When Carlos found out that he had lost his seat in Ferrari something died in him, something beautiful died, he lost hope, he thought he was old and hopeless, 30 years old, no chance of winning a drivers' championship, now driving for a bad team. He knew that from that point on he would compete for points, not podiums, and that he would be forgotten at the back of the grid.

And that dead part was so beautiful and now everything has become ruins.

He should have seen by the look in your eyes that you knew there was something missing in him, he should have known by the tone of your voice, but he didn't seem to hear you. It was strange to think that the same guy who was making out with you all over the paddock hadn't kissed you in two weeks.

He plays dead, but he never actually bleeds, instead he hides, avoiding you, always sitting alone at the pool bar, drinking whiskey and mumbling. But you accepted that, because you truly meant every word you said that you would love him forever, no matter the conditions.

And once again you saw him, drinking whiskey, a double with two ice cubes, his cell phone in his hand as he stared at the lake, you loved that view, it was by far one of the main reasons for you and Carlos to buy this house. But at that moment you hated the view, because Carlos was there in his old bad habit.