in, or maybe for me to justify myself. I suppose he originally wanted to check on Lewis, but now he's staring at me badly, really badly. Like I'm an insect and he's about to squash me.
He definitely didn't like what I said, but if he wants me to say something else, like that my dick belongs to him, that's up to him.
I don't say it, but it's as if I did, maybe it's the ironic, inquisitive eyebrow I raise, the way I look at him expectantly, the not-at-all-veiled challenge I offer him.
Do you want to disagree with me about something? No, because I have a ready answer. If something bothers you, tell me straight.
Charles seems to understand and knows he can't complain, he knows it's a conversation he won't win and it's already burning him up, so imagine if he'd risk having it seriously. So in the end he shakes his head and lets it go, slipping into Lewis's room in my place. Without saying anything to me.
Absolutely nothing.
Even though, in reality, it feels as if we did.
Well, my dear Charlie. It's all up to you.
If you're jealous, get a move on.”

/Charles/

"For a moment I make a thousand films. There are really many, all colorful and red-light and full of imagination. It takes me very little, three seconds.
Then I go in and see Angela with Lewis fixing the things she used to give him neck massages, I also notice the elastic band-aids she must have just put on him and I feel like an idiot.
Ok, I never really believed they could have done anything, but since our 'thing' started from fights on the track that led to deep hatreds, which then transformed into passion and excitement, I think I superimposed myself on Lewis.
Especially because Lewis himself is trying to do with Max what I did with him, on his direct admission on that famous day at Silverstone.
'You managed to tame him,' he told me then. 'Maybe I can do it like you did.'
I tamed him by liking him and then flirting with him, more or less involuntarily.
I smile at him and ask how it's going while my head produces other considerations at the speed of light.
I certainly would never have seriously believed in the two of them together, not with a cool and clear mind, but it was an instant justified by many things. It's more about how embarrassed Max was when he came out, that's what made me jealous and made me go into overdrive.
Plus his bullshit response. Out of respect for Seb he would never do it? And not because we're trying to get together?
Let's try to clarify an essential concept immediately, before continuing this complicated thing between us. Otherwise we'll close right now and get it over with. The game is fine as long as we both want the same thing.
The two of us together. There must be no room for anyone else, not seriously.
Lewis tells me that he’s fine although his neck feels tense and he has some pain, he’ll undergo precautionary treatments, but he doesn't think he has any serious problems.
We talk for a little bit, we don't mention Max even as a joke and then as soon as I can, I’m running away like lightning in search of the number one idiot in my life.
Don't tell me you like Lewis because I'll do what you did with him today and run over you with the car.

From the Mercedes garage I immediately go to his room in the Red Bull Motorhome and I do it without asking anyone's permission, especially since at this time, between one thing and another, it's mostly empty because they're clearing away.
Max, like Lewis, is late because they had to wait for the stewards' verdict, while I purposely dawdled around like a troubled soul with pitiful excuses to stay here. I even got Andrea and Jo to move on and, knowing about me and Max, they finally don't ask anymore and I don't have to make up stupid excuses.
However, the result is that the paddock is emptying now, and there’re only a few of us left.
Among these me and him.
My knocking on his door with his fucking name plastered on it, is frenetic and hysterical; he would punch it down like a beast, I'm a hysterical young lady. I realize it, but I don't give a shit.
Max opens with his tracksuit still on even if lowered to his waist, but he’s shirtless because he has just taken off the tight shirt we wear underneath.
The messy hair looks damn good on him and he's damn sexy, but I don't let distract me. No no. Just as I don't let myself be derailed by his blue eyes that stare at me candidly and amazed. I don't think he expected my arrival. Or maybe yes!
You'll see the rest, this is nothing!
Without waiting for his invitation to come in, I do it myself and slam the door behind me. This wasn't needed to make it clear that I'm angry, but if it wasn't clear I also point my finger and advance towards him as if I were going to tear him apart; he instinctively steps back until he reaches the desk full of his things, a real battlefield like the rest of his room.
He leans back there with his hands, his eyes widen and they are no longer amazed but restless.
I don't touch him, but I'm in front of him in a suffocating way. My finger in front of his chin.
- You have to be fucking honest now. Do you like Lewis?
And with this it’s clear that I’ll not admit wrong answers or this time I make a massacre.”

NOTES: Of course, I don't think Max ever had those kinds of thoughts about Lewis, but I needed something to trigger Charles, so I used him without a second thought. If I remember correctly, Lewis didn't go for tests right after the famous race, but he did later. Anyway, I needed Lewis half-naked in front of Max!
I always include Seb whenever I can; it's also a way to draw parallels between Lestappen and Sewis (which I really like to do). He's also a bit of a dad to all the other younger drivers, so I know he often visits them or makes himself heard (he definitely did it more when he was still racing, but they often say they talk to Seb on the phone and that he texts him.)
I know I stopped at the best part, but every now and then my sadistic side comes out. See you next time. Kisses, Akane