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Kimi looks to the seafront. He wants to distract himself, desperately, but he just can’t. It keeps on echoing in his mind, haunting him silently.
“ .. And Andrea Kimi Antonelli is in the wall ! “
On his FP1 debut too.
The waves crash and he wants to swallow himself in the vast, grainy sand. The boy would be very happy to be buried here. And eventually the tide would take him.
Take him to where, he does not know. All he knows of is that feeling nothing would be better than being a lifelong failure, starting at 18 years old, by humiliating himself in front of fellow Italians, with millions of people watching.
He would feel peace. The voices would not get louder, only he would feel nothing from then on.
The sea replicates his feelings. It seems to get him, thrashing violently against the fine, golden sand that he so wishes could envelop him eternally.
It’s silly, he tries to convince himself, feeling this self-deprecating over a crash.
The clouds look beautiful, but they are getting dimmer. As if they are representing himself. A star that once shone momentarily, now so dull, losing all of the spark. Once stars lose their sparks, their shines, people find more interesting ones to replace the love that was once directed to the now faded ball of celestial body.
He can imagine what his fans are doing right now, and that star metaphor is exactly that.
In a couple centuries’ time, he will become just a distant memory. Marked in the history books of those who never made it. The failures, the people who believed, the ones who were always just too young to understand.
The Italian’s thoughts are so loud, he sees them, sees the visions. The visions, once aspiring, now so worthless. He wishes that he was always unobtrusive and didn’t draw any attention from anyone, instead of working his way up and being ever so confident in that dream that he’s had ever since he was a small child, playing with little toy cars, then failing right at the top league, where he’s wanted to be for over ten years.
Obviously he had worked for this, and people reminded him to not get too upset about it when his car was retired back into the garage. His father had always pushed him to do something magnificent in his life and make it. Kimi can just imagine the disappointment from his family and loved ones. How George stared at the screen as his car was driven into the barriers by some reckless little Italian whom is barely 18. So good yet so bad, to get an opportunity like that, fuck it up and then go to the seafront and sulk. He can seriously feel his life go to waste over time, his body filled with tension and dread in the otherwise calm atmosphere with the sea weeping along with him, tears flowing down his face.
He sniffles sadly. Nobody around. Just himself, his thoughts and the relatively thought provoking atmosphere.
All of a sudden, it feels like time stops. He feels those big arms around his waist. The smell of the other boy’s cologne, something almost musky, but he knows the soft scent all too well.
Home.
Ollie. Oliver James fucking Bearman. His favourite person in the entire world. His world.
He doesn’t feel so suicidal anymore, despite the fact that he would be content to die in his arms. At least then, he would die a happy death, knowing that the most kind man he’s ever met will surely bring him peace in the permanent sleep.
He finally meets Ollie’s eyes, although just for a short moment.
“..Kimi.”
Kimi’s breath hitches briefly, but hides the sadness on his face in a sorry attempt.
“Why are you here? I just disappointed my entire family. I’ve been working for this.”
Kimi says, sharper than intended. Ollie flinches slightly but doesn’t back away from the strong, comforting hold he has on the Italian. He looks at him with those soft, brown eyes, almost comforting him with just a look.
“It’s not your fault. These things happen, Kimi.”
Kimi obviously does not believe that, at all.
“Ollie, you don’t understand. I’ve been working for this my entire fucking life, our opportunities were never just handed to us on silver platters,” Kimi replies.
He has his head down, looking at the sand. In all seriousness, he is scared out of his mind. Mercedes were always made to be his future, and that golden opportunity he’s always wanted may be out of reach now. All because of a stupid mistake he made on track, just too caught up in the moment. They have the final decision to give him a seat, or give some other rich boy one. Kimi knows he wants.. no, needs, to be in that car.
If not, then what is he made for? He would just be destined a life of being forgotten, forever.
Kimi looks up slightly, and Ollie can see the signs that he is overthinking about the entire ordeal. He rubs his back gently with a soothing, gentle touch.
“Kimi, please,” Ollie speaks up, unexpected among the silence, “Toto loves you. You’re already like his son. And, in my entirely non biased opinion, you deserve to drive that Mercedes more than anyone else. You’ve worked so hard to get to this point. I believe in you.”
Kimi just nods weakly in a wordless response. It is true, Toto is incredibly fond of him. But the voice won’t go away at the back of his head, the demon telling him that it’s all gone now, that he has threw it all away. His silly dream shattered into pieces, that he worked ever so hard for.
“And.. if you do get that seat, you’ll be in the Mercedes. I’d be in a Ferrari. Or a Haas. Both would result in absolute sad British boy year for me.” Ollie breaks the momentary silence. Kimi manages to let out a small giggle at that. He always knew what to say.