The Undercut | Max Verstappen

Chapter 11

August 17th
Monte Carlo, Monaco
Micah's POV

I wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. I'm panting, feeling my hair sticking to my face and closing my eyes so tight I'm starting to see white spots. "Shit. shit. shit. shit." I repeat under my breath, sitting upright and pressing a hand to my chest to counteract how I'm feeling in the moment.

"What the hell are you doing, Micah?!" I whisper yell at myself. Astonished. Horrified, even.

The scenes from my dream play out inside my brain like a broken record. Hands on my body. Labored breaths. And one... one specific, annoying characteristic. Bright blue eyes looking up at me from a very particular position.

Damn you, Max Verstappen. Sneaking up on me like that. In my dreams, when I'm completely adrift and have no control.

"Stupid. Stupid. You're so stupid." I tell myself, my hand smacking my forehead as I try to get the imaginary sight of Max's lips on me out of my head. Vanished from my brain once and for all.

I turn to grab my phone and notice it's 6am. And I curse myself when I'm unable to fall back asleep, tossing and turning in bed. The images from my dreams mix with the very real images of us in the pool. The weight of Max's hand as he delicately wiped away my tears. His eyes on my lips. His strong hand placing a strand of hair behind my ear. How am I meant to just go back to sleep and act like nothing's going on, when my body feels boiling hot all over in shame?

I decide to take a shower, and start my day a bit earlier than usual. I put my hair up into a pony tail and put on some leggings and a gym top. Monaco is really nice for hikes, and Max lives close by to some gorgeous trails, so that's what I'm going to do. I'm going to stay busy, and I'm going to forget what happened, and also what didn't exactly happen.

The stunning views really do help clear my head, as does listening to music and getting my body moving. I'd been working nonstop lately, I missed having time to myself. Once at the top, I stopped to take a few pictures, and I even posted one to my instagram stories, before I sat down to drink some water and allow myself to have time to self-reflect.

I'm quite literally living the life I've always dreamed to live. I have the perfect job I've worked so hard to have. I'm living in a beautiful city. I've got amazing friends and I'm beginning to prove my worth as a professional. In theory, everything's perfect. And yet... there's just something missing. Maybe that's just the process of adapting to a new space. Maybe I'm also a bit homesick. Maybe yesterday drained me emotionally in a way that only my mother's death anniversary can do. Maybe there's just too much going on. Or maybe I've lived my entire life just waiting for the next bad thing to happen, that I'm not yet sure how to allow myself to stop and smell the roses.

I wouldn't even know where to begin to do the whole 'enjoy your achievements' thing. How does one simply stop preparing for something, anything going wrong?

I decide to move my body again as I begin my way down the hiking trail, heavy with the implications of learning how to figure out a way to let myself be softer to myself. Perfection isn't possible. I had to stop trying to find it before I became perpetually disappointed and unhappy.

It's only a bit after 7:30 AM when I arrive back at Max's place. And for a second I seem to have forgotten about the fact that he also lives there, naturally. Because as soon as I reach his porch steps and I find him there doing his stretches and it's as if my mouth runs dry. Flashes of his hands on my face. Our eyes connected. In come the fake images of my dream. I'm going insane.

He looks at me. And the way his eyes wander across my body isn't lost on me. Neither is the way he swallows as his eyes find mine again. What the hell is going on with me? With him?