James was never a caring man or anything like that. He was either on the track or in some nightclub/motel with the girls. You were just a girlfriend for the media, and you cruelly knew it. A famous and beautiful model, with a body that any saint would sin if they even looked at it, you were a goddess in pop culture and outside of it, yes James... yeah. Your achievements are having a world title, cheating on any woman and being arrested at the Brazilian GP .

You were watching the Belgian GP, Zolden. James Hunt and Niki Lauda were taken off the track by the heavy rain and James suffered some bruises. Nonsense, after the race he would be in a nightclub or motel! Right?..

toc,toc.

You look up, surprised. Here comes James Hunt. He was soaking wet, like, REALLY. Water dripped from his hair, covering his eyes. He took off his shoes, mumbling something to himself. You didn't pay much attention to James, but the few times you heard sniffles and faintly heard James' face, sad and lonely. He looked like a wet and abandoned dog. So cute. Wait, what?!.