23. Nevaeh
It’s been over two months since the first race weekend. Four more have passed since, and Gillian seems to despise me more and more with every race. I feel like a burden to him, a little amateur journalist he doesn’t want to train or explain anything to. All he does is boss me around, making it infinitely more difficult for me to do as Ms. Martin asked me to: write an article about something captivating I see each weekend. She hasn’t published any of my work yet, but I don’t blame her.
I have so little time and energy by the end of the day because of Gillian, my writing has suffered immensely.
I tried speaking to Papa about my situation at work, but he told me to have a little faith that things will eventually get better, so that’s what I’m doing.
Valentina also told me to give it a bit more time, but she added that if they didn’t start treating me better, she’d kick all of their asses without hesitation. It made me laugh so hard, I snorted repeatedly.
Adrian and I speak almost every other day.
The Monegasque got third place in the second race of the season, won the third race, and got second place in the fourth and fifth races. Lincoln has steadily come in second or third. Gabriel Biancheri won the second and fourth races. Valentina has been switching between getting fourth, fifth, and sixth place for the past five races. I know I’m supposed to focus on Velocità Rossa and Grenzenlos, but every single time I watch Valentina race, I wish I could focus only on her.
To tell the entire world to watch her, too.
We’re at the sixth race of the season. Gillian, Fallon, Liz, and I arrived in S?o Paulo three days ago.
Gillian has been giving me tasks to run from one motorhome to the other, not once letting me sit down to even have a drink of water. He also asked me to prepare for the interviews and come up with a list of questions that kept me up until three last night.
Then, he almost beat down my door at six in the morning to get me out of bed and ready for the day, with no time for breakfast.
In other words, I’m exhausted. My anxiety has been making me shake all day, and I’ve done all I could to keep it from taking over and overwhelming me, but it gets very difficult to not fall into an anxiety attack when I’m tired.
My mind doesn’t have enough energy to battle itself in this condition. That’s why my breathing is uneven. Why my heart is racing. Why panic has its hands wrapped around my throat and squeezes it.
I’m going through the paperwork Gillian gave me, hyperventilating and slowly breaking down.
I’m about to call my sister when Gillian storms into the room and says, “Nevaeh, I need you to go to Velocità Rossa and ask for a new interview schedule right now. You’ve got two minutes, then we gotta head to the Grenzenlos motorhome to interview your dad.”
He disappears before I get a chance to ask for a break, to allow myself to fall apart a little so I can put myself back together. Fighting off the attack is a lot worse than letting it consume me.
The Velocità Rossa motorhome is on the opposite end from the conference room I was working in before. I’m rushing to get there, but the exhaustion of running is making breathing even more difficult.
The path in front of me seems to elongate with every step I take.
Sweat drips down my forehead. It’s hotter than usual today, making my hyperventilating even worse. I can’t breathe.
My skin burns.
My eyes unfocus until I’m stumbling over my own two feet.
My entire body is trembling and nausea bubbles up in my throat.
I look for anyone who can help me when Adrian appears in my line of sight, blurry but unmistakably him. His eyes find mine, and he lowers the notebook he was holding to wave at me. I try to wave back, but everything spins. No oxygen is getting into my lungs.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t think.
My anxiety attack is taking over, and I’m too exhausted to keep that thought from making everything worse.
I see someone sprinting toward me, but I’m shaking and crying and still can’t breathe.
Then, my legs give out and everything goes black…