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Charles didn't remember the last time he had ever been this excited to be on a podium. Yes, every podium, every race victory was special and hold a place in his heart but this one was different.
This race... this race had been something else. Finally, he had managed to finish his home Grand Prix, and the cherry on the cake he was P1.
He was going to be in the top place on the podium... a little higher than everybody else. Actually, the win had come to him as unexpectedly. He had qualified P2 on Saturday, just behind Max and as Monaco being Monaco, he had had little hope to be P1 at the end of the race. Yet at the end of the race, somethings had gone wrong with Max's car and with two laps to go Charles had found himself leading the race.
The interviewer ended the interview finally, as Charles' mind wander off to Max. He had good enough PR education to answer the mundane questions the reporters threw at him with little to no thinking. As Charles went into the cooldown room and actually had a chance to cool down he realised that he had hugged Lando, who was P3, after he had got out of the car, but not Max. Max hadn't left his car when Charles had got out.
Why though?
Was he angry about the race? But it was not Max anymore though. Maybe back in 2019, Max would have been salty about Charles winning a race but they had grown too much in the last three years. Charles' eyes caught the giant TV in the room, it was showing the interview of Lando, the Brit was smiling as wide as he could. Charles smiled too involuntarily. He was happy for Lando, McLaren was having a tough season. Then the TV showed Max, who was still around his car. The Dutch touched his car's halo, almost in a strangely loving way. Max glanced at the RB18 one last time before making his way to the reporter. It was interesting actually because since Max was P2 in the race he was supposed to give an interview before Lando.
"Congratulations, mate," Lando's happy and booming voice filled the room, forcing Charles to look away from the screen, from Max. "And good luck answering all those questions about how you are feeling about winning a race in your hometown and how did it feel to finally finish it." Charles accepted the one-armed hug Lando offered. "What a luck though, what happened to Super Max there. I was sure he was going to get this one."
"Congratulations to you as well," Charles answered. He didn't answer the question about Max but he had no idea. His engineer had no idea as well when he had asked about it. He shouldn't have asked though. Why would anyone would worry about their arch rival's race when going for the win. Yet Charles' mind had been always occupied with Max lately more than himself. Thankfully, except for the end of the race, the weekend had managed to ease his worries. Max had looked lively and happy unlike since Abu Dhabi. Max looked like he was generally enjoying himself. Even enjoying usually boring activities like press conferences and team challenges everyone did for Youtube.
Even Checo had texted Charles asking about what had managed to get the old Max back to life and how to preserve this Max. The Monegasque had no idea but whatever the reason was he was grateful. The best part of the weekend maybe wasn't even the race win, it was perhaps the fact that Max was happy again not in a phoney way but genuinely.
After all these years, Charles was able to tell when Max was faking something and this ability of his had been making life miserable for both of them for the last couple of months. Recently, Max had been moody, unhappy and numb. Not in front of the cameras or in front of the team members or even in front of Charles, but whenever he thought no one was seeing him, no one was looking at him.
Charles had tried to dismiss it as a phase. It was a natural reaction to losing a championship you've worked so hard on the last corner. Charles had lost the count of how many times he had watched the last lap of Abu Dhabi. After the safety car restart, Max had overtaken Hamilton but at the last corner, he had braked just a little too late, causing Hamilton to take Max's position and Max's championship.
All the years Charles had raced alongside Max, he had never witnessed a mistake from Max at such a critical point... And it had turned out that Max hadn't made a mistake, it was just an untimely cramp that had fucked everything up.
That was why all things considered Max's overall behaviour had seemed reasonable to Charles, and he had thought it was going to pass before the start of the new season. Yet it didn’t look like it was going to pass anytime soon.
And it wasn’t just this general withdrawn behaviour of Max, The Dutch wasn’t sleeping much as well. Whenever Charles spent the night with Max, he was always waking up to an empty bed in the middle of the night, finding Max on his favourite armchair, looking out to the street, deep in thought.
Every goddamn night.
And Charles knew after he dragged him back to bed, Max was remaining awake. Only pretending to be asleep for Charles’s sake.
But this weekend he showed a glimpse of the old Max and Charles was more than delighted about that. He could have built things on this race weekend's good mood. He only hoped for the mood to not vanish as fast as it emerged.
Speak of the devil, Max finally entered the cooldown room with a wide grin on his face. Lando hugged him first, telling the Dutch that he was sorry about what had happened in the last couple of laps. Max shrugged and told him that it was okay, it was part of the race.
Then it was Charles' turn. There were no cameras in the cooldown room anymore but there were still many eyes and ears around so they had to be careful. That being said nothing stopped Charles from jumping into Max's arms. He heard Max chuckle. "Congratulations. As of today, you are officially the prince of Monaco," Max said.
"Thank you, Verstappen. Means world to me," Charles replied. To anyone else, Charles' words would have sounded sarcastic but he and Max knew he meant it.
The rest of the day went by in a blur.
The podium first. Hearing the Monegasque anthem in Monaco on the podium was something else truly. Charles felt like he had crossed one item off his bucket list. The champagne bath was refreshing under the Mediterranian sun of nearly June. Both Lando and Max had made sure not one inch on Charles' body reminded dry. After the spraying of the champagne ritual was over, the trio had gathered on the podium for the photographs and Max had said "You two are amazing drivers and I am sure you'll retire as legends." Charles had barely heard him over the loudness of the environment and he was sure Lando hadn't heard Max at all yet he was still thinking about the simple statement.
It wasn't really Max's style to say sensitive stuff like this. He had always found emotional speeches a little gay.
After the podium, and boring media duties Charles had found himself on an amazing yacht, celebrating. Nearly everyone had gotten wasted, deservedly so, yet Charles just hadn't felt like getting drunk. He only wanted to see Max and make sure he was alright so when the opportunity presented itself he fled his own celebration party, everyone else was too drunk to notice his absence anyway.
The streets were still blocked due to the Grand Prix so Charles elected to walk to Max's apartment building. The house wasn't that far away from the marina luckily and it took Charles twenty minutes to get to Max's door. Charles didn't knock, he just used his key. He shouted Max's name but got no answer in return. Charles decided that he needed to look around the house before panicking and his search was short as Max was on the balcony.
He was sitting on an uncomfortable plastic chair, instead of the puffy sofa Charles had forced him to buy, zoned out, still in Redbull merch.
“Max,” Charles called for the Dutch. Why hadn't he changed his clothes yet, it must have been hours since he got home? Max did not hear him, though, he continued to stare at nothing. “Max,” Charles tried again, louder.
Max flinched and looked up at him, startled. “Charles?”
“What are you doing?” Charles asked. All the positive thoughts he had tried to plant in his mind were leaving him, only pessimistic thoughts were remaining.
“I…,” Max stopped, having trouble focusing. He raised his phone, checking the time. "I just got here."
Charles swallowed. “No, it has been three hours. You texted me, remember,” he replied, trying not to show any concern. He had before, he had asked Max what was going on, trying to help, but all he had gotten after those attempts had been a cold “I am fine” and even more closed up Max.
Max rubbed his face, getting up to his feet. “I am sorry, I didn’t realise that… I was thinking about something.”
“About what?”
Max smiled. A fake one. “About what a great race you had, darling. And as a reward for this weekend, I've decided to gift my game collection to you. You can have it, you wanted it for so long.”
“What?” Charles wanted that, that was true. All of the games Max possessed were missing pieces in Charles' collection. Yet Max loved them, loved playing with those outdated games, why was he giving up on that? “Didn’t you say that you were going to give it to your children or something?”
Max raised his eyebrows. “Did I? Well, I like them, yes, but I love you more, you can have it.”
Charles had a bad feeling about it but said nothing. “Thank you,” he said instead.
Max stared at him for a few seconds, with a warm, loving expression. This one was real. "You looked amazing on the podium today. Like the Greek god of Formula 1. Flawless, untouchable, hot as hell." Max got closer to the Monegasque, embracing him. "I hope you'll get the championship you deserve this year."
"Can I take it as Redbull won't make it as hard as they can then?" Charles joked. He put his head on Max's shoulder. The Dutch was still smelling like Champagne.
"I am sure they will," Max mumbled. They stayed like that on the balcony for a while, just hugging each other and savouring the moment.
"What happened today? I was so ready to answer questions on my P2," Charles asked. They usually avoided talking about Formula 1 world this shortly after a race but Charles was curious.
Max shrugged. "I've made a mistake."
"You don't make mistakes," Charles said. At least not when racing alone.
"Don't I? It seems that I am only making mistakes in the most crucial moments."
"Max, are we back to Abu Dhabi again? I thought-"
Max got out of Charles' embrace. "I'll take a shower, you can use one too, darling," he said and walked inside.
After a prolonged shower where once again he tried not to think about Max, Charles was sitting on the couch in the living room, trying to pick a movie to watch. He was tired and all he wanted to do was lay on a couch with Max and relax.
And also maybe a little bit of wine.
The Dutch was wearing a white plain t-shirt and baggy black sweatpants. “Hi,” Max said and sit down next to Charles, he touched Charles' chin and turned Charles, making him face himself. He touched his lips to Charles’s for a moment. “You are having an amazing season, darling. I am so proud of you,” he said, leaning in once again to kiss him. This time Charles did not let him go easily, giving him a proper kiss.
Charles had this feeling in his chest, like… like something was wrong. Even the way Max kissed was not right. Not like him.
But maybe it was all in his head, after all, today had been great for both of them.
Max was the first one to break the kiss. “I love you, Charles. Never forget that, okay?”
“I would never,” Charles replied. He was going to say `I love you too`, but his eyes caught something in the room's corner.
Boxes, lots of boxes.
Interesting
“What are those?” Charles asked as he got up and walked to that corner. There were at least fifteen boxes.
Mom
Dad
Lando N.
Noah
Dany Ric.
To the best sister in the world
These were written on the boxes that were facing him, others were facing the wall so he couldn’t read what was written on those. There was a bigger box on top of the pile.
Charles Leclerc, my best friend.
He wanted to reach for the box and see what was inside, but Max grabbed his hand. “Mister, keep your hand off that, it’s not the time yet.”
Charles got his hand back and did not make a move towards the boxes again. “What are these?” he asked.
“I was cleaning, and I realised there were tons of things lying around that I don’t use, but other people would love. I’ll send them… soon, when they are complete,” he said.
“Can’t I take a look at mine?” Charles asked, pointing at the box on top with his head.
Max grabbed his cheek, squeezing it. “Nope.”
Charles rolled his eyes. “Fine. I am not that curious, anyway.”
Charles moved in his seat, he was sitting down on the couch, his legs were stretched on the couch, and his back was leaning on Max’s chest. They were watching Cars. He had chosen Cars for their movie tonight. He loved that movie ever since he was little and it was one of Max’s favourite movies as well. Max had always said that he knew what Mcqueen felt.
But today, Charles was almost certain Max was paying no attention to the movie, he couldn’t see his face, but he could feel Max was brooding behind him. He touch Max’s arm, which was wrapped around him.
“Are you excited for the rest of the season,” he said, trying to start a conversation. “Now that Mercedes is not that shitty anymore, we'll have more opponents than usual.”
“You'll do great, I am sure,” Max said.
What?
Charles tried to sit up to face Max, but Max kept him in his place, pressing Charles into his chest, using his arm. “Don’t move, I like this position.”
“Why are you keep saying that I'll do great. Don't you want to be the champion as well?”
Max kissed Charles’s head but said nothing. Charles sighed. “I don’t like when you talk like this, not one bit.”
“RedBull will give you a good competition, Leclerc, you don't need to worry,” Max said, but the sarcasm in his tone was hard to miss.
“Why are you saying it like that? RedBull. Not I, but RedBull.”
Max removed his arm from Charles. “I know you are dying to drink that wine I've promised you. Let's open it, it needs to breathe thirty minutes before we can taste it. You get the corkscrew, I get the wine.”
What is the problem, Max? Talk to me, I beg you, don’t leave me in the dark like this. Something is troubling you for months now… just talk.
“Okay,” Charles said, getting up from the couch. He went to the kitchen and stay there, standing.
Why doesn’t he just let me help him?
Charles exhaled.
Time was going to solve everything.
He opened the top drawer to find a corkscrew, but it wasn’t in its usual place, so Charles kept looking at other drawers until he found something else.
Vials and needles.
Interesting.
He picked one of them to see what were they the medicine of.
Morphine.
Not one, not two, but at least twenty of them were just sitting in the drawer.
Empty.
Charles felt like someone punched him in the face, he felt strength leaving his hands. There must have been an explanation for this. Right?
Some sort of medical condition that he didn’t know about.
He walked back to the living room, Max was sitting on the couch, the wine in his hand, looking down at his lap even though the movie was still playing on the television.
“Max,” Charles said, keeping his voice calm. There was an explanation for this. Plus, he would have noticed the marks needle would have left on Max’s arms. If he hadn't then fucking RedBull should've. “What are these doing in your kitchen,” he asked, raising the empty bottle so that Max could see it.
Max frowned first, then closed his eyes and huffed. “I am sorry, I was going to throw them out, but I don’t know, I forgot about it.”
Charles closed his fist around the bottle and the needle, squeezing it. “Is this the explanation?”
Max got off the couch. “It’s my business,” he said in that monotone voice Charles hated so much. What had he missed? A year ago, six months ago, everything was fine, he was living in a paradise six months ago.
How did we get here? Why did we get here?
Charles throw the things he was holding to the floor, he heard a shattering; he didn’t care to look at it. Max winced but show no emotions. It was like he was detached from him, from reality. “Fuck that. Your business? There is no such thing.”
He marched to Max, Max walked back to avoid him, but Charles grabbed his arm, turning it around to look inside of his elbow. It was clean. “Charles, stop it,” Max said. Charles couldn’t care less about his wants right now. He held the other arm, turning it. It was clean as well.
“I don’t understand. I should have noticed it. Why didn’t I notice it?”
Max touched Charles’s upper arm. “Don’t blame yourself, you couldn’t have. I didn’t use my arms, I used my legs.”
Something clicked in Charles’s brain. All the times he had seen random bruises in Max’s legs. When he had asked about them Max had always dismissed Charles, saying he had hit it to the coffee table or it was a gym injury.
“How long?”
“Six months.”
Charles snorted. So since Abu Dhabi. Six months. Six months of this, and he had never noticed Max was on something.
“Is this why you couldn’t sleep lately. Because I was here and you couldn’t… inject this shit?”
Max smiled. A sour one. “I took it because I couldn’t sleep, didn’t work on that regard, but… I don’t know the high was distracting.”
Distracting. Not euphoric, not pleasant, but distracting.
“I… What did I do wrong? Why are you doing this?” Charles closed his eyes in a weak attempt to stop the tears.
Like a wild animal in a cage, he felt desperate.
Max caressed his face. “Nothing. You are the best boyfriend anyone could ever want. I am not even gonna mention what a fucking amazing friend you are.”
That was not what Charles wanted to hear. He grabbed Max’s hand, kissing it. “Max, my love, what is going on? You avoid me, avoided this question for months now and this. Just talk to me, please. We can overcome anything. Just tell me. Why are you feeling like this?”
Max smiled at Charles. “Even if I tell you, can you understand, Charles? I don’t think anyone can.”
Charles held Max’s hand firmer, he pressed it on his chest. “Just try. Even If I don’t understand, I can listen.”
“No,” Max. “I’ll tell you, but not now. Please don’t insist now.”
“You said the same thing about the box as well.”
Max chuckled. “I’ll tell you when you get your box.”
Would shaking him, shouting at him to get him to his senses would have worked? Charles did not think so. “Okay,” he said, not that there was anything else he could have done.
He was fucking helpless.
“But, this morphine thing-”
“It’s over. I don’t touch it anymore. It has been like a month now.”
Charles wanted to believe that. He really did, but after today, he couldn’t trust anything Max was saying. “Show me,” he said.
“What?”
“Take off your pants.”
Max laughed. “Look at you, what happened to the foreplay?”
“Max, don’t joke around. Take your pants off. I am gonna look at your legs.”
“No,” Max declined. “You just have to trust me.”
“I fucking don’t. Why don’t you show me if you have nothing to hide?”
Max huffed but nodded. Charles let go of his hands. Max removed his sweatpants and threw them onto the couch. “What are we gonna do now, are you gonna kneel in front of me?”
Charles paid no attention to Max’s words... because of the bandage on Max’s left thigh.
Please don’t let this be what I think it is, please don’t let this be what I think it is.
“Sit down,” he ordered, not being able to stop his voice from quivering. Max did as he was told and Charles sat next to him, pulling Max’s legs to himself. There was no sign of any injection, he was truly clean, but that was not the problem.
The problem was the thin scars covering his inner thighs. Breath stuck in Charles's lungs, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t talk.
How did a day that started so amazing had turned into this?
Was he blind? He had seen Max naked countless times; he had showered with him. How had he managed to miss these?
Fucking how?
Some tears left his eyes, he noticed when Max wiped them with his fingers. “Don’t cry, please. It’s not as bad as it seems.”
Charles touched the bandage, it was new; it had bloodstains on it. “I want to look at it.”
“They are old scars,” Max kept talking. “I haven’t done it in years. It’s a long-forgotten habit.”
Charles’s face was emotionless, but tears kept rolling down. “What about this?”
“That was different.”
How different? What is the difference? Are you telling me you didn’t cut yourself like butter?
Charles had seen razors in the trash, in the bathroom, but he had not thought twice over them, what a fucking blind person he had been.
“Did you do this with a razor?” Charles asked, removing the bandage. As he expected, there were fresh cuts, but they were not superficial like the others, they were deeper. Not deep enough to require stitches, but deep enough to still bleed.
“It’s different when you do it in a bathtub,” Max said. “The water turned red, and it didn’t stop bleeding till I left the tub. I was a bit scared.”
Charles had to stay strong for Max, but he couldn’t after seeing the state of his leg. He started to sob; he tried not to, but everything was too much. “I failed, Max. I don’t know how this happened. I am sorry. I am so sorry. Forgive me, please.”
Max removed his leg from Charles's lap and hugged him, putting his head on Charles’s shoulder. “There is nothing to forgive. Don’t beat yourself up. It’s not your fault. Everything will be okay soon. There will be no need for you to worry.”
Charles wiped the tears off. “It will. Yes, it will.” He grabbed Max’s face as gently as he could. “I’ll make everything okay. I’m never going to leave you alone again. I’ll move here and I’ll fix you. Okay?”
“I am not broken, Charles. I don’t need-.”
“Okay?” Charles insisted with a stronger voice this time.
Max nodded. “However you want.”
A month had passed on that dreadful day when Charles had met with the reality in the harshest way possible. He had kept his promise and had not left Max alone, not one day, not one night.
And just as Max had promised, he was doing much better. No more morphine, no more scars, and not only this but, he was smiling more, laughing more acting like the old Max.
It was like that paradise Charles thought had vanished from his life forever was indeed back. Only one thing was disturbing Charles, one thing was casting shadows on their sunny days.
Those boxes in the living room.
Every time he saw them, this sombre feeling was creeping up to his heart. So this morning when he saw them gone, he couldn’t help but smile.
“What did you do with the boxes?” Charles asked as he saw sleepy Max walk into the kitchen.
Yes, Max was sleeping too, for real. It had cost Charles a few sleepless nights to be sure, but it was nothing in comparison to the relaxation he had felt.
“I mailed them last night, to their owners,” Max said as he sat down. He beamed at Charles. “I put yours in your home, but you’ll have to wait to open it till you get back.”
“Well, I am just glad that they are gone.”
They had their breakfast, Max was in an even better mood today, cracking jokes, feeding Charles, smiling. This actually helped Charles to ease his concerns, so he was thankful. He was concerned because Max wasn’t going to fly to the UK with him; he was going to come with a flight two days later.
It was because of a stupid injury. Max had stepped on glass and injured his foot. If Charles hadn’t been there when it happened, he would have never believed Max and he would have never left him alone, but it had happened in front of everyone in the gym.
What was broken glass doing there? That was a mystery.
The doctor had said after a few days of treatment and he could drive again, so he was flying late. As the boxes were gone and Max was acting like… Max. Charles didn’t think much about it.
“I can stay if you don’t want to fly alone,” Charles offered for the twentieth time while checking his suitcase.
“Don’t be silly,” Max said as the doorbell rang. “It must be Daniel.”
Max went to the door, Charles grabbed his belongings and followed him. Daniel had come to drive him to the airport. “Hello, did someone call for a handsome driver,” Daniel said as Max opened the door. He, Charles and Lando were gonna share the same jet to the UK. Because, well, environment.
Max hugged him, Daniel hesitated a few moments to return the hug. It was not much like Max. Charles answered Daniel's silent question with a shrug. “Daniel, you do know that you are one of my best friends and I love you, right?”
Daniel giggled. “That came out of nowhere but yes I know and I love you too, but there is no need to flatter me, I’ll drive Charles, regardless.”
Chuckling, Max let go of Daniel. “And you were right in Baku. I made a mistake, I was selfish and didn't think my moves through.”
Daniel arched an eyebrow. “Years later, and you finally admitted defeat. I can sleep peacefully tonight.” He reached for Charles’s suitcase. “I’ll take this down while you two say goodbye because I feel like there will be a lot of kissing which I do not wish to witness.”
The duo laughed as Daniel disappeared into the elevator. Charles turned to Max. “As I’ve said, I don’t have to go.”
“Charles, I’ve been so lucky to have you. Thank you for taking care of me the past month, for just being with me, really. Thank you.” He grabbed Charles’s neck, pulling him in. They kissed in front of the door like their lives depended on it.
“Wow,” Charles said. “Do you think Dani would mind waiting for a few minutes? Because-”
“He would,” Max replied. “I love you, don’t forget that and fly safe, okay?”
Charles kissed him on his cheek. “I love you too. Don’t worry, I’ll land in one piece and, mister, I’ll call you before boarding if you don’t pick it up, I will not board the plane, got it?”
Max nodded. “Got it, boss.”
“Okay, I have to go, Max. We are about to board,” Charles said as he walked to the plane with everyone else. “See you in two days,” with that he hung the phone up.
“What is he saying,” Lando asked, playing with his phone.
“That he is taking a warm bath with bath salts and everything. I guess, he is enjoying life.”
Daniel groaned. “A lot better plan than flying to fucking England. I hate the weather there.”
“It's raining right now,” Lando said. "My favourite kind of weather."
“Fucking great,” Daniel mumbled. “Hey, do you know anything about the package Max had sent me? I forgot to ask Max. It arrived before I left today.”
“Yeah, he gathered junk lying around and mailed it to friends and family who might have use for it,” Charles replied.
“Junk? It wasn’t junk. It was that toy car collection he had that I’ve always had my eye on and the Dune book he had, which was signed by Frank Herbert.”
“What? No way,” Lando said. “He keeps that by his bedside.”
“Yeah, I was surprised too, and he also sent a letter with it which was two pages of emotions, I cried for like ten minutes, I called him to thank him but he didn’t pick it up.”
Charles came to a halt, Lando and Daniel stopped with him. “Move, Charles. Zac gets grumpy when we are late,” Daniel said.
Charles did not hear him, he only heard what Max had told him.
I’ll tell you when you get your box.
I mailed the boxes last night to their owners.
The wound didn’t stop bleeding till I left the tub; it was scary.
I am gonna take a long bath now.
“I need to go to my home and check that box Max has sent,” Charles said and started walking in the opposite direction. Daniel and Lando followed him, even though everyone around them protested against it.
“Charles stop. We can’t go anywhere. We have to board the plane,” Daniel said, holding Charles’s arm.
Charles shook him off. “You don’t understand. Why would he give up the things he sent you? He loved those things. I remember he dusted that car collection every goddamn day and read a line from that book to me every night.”
The realisation hit Daniel. They knew about the self-harm; they knew about the morphine and mood swings of Max. Charles had told the duo. He shouldn’t have, but he needed a confidant. “And the letter he wrote, it’s like a goodbye,” Daniel said, exactly what Charles was thinking.
“You are being stupid, you just talked to him on the phone, if you go there now, he’ll know you never actually trusted him, you never believed in he can improve,” Lando cut in.
“I cannot get on that plane with this doubt in my chest. I have to see that box.”
“Okay,” Lando said. “Your house is not that far away. I'll talk with our teams, you two go, check whatever you want to check and come back here as fast as you can.”
The drive home was the longest drive Charles had ever experienced. The longest. His shaking hands had not allowed him to drive, so he had let Daniel do it.
He ran to his floor, not having enough patience to wait for the elevator, he entered the code and run in. The box was sitting on his dinner table. Charles ripped it open, there, on top of everything stood a letter.
To my Charles
Charles couldn’t open the letter, his hands were shaking too much for it, he let Daniel do it and then snatched the paper away from his hands.
My Charles,Love,
I am sorry that you had to love me among all the people. I never deserved you, yet you stood by me all time. Do you remember you asked me "why" and I told you that you would not understand, but I’ll tell you anyway when the time comes?
Here it goes.
I haven’t felt like myself for a long time now. I feel like no one sees Max anymore, not my parents, not my siblings, not people I’ve grown up with, not even you. They don't understand me, they don’t see me.
The worst is I don’t see myself anymore, either. I failed at the most important moment, that was the point of my life, I've worked all my life for that instant for that corner in Abu Dhabi and I failed. I don't know who I am outside of racing and I don't want to race anymore. And without it, I feel empty, that feeling of emptiness… it’s unbearable. I tried, I really tried, you know this. I found courage and strength to go on and look for myself when I was with you, but I couldn't have relied on you forever, I couldn't have been your burden forever.
I am going to take this burden off your shoulders. I know you are going to get mad at me; I know you will not understand, but I swear you did your absolute best. You couldn’t have done anything better.
I love you, Charles. I’ll always love you and I know you’ll love me too. Carry me in your heart, but carry on as well.
Win that championship for me, darling.
Maxie
Charles gave the letter to Daniel and ran out. Ran to his car. Max’s house was close to his, he checked his watch. It hasn’t been even half an hour since he had talked with Max.
Charles drove and cried, he wasn’t even able to see the road; the tears were clouding his sight. He noticed Daniel was in the car too when he had turned the wheel to stop the car from crashing.
He stopped the car and get off, not even turning off the engine. His heart was beating in his throat while he climbed the stairs, Daniel, not far behind. He pushed the door open, meeting a dead silence.
He ran to the bathroom. The door was locked, but he could hear Queen was playing inside. “Max, open the door,” he shouted. “Max, please.”
Daniel pushed him away, and he kicked the door, nothing happened at first but the second time the door flew open. Charles ran inside.
There he was.
Max.
Lying in the crimson water, motionless. The wrist he had cut was out of the water and had stopped bleeding.
He had taken it out of the warm water. Maybe he had given up on dying.
“No, no, no,” Charles said. Going next to Max. He grabbed Max’s head, putting his two fingers on his neck, trying to get a heartbeat. He waited, moving his hand when he felt nothing, thinking, hoping it was not the right spot.
“Come on, Max. You cannot leave me like that.” Charles whispered. Daniel was next to him now, calling an ambulance and pressing on the wrist with a towel.
“Charles, tell me he is alive,” Daniel pleaded next to him.
“I don’t know,” Charles yelled, but then he felt a pulse under his blood-soaked fingertips, he waited a few seconds and he felt another one.
The most amazing thing he had ever felt.
The weak heartbeat of Max.