𝐖𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍'𝐓 𝐁𝐄 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒, l. norris

two

Bahrain, Friday

Qualifying had fast approached much to the dismay of Emery. She knew her father would be watching back in Texas and would be critiquing every move she made, which meant everything had to be perfect during qualifying.

After her conversation with her dad, if one could even call it that, Emery had turned to the punching bag in her private room and let out her anger and frustration onto it.

Her conversation with her father was mostly her father yelling at her and pointing out all of the mistakes she had done during practice 1 while she sat and listened with clenched fists and a clenched jaw.

It didn't take long for Emery to snap at her father and then ending the call soon after, Charles words running through the back of her mind as she did so.

Her father didn't know much about Formula 1 or the skill behind racing but he was somehow able to catch her mistakes and ensure that she knew she fucked up.

Emery's father put so much pressure for Emery to succeed and he was not shy about showing his disappointment when she didn't achieve pole position.

But even when she achieved pole position, he'd still find anything to pick apart and accuse her of not trying hard enough or not being good enough.

He'd always remind her how he sacrificed so much for her to live out her dream on being an F1 driver and he never allowed her to forget it.

It was as if he was reminding her of what he did for her to achieve her dream and was accusing her of not paying him back for allowing her to live out her dream.

Emery was walking down the hallway of the hotel, the girl dressed in her Ferrari shirt with jeans and a pair of Nike's. Her hair cascaded down her back, allowing it to breathe before qualifying just two hours later.

She and most other drivers were beginning to make their way to the circuit for qualifying, each of them wanting to get a podium position for the race the following day.

"Emerson." A voice called out causing Emery to roll her eyes at the dreaded nickname she was given by a certain Redbull driver.

"Maxwell." She replied as she looked to meet the eyes of none other than her best friend, Max Verstappen.

"How come I'm hearing from Charles that you're boxing without your gloves again?" Max asked as he looked to Emery playfully, concern hiding behind his teasing expression.

Max was the first one to find out about Emery's troubling relationship with her father.

It was the Spanish Grand Prix and Emery had finished p7, it was the first time she had gotten such a low position in any Grand Prix.

She had stormed out of her hotel room, having just been ridiculed and degraded by her father from the poor result, the girl wanting to put space between her hotel room and herself.

Emery didn't know where she was going, she just wanted to be far from her hotel room. She didn't realize how long she had been walking before her chest began to tighten as she began to hyperventilate.

Tears filled her eyes as she clutched at her chest, desperately trying to calm herself but was failing miserably.

Her back slid against the wall as tears streamed down her face, the girl gasping for air as her hands shook.

Max was just returning from the hotel gym when he came across Emery's figure leaned against the wall as tears streamed down her face and gasps of air escaping past her lips.