Session -𝑀𝑉𝑥𝐶𝐿- (eng vers)

Little Freak

-

I was thinkin' about who you are

your delicate point of view, I

was thinkin' about you.

I'm not worried about where you are

or who you will go home to, I'm

just thinkin' about you.

-

The nights before race days lately are bothered by the concern of an impossible dream, a dream that is too far away, a dream that I will never be able to realize. Whenever time stops flowing, the hours become years and I feel like a candle on a birthday cake. The fear assails me and becomes wire, keeps my eyes open and the rust makes me cry for failures. A shiver runs down my spine and the muscles tense up under the weight on my stomach, which forces me to take short and rapid breaths. Dad, is there peace once you get up where you are? I miss you.

I stumble as I try to get out of bed and away from the sheets. I walk without any strength towards the bathroom, sometimes leaning against the wall to not let my legs collapse. I step into the silence of the room and grab the sink in front of me, gripping it until the knuckles of both hands turn white. I look at myself in the mirror, I look in the reflected gaze searching for a reason to continue dreaming or at least not to stop trying. I struggle and barely drag myself out of the bathroom.
I fall onto the mattress and stare at the grey ceiling from the darkness, too tired to react; tired of what? Tired of this oppressive requirement from the team, from my family, from Tifosi. The pressure that Verstappen helps to increase with his victories: we are the same age and the path we have completed is the same, how is it possible he has won the world championship almost three times when I can't even get a clean victory? This question breaks all the beliefs I have struggled to create over the years.
I sit up coughing and take a glass of water from the bedside table; while I'm drinking I look at the clock which shows only 9.26 pm. I wonder what Verstappen is doing now, maybe he's still developing a strategy for tomorrow's free practice: today at the drivers' conference I heard him announce that he was confident and believed in the potential of the car. Or maybe he is already celebrating the victory that he will surely bring home after the last 9 in a row, writing his name in the Book of Legends for the umpteenth time. I'd like to think that sometimes he has moments of weakness too, but I already know he doesn't have any; Max Verstappen can't be weak, or maybe he is and no one has ever tried enough to notice.

At the same time as I take my sleeping pills, I hear four knocks at the door. I turn in that direction, thinking about who it could be. Hell, maybe I shouldn't open the door, but I get up anyway; I'm only half dressed and I think I have a terrible face. I open it and find myself in front of none other than Max Verstappen himself.

"Hi Charles" he says looking at me, his English a little more slurred than usual. He has deep dark circles under his eyes which I didn't noticed on the computer today. His blue eyes are duller than usual, lacking the energetic light that characterizes them. His skin is pale.