Faking it || Lando Norris LN

19

Lando Norris

Sunday. Austin Grand Prix.

15:30

Getting out of the car was absolute hell.

It hadn't been a terrible crash. In fact, it was nowhere near as bad as it could've been had I not reacted fast enough after the curb sent me flying against the wall. It was the loud ringing inside my head that made the experience so torturous, a ringing that had nothing to do with the impact and everything to do with the anger that rushed through my veins.

Bloody rookie mistake. I trusted that curb too much.

The thundering rage that took over me had my entire body in a chokehold. My muscles were tight, my jaw was clenched, and even with the gloves on, I could feel how white my knuckles must've been.

I entered the car that came to pick us drivers up whenever we crashed and slammed the door shut, not knowing what to do with my body on the way to the garage. I was burning inside and gripping my knees so tightly I feared they would crumble under my hold. I could feel the sparks rushing through my veins as I tried to keep myself from punching the seat in front of me and scaring the driver into crashing against another wall.

The silence inside the car was very much welcomed. It wouldn't be long until the silence was the only thing I wouldn't be able to get. Race debriefs, post-race interviews, garage conversations. I was in for a long day of talking when all I wanted was silence. Silence and to get drunk and punch whoever looked at me the wrong way.

Fuck. I thought to myself, remembering I wasn't allowed to go out while the whole PR stunt shit was still on.

I sighed to myself and felt my burning breath filling the helmet. My teeth were clattering and I could already feel the bruises around my knees that my grip on them would cause.

After a couple of moments, we arrived at the garage. With my helmet still on and the visor down, my eyes wandered around the garage. Not a single pat found my back, all of the engineers and mechanics stared at the floor while I walked through them. 

I sighed in relief, thankful for the silence. Pats on the back wouldn't change anything. Words wouldn't change anything.

"Lando!" I heard Zak's voice from the distance. "Lando!"

Zak had never been cruel whenever I crashed during my rookie season, which really confused me. I was driving a car worth millions for a team worth even more than that. However, I hadn't crashed in ages, and I wasn't a rookie anymore: I was last season's Formula 1 Champion.

He may be the only person whose congratulating words for P2 or P3 I couldn't bring myself to snap at, but that didn't mean it wouldn't take an out-of-this-world effort to keep that same thing from happening with the words he would speak after crashing today.

I kept walking, feeling my nerves crackle. Even with the shame that kept telling me to keep my helmet on, I took it off in a second, feeling my breath starting to suffocate me. My blood was boiling with fury and shame as the floor threatened to swallow me whole.

"Lando," he gripped my elbow just as I was about to step out of the garage and into the paddock.

Not right now, Zak. I wanted to say, already anticipating his words. He's going to tell me how they're not paying me millions just to crash the car for such a stupid mistake as misjudging a curb. He's going to tell me I'm too much trouble to keep in the team. He's going to—

"I know, I—" I started, but he interrupted me with a hug instead.

"Tough luck. We'll get them next time." He whispered next to my ear, giving me a single, friendly pat on the back and a smile before pulling away.