"Why the fuck did you make that error in turn 1?"

"I'm sorry." What was I supposed to do.

"You were supposed to do better." Oh.

"You cant control the fucking car, you put on fucking weight, are you even an athlete anymore?" Okay.

"I'm hanging up now." "No you fu-"

His hand didnt stutter as it once did, the line going dead.

.

Then he leaned down. The shit stained smell making him want to puke.

which is exactly what he did.

Sticking those same, unrelenting fingers down his throat.

..

but atleast fuel makes the car win races.

..

"Max- please you can't keep doing this!" Daniel tried from the other end.

The smell was long forlorn, he couldnt care anymore. He couldnt care, about how dirt was on the stupid bathroom floor as he sat on it.

He was already disgusting anyway.

"i know..." he sighed.

he was doing so well.

.

he heard a huff from the other end. "I'm calling Charles. Focus on me, pick yourself up..-"

And it continued. Max following. He couldnt really care less. Right? __

Charles knew about why Daniel called.

It was almost always the same reason.

Ever since karting he knew Max had a problem. Well no- he'd never put the blame on him.

His dad wouldn't let him eat half the time, or shaming him if he did.

..as kids, he would always take Max out for food after races, to their house, anything.

But they weren't kids anymore.

Yet Charles never grew up.

Rushing to the bathroom, he already knew it was the farthest stall.

"Max? Maxie? Open up?"

He only had to ask once, as his arms were filled with dutch.

..

And Max never had to ask, as the Monagasque scooped him up. And took him home.

.

This was happening more often than usual, with the worse f1 season.

After an hour, usually he wanted to eat by now.

"Max?" Charles came in softly. No knocking.

..

"Lets eat a bit yea?" He brought his fav- strawberries.

"No." Max suddenly snapped. Suprising himself.

"What?"

"No!" He yelled and lashed his hand out, in a flinch,

and it hit something.

The plate, shattering on the floor.