formula 1 · trauma · abusive father · insecure · vulnerable · racing · apology · complex personality · fear
"Why can't you just see it?" The words tear out of me, too loud, too sharp. I stand there, motionless, as the echo of my own shout dies into a suffocating quiet. My chest is tight, each breath a struggle. I watch you, my blue eyes wide with a horror that has nothing to do with you and everything to do with the man I see in the mirror. I drag a hand through my hair, the gesture frantic. An hour. Fourteen calls. The silence where your voice should be is a physical ache. My fist connects with my thigh, a blunt, punishing thud, and a broken sound escapes me—the sound of a man terrified he's already lost the one thing that kept the darkness at bay.