Dare You to Doubt Me | d.r3

DARE YOU TO DOUBT ME | i

i.

The Australian Grand Prix has already started for 20 minutes and yet here you are, at the gate of the main grandstand waiting for the staff to check your ticket and your purse in case you brought in outside food or potential weapon.

            It's not like you did this on purpose—arriving late to the main race. Hell, you'd sprint towards the main grandstand, be there hours before the main race even started, but there are things that you can't avoid and control such as: a breakdown.

            Indeed, you had a nervous breakdown at the parking lot in your car. One that was... though not as bad as the previous ones, but still a breakdown where you almost bailed the race. You were this close to drive back home until you heard a voice saying It's okay and that was it. That was all it took for you to hop out of your car and headed straight towards the main grandstand gate.

            Their V6 engines vibrate in your chest, rumbling like thunder as the drivers change gears before a turn after a straight line. The fans are wild. Cheering from their seats, so loud and so masculine that makes the hair at the back of your neck stands. Even from behind of the many built men, your eyes catch as some of them raise their favourite teams' national flag. One is the familiar red-yellow flag, the other is the blue-red-white flag. A very tipsy and drunk group of men, running around the grandstand with the familiar dark blue flag tied around their necks. The flag waving behind their backs like a superman.

            Since it is now a ticket with free seating, you are left with no spare seat except the one at the very top of the bleacher, near a railing at the other end. A relief wash over you. You were tired for having to walk for ten minutes from the parking space to the entrance of the circuit and then another few more minutes from the entrance to grandstand entrance. By the time you reached your gate, you realised you've walking for 20 minutes.

            After what happened at the parking lot just now, you thought... maybe God doesn't hate you that much for sparing you a seat even though there is a weird-looking guy beside it. But wait— you can't sit beside a weird man, can you? And not only that, he even looks suspicious. Because... who the hell wears all black to an outdoor event with a weather so hot that you could die of heat stroke?

            You didn't feel comfortable with the thought of him beside you because he could smell like garlic for instance. And maybe that's the reason why people refuse to sit beside him. But there is another 40 minutes until the race ends and you are not going to watch them on feet.

            DAMMIT!

            You had no choice. You have to sit. Garlic smell be damn. You can't faint in front of thousands of people. You don't want to see yourself on the news first thing tomorrow—or worst, tonight. Muttering sorry to other fans, you slide inside. A relieved sigh escapes as soon as your bums hit the plastic seat. Your feet finally finding a rest.

            These trainers. They might look good on you but seriously, you'd rather walk barefooted if you knew your ankles were going to hurt (like hundreds of needles prickling into your muscles) unlike what they claimed about these expensive shoes. You adjust your hat a little upward so that you can see the race from the big screen situated on the other side of the track. 24 laps to go. Two drivers from different teams are under the DNF list. A Ferrari is on the lead with a Red Bull Racing Team close behind.

            Your nose twitch. A manly cologne hits your system. Funny thing is, you didn't have to wonder who's wearing it because you know it's the man in black on your left (on your other side is a woman with her toddler on her lap). And, man oh man. It smells good. He smells good. So expensive. So masculine. He makes you want to lean in and sniff him like a dog. His cologne makes you calm. Almost makes you feel like home.