Fuck you Leclerc | Charles Leclerc

1

Fuck Charles Leclerc.

Fuck him. Fuck his shitty driving. But most importantly, fuck his shitty attitude.

8-year-old Victoria would have been buzzing knowing that 12 years later she would be driving with her bestest friend Charles.

From karting on the local track together, our parents laughing when they split us up as we argued on the track, to competing into formula 4 to 1; we were inseparable.

Until he fucked me over.

3 years prior...

"Charles..." I whispered, unable to call for him as Max aggressively lifted his helmet off his head.

The redness and sweat on his face was most likely caused by the intense battle that we faced on the track together. Approximately 5 minutes ago. Perhaps it was also caused by the fury which was displayed clearly by his furrowed eyebrows and the way he was storming towards me. Oops.

"Avery." He gritted out. The pebble that was stuck in my throat grew into a massive boulder. How I didn't miss 17 year old me's confidence.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing? Do you even know how to fucking race?"

I stared at him blankly, unable to speak, unable to move.

"Did I fucking stutter?", he said as his voice got progressively more louder, stalking his way towards me. I took a step back, my mind blank not knowing what to do.

He stopped abruptly, our chests both touching. The feeling of his transferred vibrations to mine that were caused by his low chuckles. He carefully slid a piece of my brunette hair behind my ear. My ears prickled at his touch.

"No wonder Charles decided to sign with fucking Ferrari. I knew if I were him, I'd pick that over spending an extra day with you any time."
My blood runs cold.

"No wonder Charles decided to sign with fucking Ferrari."

No, no, no. He's lying. 

Charles didn't sign with Ferrari.  Charles didn't even mention his future in motorsport with me, whereas, he knew this was my dream since I was 5 years old. He knew that I stared as the iconic, luminous, red car flew across the Monaco circuit, always jumping up and down with my dad as I squealed in excitement.

"You'll be in one of those cars darling. I know you will." He always said.

Unless what Max said is fucking true.

My eyes followed Max as he walked away maintaining his strong eye contact with me. His lips turned into a smirk, his eyes no longer on mine but to whatever was behind me.

My heart, which was once beating due to the thrill of racing in my F2 car, quickly diminished as the reason to why it still raced.

"Tell me it's not fucking true Charles."

I turned to him. His tall figure stood a few metres away from me, with his intensely white knuckles tightly restraining the helmet that he held in his one hand. His chest heaved, the sweat on his forehead glistened with his soft hair sticking to it, as his mouth was open but with nothing coming out. Those cheery eyes,which once met mine after every F2 race, seemed to have disappeared as the blue eyes that connected with mine were instead filled with horror. I could almost see the breaths leaving his lips.

No. No. No. This cannot be real. His silence speaked volumes, my reaction was mute. My lips shut as they tightened around my mouth.

"Victoria I-"

His words got cut off as his back hit the floor. The skin on my hands were tingling once I pushed him, all of my bones were rattling and the adrenaline that ran through my entire body was accompanied with anger. That anger soon after revealed its entire, true identity - fury. My chest heaved, but unlike Charles, mine was out of rage. My eyes stared into his as he slowly pushed himself back up, maintaining eye contact.

Those blue eyes triggered the memories which intruded my mind.

My eyes darted to his arms that reminded me of the leaps into hugs we had after every podium in F2.

His hands, which he wiped the dirt from onto his racing suit, shot the flashbacks of us running down to the ice cream van that stalled on the pier of Monaco. Our young selves surprising each other with a new flavour each time, or if we argued we looked at each other in pure sympathy and asked "ice cream?".

The shuffles produced by his feet triggered the reminiscent memories of our summer evening bike rides that occurred before every dinner that our families shared with each other. We sat next to each other at the dinner table, rambling about what happened in our race, hours before.
"Charles I just couldn't keep it together when you overtook max and then beat him! Did you see the way he was throwing his helmet to the ground and shouting?"
I said as I laughed, feeling the abs that acted as a facade for the intense happiness that strained my stomach. Charles spat his drank out all on the floor laughing loudly almost falling to the ground.

"Charles! Victoria! Stop acting so ridiculous, go calm down outside right now. Mon dieu" my mum announced, despite trying to contain her own smile.

We stumbled into the large back garden that overviewed the whole of Monaco. The orange hues became deeper and darker into the horizon, with the sun glowing onto both of our smiling faces.
"Did you see- the way- his dad grabbed him at the end- he looked so embarrassed". We fell to the floor laughing again. I shut my eyes trying to stop the pain from laughter getting any more painful. The giggles from Charles rang ever since. 

My eyes met his once again.

"Never speak to me again Leclerc."

Present day

The string of reminisce fought with the pain in my heart.

"Are you ready for qualifying Victoria?", Vasseur asked. My ears prickled at the question.

"I was born ready"