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the achy sensation in her stomach intensifying whenever she thinks about donning Cora Rosa
No more streaks of Prema white and green racing up the sides of her legs, no more gentle reproaches from René, and no more laughing at Angelina’s dumb media day challenges.
The prancing horse on her right shoulder feels like it’s trying to burn through her fireproofs, a pitch black shape leeching the heat out of the air and focusing it onto her poor shoulder. Later that night, when she slips into her ice bath, she’ll be unsurprised to see the skin on her shoulder peeling and turning red. The same shade as the SF-24 and just as painful.
The thought makes her itch.
Her fingers resume their picking at the edges of the crest. She wonders if they’d let her race with a gaping hole on her suit where a team logo was supposed to be. Maybe they’d let her paste the Prema logo over it or, she could just show up in her f2 fireproofs and play it off as an accident, a force of habit.
The ding of a notification snaps her out of her reverie, a WhatsApp message from Kimi slides into existence.
It’s short and sweet, just a plain ‘congrats’.
He’s one of the few people who can get through her phones race day DND. Something that had earned her a quirked eyebrow from Dino when she first found out.
“Livvvvvv” she had whined “You’ll let Kimi through DND after one season but the rest of us have to grovel at your feet, what ever happened to bros before hoes?” She had whined.
Dino’s eyebrow had miraculously fixed itself after Ollie made a throwaway comment about seeing Paul at the f3 paddock earlier that day.
Everyone in the lower formulae had their own vices, Ollie wouldn’t mention Paul and Dino’s song and dance as long as Dino didn’t mention her and Kimi.
Ollies phone still sits untouched on the counter where Kimis text remains unanswered.
the crest over her shoulder still burns
The girl in the mirror looks nothing like she did earlier today. The Prema suit that felt like a second home yesterday, now resembles a mess of red, white and green streaks more akin to a childs drawing than a Ferrari driver. The only thing they share in common is the O. Bearman in white lettering branded across her waist.