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George didn’t remember the drive back to his hotel room, too confused inside his head to know about his whereabouts. One moment he was still in the paddock and, in the second, he was opening the door to room number 33.
He wanted to die. Everything worked against him, every force in the universe didn’t want him to win and he felt that – or maybe it was just his team who wanted the youngest World Champion and so didn’t give a fuck about George.
But no, of course not. He didn’t really think like that, like his team didn’t want him to win – every team wants their driver to win, right? But on the spur of the moment that was all he could think about, all the failures and bad races this year, all the times he tried to give his best and still it wasn’t enough.
Slowly, his hope for getting that World Champion title was dying inside him, replaced by an urge to throw it all away because honestly, how much longer should he wait? It was supposed to be his year – the car was finally there, Mercedes was ahead of every other team in almost every aspect, and still. Still, it wasn’t George’s year.
But Kimi’s. His younger teammate’s, rookie of Mercedes. Nineteen year old boy who quickly became the favourite of others, his own team, basking in the spotlight not only in the garage, but also on track. Because everyone wanted Kimi to win, everyone. But George? Well, if he’d win, that’s cool but it would of course be better if Kimi won.
He exhaled loudly, managing to go to the bathroom and taking a quick shower, still too frustrated to behave like everything was cool. It wasn’t, fuck, it wasn’t. They’re now somewhere celebrating, cool, but George just couldn’t be George this evening. He didn’t want to be proper, to be understanding, to be someone others could rely on – because now he needed someone like that.
Of course, he still had Lando and Alex, that’s for sure. They were texting each other in their 2019’s rookies group chat since they all DNFed, trying to turn their misery into joking. But George, as much as it hurt to say that, knew that they weren’t all in the same situation. Of course, Alex had a hard weekend overall, but he wasn’t really in the fight for the championship. And even if George wished that one day they would be in this fight together, all three of them, for now he knew that it wasn’t the same – Alex wasn’t just losing his hope for becoming a new World Champion, wasn’t losing his hope for his first title ever, wasn’t starting to doubt himself and everything around him (he certainly did the last bit but George was just too focused on his own misery).
After the shower, he went straight to bed. He didn’t even know if it would be wise to pick up the phone since the opinions obviously would be divided. Some people would be sad and frustrated, just as he, his fans, but there would be others who would be happy from this outcome. He knew he wasn’t really the most likeable person ever, especially compared to other drivers, but it still hurt sometimes when there were so many comments wishing everyone else the best but not him. Sometimes they wished for someone they didn’t like to win just to not see George take the podium.
Of course, George was used to treatment like that, it wasn’t something new. But it didn’t really change a thing – he could be used to it but still get moved by the comments. And it didn’t help that at times like that, when he was already at his lowest, he knew that there were people overjoyed by that.
He closed his eyes, tired after everything that happened. But he knew he wouldn't fall asleep easily, not after so many emotions in one day. He had his melatonin pills with him but he didn’t want to take them. Maybe, subconsciously, he wanted to think more about the race and everything that was happening, even if it wasn’t enjoyable. Maybe, he wanted to torment himself more and more, destroy every positive thought inside him, let himself slip into the abyss.
Suddenly, he heard knocking. At first, he thought he misheard, because obviously he couldn’t think about a single person that would come to him, instead of celebrating, maybe besides Lando and Alex – but he knew that both of them were probably already in their hotels or already flying away from this cursed land. And so, when the knocking rang a second time, he was properly confused. He slowly untangled himself from under the blanket and passed through the room, opening the door to find a certain Max Verstappen standing in front of him.
He didn’t know what to say at first, but then he decided to do what he would always do – plastered a smile on his face and nodded slightly. “What’s up, mate?” He asked, words barely leaving his throat. He had to swallow hard to not sound too… shattered.
It was weird for Max Verstappen to come to him, to visit him, especially that now he had a reason to celebrate. P3, after Kimi and Lewis, his first podium this season. He really shouldn’t be in front of George Russell’s hotel room right now.
“No, George, don’t pretend,” he shook his head in response to George’s question. It made George wince, his perfect persona mask slowly giving up, but not completely. Who was Max Verstappen to see him in his worst state? He wasn’t his friend, damn, he was less than his colleague at times. George recognized him as his rival, true, but their relationship wasn’t really warm and steady recently. They only ever interacted, at least from George’s side, because it’s what you’re supposed to do to not give the media any reason to speak about their conflict.
And yet, it was the same Max Verstappen now standing in front of him, with a determined look in his eyes, eyeing George up and down, probably looking for any signs of his fall down.
“What are you even doing here? You should be celebrating,” he replied softly, his voice quieter now.
“I came to check on you, obviously,” Max rolled his eyes like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
George laughed. It wasn’t a laugh that followed a good joke. It was a laugh of pure disbelief. Max Verstappen caring about him so much that he came to check up on him? That was new, that was something entirely different.
“Well, you checked, so you can go back now,” he finally replied, shaking his head and trying to close the door. He wanted to go back to bed now, to sleep and forget.
But, as it seemed, Max wasn’t having that. He pushed the door aside and stepped inside, closing them after himself, forcing George to step backwards to make space for him.
George frowned, not understanding what was Max’s true intention with him. “Max, what do you want, really?” He asked, tiredness slipping into his voice now. He wasn’t ready for any conversation with the other now.
“Stop pretending, George,” Max exclaimed, pushing George backwards till his knees bumped into the hotel bed, forcing him to sit down and look up at the Dutchman’s face. “Believe me, I know how you feel. I know what’s going on inside you so stop pretending that you’re fine. Be honest,” his words weren’t harsh in tone, but weren’t gentle either. Max didn’t want to coax him, didn’t want him to feel better. No, he wanted him to let go of his frustration, to speak to someone about what he truly felt, not the PR responses he always gave.
And somehow, even after all their shared history, George couldn’t bring himself to pretend anymore. His eyes filled with tears and he hid his face in his hands, trying to hide the state he fell into. Laughable, if anyone else would see him like that, he thought to himself.
“I just can’t understand why I’m never enough?” He asked, whispering now. Max didn’t reply since the question was unanswerable anyway. He was here mostly to let George vent, to let him feel lighter knowing that someone else heard him, heard his thoughts, and didn’t judge him for them. Something George was always scared of, hence the PR answers, polished image and fake smiles.
“It just feels like everything is against me, all the time. The one time we have a car that can win a championship, it’s not me who’s going to do it, it seems,” he choked it out bitterly. “And everyone around me keeps saying that they favor Kimi and I don’t want to think like that, but I can’t, truly. I try to, but, somehow, I’m starting to think like that too. They want the youngest World Champion, I can wait, this is probably what they’re thinking,” he added after a moment of silence, immediately biting his lower lip, embarrassed by what he just said.
Max liked Kimi, he knew that. He would probably try to make him think otherwise, try to reason, and George wanted to go back in time and not say those words. He didn’t want to get lectured by Verstappen of all people, especially in his own hotel room, feeling like total shit.
But Max didn’t do it. He just kneeled in front of George and put his hand on George’s knee, squeezing it gently. “It’s okay, George, you have the right to be angry right now,” he muttered. “It’s not easy, you have expectations you want to uphold, you want the championship because it should be yours this year,” George winces at those words.
Verstappen saying to him that he deserves the championship? He bet that Alex won’t believe him when he’ll tell him about that.
“Right now, you need to rest and stop thinking about it,” Max continued, unaware of George’s thoughts. “You have to stop reading comments, stop watching interviews, just stop. Fuck, stop talking to Toto and Kimi for the time being, if you feel like it, what are they gonna do? It’s obvious you need space right now, I’m sure they’d understand you,” he finished with a light tap to George’s knee.
George wasn’t sure if he heard everything right. It was so surreal, hearing Max talking to him so… normally. Without any banter, quirky remake and any biting comment.
“Why did you come here?” He asked in a hushed voice, suddenly feeling too small in this room, with Max kneeling in front of him. It was almost claustrophobic, at least inside his head.
Max looked like he didn’t know what to say. He opened his mouth, then closed it, again and again, until George was tired of waiting. “Just say it!” He exclaimed, his voice louder than before.
“I don’t know!” Max gasped out. “I don’t know, George, I just– I didn’t like seeing you sad. And you looked sad today, and I… And I thought that maybe you’d like some company, I guess,” he bit his lower lip, avoiding George’s eyes.
George frowned. This time, it was him who was at a loss of words, not knowing what to reply. It’s not everyday that your rival on track comes to your hotel room and says that he doesn’t like to see you sad, after all.
He exhaled loudly, playing with his fingers. “Well, thank you,” he swallowed. “It’s… nice of you. Very nice. To be fair, I didn’t think it would be you, consoling me.”
“But really, thank you, Max. I’m actually happy that it’s you,” he smiled then, a real smile, not the fake one he had plastered on his face just minutes ago, by the door.
Max just shrugged, like it was a normal thing to do – console your rival, that is. “Don’t thank me, mate, it’s nothing.”
“No, really, Max. Thank you,” he said with sincerity and gratitude and… happiness too. His chest loosened a bit and he could finally breathe again, feeling lighter, feeling heard. “It really helped, I think. Obviously I overreacted a little, there’s still many more races in this season, but it’s my first DNF since… Silverstone,” he frowned.
“Really, thank you, Max,” he looks up, straight into Max’s eyes, and smiles. He couldn’t give anything more but a smile, yet, somehow, he knew that would be enough for the other.
Which was weird. Why was he feeling so weird now, with Max, so awkward and shy? Why was he noticing how gentle the other was towards him? And why did he think that Max would be happy seeing him smile?
But the other didn’t seem bothered by the internal battle of George’s thoughts. Instead, he smiled back and ruffled his hair, which made George make a face. “Okay, now, champ,” he turned around, heading for the door. “I’m going out. We’ll talk later, rest for now, yeah?” And, without waiting for an answer, he left the room.
Later at night, George couldn’t fall asleep not because of the race, though that too, but mostly because he couldn’t understand why he was so disappointed that Max left.