Wrath & Protest [Max Verstappen]

[s i x t e e n.]

Max remembered his childhood very clearly. The images of himself innocently enjoying karting competitions, spending summers in vacation homes, and getting so many presents during Christmas that even he couldn’t count them all were memories he didn’t have to put in effort to recall. His family was always there to support him, to love him, to spoil him. Back in the day, his mother and his father would push him toward sports while Victoria would focus on her education. Max had no reason to fail. He was wealthy. Talented. Continuing his father's legacy in Formula One was supposed to be easy.

He was so set for life, so why with all the things he had, did he not have anyone that could understand him? The mother that raised him left him, his sister separated herself from motorsport, and his father… His father was the sole reason why Max's mother left. The anger, violence, ignorance, instability… They existed in the Verstappen household and Max blamed his father for all of it. Max's training under Jos was an excellent representation of the turbulence he experienced as a child. Even as a 21 year old he could still feel the verbal and physical abuse. The emotional manipulation that he underwent in order to become Jos's perfect vision of a racing driver. How could anyone with a regular background understand him? Did anyone know that the fury he expressed on and off-track stemmed from his father's influence, or that he hated losing so much because it reminded him of the times his dad would ignore his existence for at least a week?

Max thought he was alone, and it really was that way for most of his career. If he couldn't spend time alone to grieve over bad races, he'd have no one else to go to except for Jos, whose only consolation came in the form of criticism or disappointment.

But here this girl sat across from him, almost like a mirror image, smiling at him as if he didn't know what she was going through. She expected nothing but pity in his reaction, but he was quick to prove her differently.

“Rosalie, when you're racing, who are you racing for?” Max asked.

Her answer was one of those she had learned to say for press conferences and interviews, “Oh, my team, we all work so hard for a place in the championship--”

“Rosalie.”

“...My father. For his safety, his pride.”

He nodded. She was what Max would have become if he had let Jos invade his life further. Bluntly, he spoke, “If you keep that mentality, it will not end well for you.”

She froze.

“And I'm not telling you this to scare you. I'm worried because I know exactly what it's like. I may not have grown up the same way as you, as desperate as you were, but I know how it feels to race for nothing but approval. Your bastard of a father will be gone sooner or later. What will happen then?” he stood from his seat, “If you break when that happens, how will I be able to challenge you properly?”

She followed him, “Max, you think too highly of me--”

“Think about yourself for once, girl, and maybe you'll get somewhere. I'm saying that as a friend,” the Dutchman walked away from her, struggling to put one foot forward. Rosalie caught on to his hesitation immediately and blocked his path. The expression she wore was pity, but it took no effort that she felt that way not for Max, but for herself.

“Teach me how,” she said.

“I can't do that.”

“All you've been doing is telling me what to do until now, Max, how couldn't you?”

“It's about time you made decisions for yourself,” he muttered and again left her behind. Indeed, Rosalie was a girl, barely a woman and hardly the model driver. There was no motivation to be found in her soul, no spirit. And Max needed her at her best. He would help her undoubtedly, but that first step had to be taken by her. The desire for independence and personal pride had to be there in order for him to support her, and in time, he believed it would appear. For now, however, he could do nothing, and the painstaking process of patience was something he'd have to tolerate until he saw the light in her eyes shine as it did in Bahrain.

There was something to be said about her strength this week, though. She had been able to stand tall in the face of scrutiny from the public and her colleagues alone. In this existed an inkling of hope, he thought, hope that she would crawl out of her hole of self pity.

“At least let me walk with you,” she called out. Max was more than willing to oblige.

Her head was bowed the whole time they journeyed back to their rooms. He wished he could see that chin up sooner than later. Max was honestly fond of the way she looked when she opened up - there was nothing but honesty to be found. It separated her from her spunky persona. A part of him wished he could comfort her more intimately, but he was better than that.

They stopped at Rosalie's door. He watched as she smiled again at him, clearly grateful for their time spent together, somehow still finding things to be happy about despite revealing such an ugly side to her story. She closed the door and he remained there for a moment, deliberating over what he should do next.

The answer could not have been more obvious. There was a race in China to prepare for. If he wanted to maximize the Honda power unit, he'd have to be mentally prepared. There was nothing but enthusiasm to garner over the week's break and he had to pump himself up for another podium if he really wanted it.

Max just hoped Rosalie would do the same.