I shouldn’t be here. I should be downstairs getting ridiculously drunk with my adopted family, amongst the celebratory throng, where everyone from the lowliest truckie to the highest ranking bosses are caught up in the amazement and thrill of what we have achieved today. All equal for a night, the drink has been flowing since the first of them set up camp in the exclusive hotel bar, the sound of raucous singing flooding the ground floor and probably keeping the more sensible residents in a state of despair!

But let them enjoy their fun, god knows they deserve it. I know I should be there. They call me the icon of the team, the pivot for the current outstanding run of form not seen in years. I don’t think that’s true though. I’m just a driver. The people who are celebrating down there are the ones who do the hard work, the people who never get a mention in the press, those who don’t get paid obscene sums to do something they love, like I do.

Of course, I play a part. But I’m not so sure I deserve the adoration I’ve been getting tonight. I’ll leave that for Rubens to lap up tonight, he should enjoy this night - no, I know he’ll love it, relishing in his role in securing the constructors’ title.

My family, because that is what they are to me now, can celebrate without me for a while. I’ll join them again later. Something tells me that this is one ceremony that will still be going strong into the early hours of dawn. By the time I get back down there, they will probably so drunk that they forgot that I slipped away.

So, instead I’m here. In a darkened hotel room, the silence is sobering, yet three floors below us the party rages on missing us completely. I know you feel guilty, making me miss what should be a wonderful night for me, and you never would have asked me to stay with you. You would have suffered in silence, you have suffered in silence for so long, not wanting to burden me with your melancholy.

You have been down for months that I’ve noticed, but really I don’t know how long this has been going on for. It could be months, even years, but I wouldn’t know, not when you have managed to hide it from me for so long. I don’t even know if you really understand why you are so upset, or whether it’s that you can’t bear to tell me. I’m not sure which would be worse: to think that you couldn’t trust me or that you have no answer to my concerns. But every time I have asked in the past, you have smiled broadly at me and told me not to worry so much about you, making light of your worries and dismissing it with what I always thought was genuine humour. I believed you when you said it was nothing, a simple trivial matter.

Recently though, all that has changed. I’ve not been so easily taken in by you.

Some days would be good. There would be race weekends where I would see a glimpse of the old you in the way that you would simply exude a mischievous optimism. Then others days not even I could get you to open up or genuinely laugh. Oh, I could make you smile maybe for a few minutes, but nothing ever seemed enough to make you content, to see you at peace with your demons.

Well, I say the old you. What I really mean is the you I would see when I never thought you were troubled. Whether that was the faked you or whether you were honestly more carefree, I don’t know. The more I think about it, the more my head spins with uncertainty as my mind recalls once seemingly unimportant memories that now seem to piece together into a disturbing pattern that brings into question just how long you have been unsettled and I had no idea. You were always a moody child at best, prone to sudden swings of mood and temperament. Self-conscious and self-critical, your own worst enemy and perhaps not much has changed in that respect. I wish I could say that I understand, but I don’t. I never did. We all have our doubts about ourselves, so did I and so still do I, which might come as a surprise to many who don’t know me, yet not such a shock to those that do. But you, you seem to suffer a hundred fold and I don’t know why you seem to punish yourself so. An example, our conversations when drinking together safely away from inquisitive ears and obtrusive interruptions, where you would sometimes reveal your insecurities, the alcohol loosening your tongue and you would tell me how you wished you could change yourself. Even small things like a few press comments a few months back saying that you looked like you had put on some weight. No-one else but me saw how it wounded you. For your sake, I pretended that I didn’t notice your act, but keeping quiet was awful.

And on the day when I should be incredibly happy, incredibly at peace, I’ve never seen you as low as you were this afternoon. You tried your best to smile for the cameras as you took your place on the podium, not wanting to spoil what should be a glorious moment for the team and myself. But standing on the third step you cut a forlorn figure, weakly following my lead and spraying the champagne over the ecstatic red sea of mechanics beneath us because I think you thought it was what you should do. Not even your accomplished acting skills could mask your true depression and the press conference only served to reinforce my anxiety over you. Speaking as if reciting a script, your tone scared me. Dulled and monotone, so unlike your normal inflections even on one of your bad days. You seemed completely spaced out, almost unaware of where you were or of the questions you were being asked. The ghost of smiles to the camera spoke more of the resigned chilling laughter of the already condemned. If I had thought your mood was merely to do with today’s performance and the weakness of your team, then that was immediately dispelled as I watched you in front of the cameras. You were fading, caught on film for millions to see, yet I was the only one who noticed.

Today you cracked and I had to be there to look after you even when you at first plain refused to let me in, telling me with a far too steady voice that I had a party to enjoy and people to celebrate with. Shutting me out, I dislike when you do that when you know in truth you hate to be alone. Necessity is the only reason you keep to yourself. You seem to trust very few people. Though why you feel you have to keep me at arm’s length, I don’t understand. It overwhelmed you though, tears fell and then there was nothing that could have kept me from staying, limp arms wrapping around me as tears fell indiscriminately.

When you finally plucked up the courage to look me in the eye, all I could see was self-loathing. A terrible paradox, silently begging for me to help you, but on the other hand pleading with me to go as if for some unfathomable reason you didn’t want me with you. It frightened me but you wouldn’t explain, and your tears restrained my questioning.

At least you’ve calmed down enough to sleep now that the tears have subsided, leaving a sticky trail of salt water down your cheeks. I don’t dare move for fear of waking you again after you have only just settled down, so for now I content myself with being here for you. You haven’t said a thing, though it doesn’t surprise me. I am left to my own imagination, but I don’t trust that so I just don’t think. The only thing you’ve muttered since I came into the room was thank you when I took you in my arms and held you between sobs when not even years of falsehood could stop you finally snapping.

You sigh in your sleep as I try to move to get more comfortable and I freeze for fear of you stirring. But Luck must take pity on you tonight because you simply shift in my arms, still clinging to me like a child to a comfort blanket. Unusual for you to show such vulnerability to me, such dependence, but I don’t mind. If it gives you even a small amount of  relief then I’ll stay with you all night.

Without thought, I run a hand protectively through the soft blond curls of your hair. No, I don’t understand you. I don’t understand how you cannot realise your privilege and show such blatant disregard for yourself. But never condemn, never ever condemn. Stunning beauty coupled with true talent, fierce intelligence and a wonderful nature. Unmappable potential if you only realised you possessed it. But you seem to do everything in your power to ruin it. The one thing I have always wanted for you was for you to lead your own life, for you to find your own happiness. A hollow carbon copy of my existence I know is not how you will achieve it.

She doesn’t make you happy, does she? She isn’t what you wanted in a companion but what you felt you should have. No, not that. What you felt would make you happy. You’ve always searched for elusive happiness. She saw money and you saw someone who appeared to care for you. Despite our warnings, maybe even helped along by them, you did what you thought should make you at peace. Falling for her declarations of love, I could see how the thought that someone loved you gave you a ledge to steady yourself from falling further into depression. I guess I would be lying to myself if I didn’t admit I knew something was wrong back then.

You must know her deception by now. In truth, you’ve probably always known because you play her at the same game. I just don’t like to admit it. But she isn’t the cause, and that, I don’t know what it is. I may dislike her but I cannot find it in myself to hate her for her web of deceit, not without condemning you for being such a willing victim. And she wasn’t the first to take advantage. My trust betrayed by someone I thought was a friend, I will never forgive him for what he did to you, yet I realise you were probably as much at fault as he. Yes, they say a vampire can never enter without an invite. And you invited them both in with open arms. Perhaps I’m being too harsh on her, at least. I don’t know. You won’t tell me otherwise. I just don’t understand why you should throw yourself at the feet of those who will never love you.

Your son gives you little relief either. I know you love him deeply, but the responsibility overwhelms and scares you. You weren’t ready for this. I think he’s only served to make you worse. Yes, he gives you the unconditional love you crave and you pour all your energies into bringing him up, showering him with affection and gifts, but do you think he won’t sense his father’s self-hatred and discomfort? God forbid, he takes after you and suffers in the way I’ve seen you. For all your years, you are still a child yourself.

Because when I think about it, truly contemplate our years spent together, I think that is what it boils down to. Unconditional love, you need it as if it’s the only way you have self-worth. A confidence that hinges on acceptance to survive. Why is another matter entirely. I don’t know. I’m not sure I want to either.

I think that’s why you let me in in the end. The one person who loves you as devoutly as you crave, you have tried to shield me from seeing you like this, a shell of your former self, because you didn’t want me to feel your pain. Even in sleep though your countenance retains the troubled expression of uncomfortable dreams and it is a selfish mercy that as you cling to me even in your slumber your face is partially obscured from view, nestled dependently against my shoulder.

Then, without warning, I hear the soft, trembling tones of your voice as you begin to speak so quietly I have to strain to hear you but just loud enough so I can hear the faint murmurings begging for a forgiveness I don’t know why I have to give. On instinct I pull you closer, holding you tightly in reassurance and giving you a patient ear. I have no idea what you are going to tell me, but you must know that I will stay here all night for you, if necessary. So I listen and wait and hope the fear and anxiety setting root in the base of my stomach is misplaced.

~To Be Continued.