Chapter Text
2012
He watched as his dad left the service station and drove off into the distance. Alone and scared, Max loitered underneath the shop roof putting up a bravado to hide how scared he really was. He tried to look like he had a purpose, that he was waiting to be picked up instead of just being abandoned God knows where.
Max stood there for what seemed forever but in reality, was probably only 30 or 40 minutes or so. He was busy fiddling with the sleeves of his hoodie when a tall woman walked over to him. He tried to avoid looking at her but in the quick glance he took, he noticed the women's worried expression and concerned eyes.
‘Are you ok young man?’ She asked in a broken English accent. She had an underlying German accent and was either holidaying here or had recently moved to where Max had been abandoned.
‘I’m fine.’ He replied, trying to sound confident, ‘Just waiting for my parents.’
It wasn’t a total lie after all.
‘Would you like to borrow my phone to ring them? See where they are?’
He watched as the lady held out her iPhone at him. Hesitantly, he grabbed it and started dialing the one person who would never let him down.
His mum said she would be 40 minutes or so and not to worry. Just stay safe and she’ll be there. Neither one of them mentioned his dad and why he could have possibly done this. Deciding that enough was enough, he got up from the ground where he had sat for the last 20 minutes or so and walked towards the slip road. He might as well entertain himself in spotting cars in the meantime.
He stopped at the end of the greenery where the grass ended, and the hard concrete began. Cars were speeding past just over a meter away from him. They looked so slow compared to formula one cars. He remembered the noise and the speed from when he was little, watching his dad race. He watched as they sped around the track in no time at all and yet these cars, these cars were doing about a third of the speed that a formula one car can do yet could still kill a human.
Max blinked as the dark thought entered his head. Would he die if one of these cars hit him now? He would be gravely injured no doubt, but would he die? What would his legacy be? Max Verstappen the boy who lost the karting championship. Probably that to be honest. Would his dad care or would he just train Victoria instead? Would his dad finally shed a tear for him? Tell him how proud he was of him if he were dead?
Time passed by and no one disturbed him. A young teenager standing on the slip road of a petrol station facing the traffic. Cars zoomed past him never-ending yet he there he stood. His mother had always told him to take everything one step at a time. Now all he needed was one step and everything would end. There would be no more karting, no more pressure, and no more disappointing looks and harsh punishments from his father. Taking a deep breath, he exhaled for the last time and he hyped himself up to take the step. Suddenly, a car honk stopped him from stepping out. He turned his head around and saw his mum waiting in her car, looking somewhat perplexed at Max. Looking back at the traffic, he realised he couldn't do that in front of his mum, he couldn't do that to her, he couldn’t traumatise her so he slowly walked back to the petrol pumps, opened the car door and seat belted himself in.
‘Je ok lieverd?’ (You ok sweetheart?)
‘Ja Moeder. Ik hou gewoon van het kijken naar de auto's gaan door snel’ (Yes mother. I just like watching the cars go by fast.)
His mother nodded, satisfied with the answer, and drove out of the service station home. Max shut his eyes and tried his hardest not to cry. He tried not to think of the punishment that lay ahead. As long as he made it to F1, everything would be worth it and would get better.
2021
It was not worth it. Not anymore.
He wasn’t entirely sure when everything mounted up and it became too much if he was going to be honest with himself. His dad taught him not to be a quitter and that you push through everything but pushing get tiring and exhausting and quite frankly Max didn’t know how much more strength he had left in him. Not only was their immense pressure from Red Bull who wanted a championship this year but never-ending questions were circulating. Could Max do it? Would Max destroy yet another teammate? Would he lash out when things don't go his way?
They were five races into the season and Max already had two DNF, one podium, and some measly points- nothing compared to his start last year. He would sometimes catch other drivers looking at him, judging him whenever he messed up or when he was sitting in the garage sulking after not achieving what was expected of him. He saw the questioning looks in their eyes; what happened to you?
His father's voice was ever-present in his head. His insults running through Max's mind 24/7 with no hint of them stopping anytime soon. On top of that, his head felt like it was full of cotton wool. He wasn't coming down with anything, his head just felt full of stuff; never-ending thoughts, what-ifs, ways out. He tried not to think too darkly or head down that path but sometimes it was the only way to please his father's voice in his head.
Socialising started to get too much for him. He couldn't handle being in the same room as other drivers anymore; on or away from the track. He always sat a distance away from everyone. At first, Lando or Pierre and Daniel would come and sit with him and talk to him, but he didn't offer many conversations back. A few sentences at most and he kept it vague, very vague. Pretty soon they gave up trying to socialise with him and sat with their other friends, having deep, meaningful conversations with each other and sometimes looking over at him very briefly.
Lando tried to invite him to play more online games and stream with him but he denied them all. He was failing in F1, he didn't need to fail in virtual worlds as well and in front of millions of people, nonetheless. Daniel tried to invite him out when he was in Monaco. He suggested they go down to the harbour with some mates and mess around or go somewhere for a few drinks but again he declined. He didn't want to talk about racing, and he didn't want to see any more pity in people's eyes about how shit his career was going. A few of the other drivers dropped him some messages and asked if he was ok, normally after shitty races. Max just replied 'yes' to them then left it at that. His life was his own business, not anyone else's.
The driver conferences didn't help either. Alex made a random comment about Max being more anti-social recently to the press and he imagined it was him trying to figure out his car. He didn't have the heart or the energy to tell them that it was because he was so scared to leave his driver's room, so scared to see anyone else pitiful looks, to see their small sad smiles aimed at him. He didn't have the heart that leaving his driver's room scared him so much that he would start hyperventilating and soon a full-blown panic attack would occur. Max didn't want to tell anyone about that. He didn't need to show any more weakness. He'd already shown enough through his failures this year. Instead, he chose to ignore what Alex had said and just vaguely answer the questions that were given to him.
He really hit a low point during Spain. His car had to be retired in lap 20 on Sunday due to a crash with Vettel. He wasn’t entirely sure what had happened. One moment he was entering turn 9 and the next he was spinning, stopping just inches away from Vettel’s spun car as well. His father was not happy, to say the least. Although there was no physical punishment this time, Jos Verstappen's loud voice was still ringing in his ears, shaking him to the core, reinstating how much of a failure he was. Max left with his head looking down at the floor and made his way back to the Red Bull garage to watch the remainder of the race when he bumped into the German himself.
‘What was that?’ He asked with an annoyed tone and his voice slightly raised.
Max flinched slightly and stumbled over his words when he replied, ‘I don’t know. I didn’t see you.’
‘Didn’t see me?’ The German repeated slightly louder than before, ‘Are you blind?’
The tone made him flinch again and when he didn’t answer Vettel’s question as he was too zoned out to listen, the Ferrari driver took a step forward. Seeing red, Max sprinted off in the opposite direction ignoring the shout of his name as he did so.
He wasn’t entirely sure where he was running to. He saw a secluded area in the Paddock and sat down there and shut his eyes trying to calm the loud voices inside his head. He wasn't sure how long he had sat there for with his eyes closed. He heard the Podium celebrations occur a while back and he dreaded to think how much trouble he would be in for not being present for the media. No doubt there were already a million questions as to why Max Verstappen wasn't answering any questions. They'll probably put it down as him being pissed off and in a terrible mood as per.
He blinked multiple times as he reopened his eyes allowing them to adjust to the light. The sun was still out but it was clouding up and the temperature was slowly dropping. He grabbed his phone from out of his pocket and turned it off silent- something he did before the race began. He grimaced at all the missed calls from Christian. He was about to lock his phone when another incoming call from his principle started ringing out. Panicked, Max threw his phone against the wall watching it smash into millions of pieces. Much to his surprise, he didn't feel regret or a jolt of 'what did I just do?' but instead he felt relieved that he no longer had means of communicating with the outside world. He could just stay in his head and control everything that was going on in there without any distractions.
When returned to the Red Bull garage, there were only a few people left. Most of the drivers had gone back to their hotel rooms by now and if they hadn't Max was sure he wouldn't bump into them anytime soon. He tried to ignore the confused stares of the engineers as he walked back to his drivers' room, collected his stuff, and left. Before doing so he made sure that he got his timetabled emailed over instead claiming that his phone was on the blink and not downloading everything correctly. He didn’t need any more excuses for people to hate him.
The race after Spain ended badly as well. The media were swamping him, asking where was he after the race? Where did he go? Although he didn’t crash into another driver, Max lost control of the car and smashed straight into the barriers. He sat there dazed for a few seconds before he heard a crackled voice on the radio asking if he was alright.
‘Yes. I’m fine.’ He replied disappointed.
Looking back, it was unsure whether that disappointment came from him crashing out of the race or his survival.
He stood in the pit lane, a mere ten minutes later, watching as his car was being towed back in. He dared not to look at Christian or Marko for he feared their angry expressions would scar him for life. He was extremely lucky that his dad was not here this weekend. He wasn’t sure if he could handle that. The voices in his head were already loud enough without his physical presence adding to them.
The one thing that his mind kept racing back to was the second before he crashed. How at peace he felt at the possibility of dying. How calm it made him. How every single worry and every single negative thought and memory had disappeared. He looked back over at his team principal and owner in a heated discussion and it filled him with dread. He knew that there would be a briefing later and he knew that he would get humiliated and ridiculed in it. He knew the other drivers would look at him with pity; how the mighty have fallen. Look everyone, look how far Max Verstappen has fallen. Maybe this was the moment all his dreams had been leading to.
Max Verstappen the boy who was losing the championship. It was like 2012 again. Only this time his dad couldn’t abandon him at a service station.
It was in that second that Max knew he was done. Done with everything. Done with his life.
He grabbed one of the spare notebooks left on the garage side as he headed towards his driver's room. Opening the door and then closing it quietly, Max sat down at the sofa placed delicately in his room. He grabbed a pen from his desk and opened the notebook up. No matter what he was feeling right now, he had to give his family and friends some closure. Closing his eyes and leaning his head back so it hit the wall gently, Max took a deep breath thinking of what to write. It only took a few minutes before inspiration hit.
When you find this then I’ll be gone. I don’t know where I’ll be, but I won’t be there with you guys anyone. My dad was right all along. I am weak and I am useless. Let’s be honest guys, I had been fucking up for a while now. If I wasn’t signed for Red Bull till 2023, they would have booted me out a by now. I wouldn’t blame them for doing so. I’m not as special as they once thought I was. I’m not even a good racing driver anymore and I don’t know if I ever was.
Can you tell me mum and Victoria that I loved them so much and I didn't want them to be disappointed in me any longer. I couldn't bear it anymore. Tell my dad is was right and that I am weak. Tell Lando that it was great being one of his closest friends and I loved playing all those games with him. They really cheered me up whenever I was down. Tell Alex and Pierre that they were great teammates and I’m sorry if I caused them any trouble or ruined their racing careers. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t aim to be a bad teammate. Can you thank Helmut and Christian for the opportunity they gave me? They helped my dreams come true and without them, I would be even more of a nothing then I already am. Tell Charles that I don't actually hate him and that I have always considered him a dear friend of mine and an excellent racer. Finally, tell Daniel thank you and that he meant more to me than he will ever know.
Don’t be sad about this. I knew what I was doing. If it’s any help just know that I’m finally in peace and I’m sure we’ll all meet again someday and somewhere but until then enjoy life and don’t let your lives turn out like mine. Keep pushing guys! You’ll all get there in the end.
Max Verstappen
Placing the letter down on his driver room table, Max took a deep breath exited the room, and slammed the door shut.
Thank you for all the memories.
Slowly he made his way other to the furthest bathroom he could find, walking through the paddock as he did so. He tried his hardest to block out all the memories of his races here. His first win, his podiums, him laughing with other drivers. He didn't dare look up at all the logos of various organisations and companies plastered everywhere. He didn't dare think about Pirelli tires and how shit they were at the British GP last year, he didn't dare think about all the fun activities he had done with Red Bull like playing football, making cocktails, and driving around various locations in cars provided by his team. Tears were already threatening to fall from his eyes, he needed to remain focussed one last time.
Once he reached the bathroom, the driver jammed the main door shut, placing the bin underneath the door handle. He grabbed a toilet brush from one of the cubicles and threw it against a mirror causing it to break into a thousand pieces, shattering against the cold hard floor. Max walked forward and bent down to pick up a reasonable size piece not daring to look at the thousand tiny reflections of himself as he did so.
Taking a shaky breath, he stared at the now blank wall where the mirror once was. He knew he was close to sobbing by now and it was only due to some unknown determination that he wasn’t doing so. He clutched the mirror piece in his hand.
Now or never Max. Just two cuts and it’ll be over.
Unclutching the broken piece of mirror and holding it in his hand, he held his wrist out. Taking one final a shaky breath, he pierced his skin with the sharp edge and cut across. He watched the pouring blood out, dripping down his forearm, onto his hands, and splatting on the bathroom floor. Tears were cascading down his face as he placed the broken mirror piece into his other hand repeated the same actions and watched again.
Just one more step.
He slid down the bathroom wall, onto the floor, his wrists laying either side of his legs, bleeding out. He sobbed out loud and hoped that no one heard him. Keeping his head level and eyes right in front of him, he stared at the white cupboard door underneath the sink. The sound of the F1 cars racing around the track could be heard in the background, their engines fighting and pounding. Not giving up. His mind quickly flicked to his fellow drivers and their determination throughout their racing careers. F1 would be safe in the hands of those guys.
Goodbye, you guys. Drive carefully and stay hydrated. Bye.
Max shut his eyes for the final time.
When his eyes opened again (much to his surprise), he wasn't in the bathroom but instead down a white corridor. People were bustling past him, not noticing him. He looked around the space confused, there were multiple doors along the walls on both sides and people were sitting on chairs looking sad, angry and lost. No stopped to talk to him though he wasn’t expecting anyone too. Why would they?
‘You look a little lost young man?’
Turning around, he was met with stern eyes which reminded him of his fathers. Gulping and stepping back a few paces, Max placed his right hand onto his left bicep as if he was trying to protect himself. The man in question looked to be around 50-60 years old. He was wearing cotton trousers with a blue and white checker shirt half tucked in. He had a grey beard tinged with specks of white giving the impression of a dirty Santa Claus. He looked like he had been dragged out of the 1990s or something. The man crossed his arms and tapped his right foot impatiently as if he were waiting for Max to do something.
‘Well? Are you lost?’ He asked.
‘I don’t know. I… I don’t remember coming here. I don’t know where he is.’ He replied a little timidly while looking around to see if there was anything familiar about the place.
‘So you are lost then. Don't worry it happens to quite a lot of people. One moment you're out shopping or in your car then bam here you are.'
‘Where is he exactly?’ Max asked.
'Well, that's a little more complicated. The infrastructure you see around you is in Barcelona's main hospital but where you physically are… well.'
Max looked back at the man confused. He couldn’t be at a hospital. It was impossible. Everyone was still busy racing when he left. Granted, he did leave a note explaining everything but there was no way anyone could have found him in time, he was sure of it. This must some mistake, some weird psychotic dream before he passed away. It was only then that he remembered what else the man said.
‘What do you mean physically? I’m in a dream, aren’t I? That has to be it. You’ve been created from some subconscious part of my brain.’
‘Young man I can ensure you I am not from your head. I have been in this hospital for nearly twenty years.’
Max stared at the man in shook. There was no way this was happening to him. It had to be a dream. His head was giving him one last messed up hurrah before switching off permanently.
'I have to be in a dream.' Max exclaimed a little angry at the situation. Why won't anyone listen to him? Did his imaginary figures from his head doubt him as well?
'No. You're not because you're not the only one here. I'm here and there are plenty of others around this hospital like you.'
‘Like me?’
‘In the world of the in-between? You my friend are in what the youths of today dub the twilight zone.’
Max stepped back away from his man each pace increasing. He spun around and continued to walk down the corridor and to his surprise the man didn’t call out to him. He started jogging past people, dodging them if they were in his way before he remembered what the mysterious man said. He halted and turned towards a middle-aged man leaning against the wall, a cup of coffee in his hand.
'Excuse me, sir.' Max said but there was no acknowledgment that he even spoke. The man continued to drink his coffee until the cup became empty. He moved off the wall and straight past Max.
‘Excuse me mate, I’m trying to speak to you!’ The Dutchman exclaimed trying again.
He was about to tap the coffee-drinking man on the shoulder when a different voice spoke out from behind him.
‘He can’t hear you. He can’t even see you.’
Max turned around and saw a woman, not much older than he was leaning against the very wall coffee man was just leaning on. She too had her arms crossed and her clothes looked more modern compared to the man he spoke to earlier. However, what really caught Max's attention was her blood-stained t-shirt. A dark irregular circle of blood was present in the middle of her t-shirt contrasting horribly with the purple.
‘I don’t know what you’re staring at. You’re not much better.’
Confused by what she was implying, Max looked down at his wrists and saw the dried blood around them. His hands were covered too. Speechless and shocked about the state of them, he noticed that the ends of his t-shirt were also soaked in blood. Where he had placed his right hand earlier on his left bicep had left a blood mark. He looked back at the girl and watched as the man from earlier joined her.
‘You’re dying boy.’ He stated bluntly, ‘So are you going to fight to live, or are you going to die?’