Behind the Lens | Charles Leclerc

Carolina stared at the caller's name flashing on the screen. Her palms became so sweaty, she had to wipe them on her pants, one after the other. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Swallowing hard, she accepted the call.

"What were you thinking?" a disappointed female voice spilled out without a greeting. "It's a family matter. How could you expose Ollie just like that?"

"Nice to hear your lovely voice, again, Mom," Carolina replied, making sure that the sarcasm was loud and clear. She should've expected that sooner or later the interview would reach the infamous folks of Winchester.

"You know it took a toll on me and your father. Especially your father and his poor health," her mother continued, ignoring her comment, which made the vein on her forehead pulse even more.

"Don't drag father into this. If you truly care about his health, then take him to the goddamn check-up," Carolina said through her teeth, but her mother acted as if she was deaf.

"Now, the whole neighbourhood talks of nothing else but your sick fetish to photograph young men on the verge of possible death," Ms. Robbinson went on, "Not men, but boys! Those are just boys. Ollie, he," her voice broke mid-sentence, "Ollie was just a boy, when..."

This was far beyond, what Carolina expected. She wondered if her mother truly meant it, or if it was just an act. Feeling a lump form in her throat, she swallowed hard. The words pierced through her heart, sending tremors of pain through her entire being. She fought back a wave of tears, struggling to keep her lips from trembling.

"It's been six years already, what do you expect me to do?" Carolina cried, but her voice choked mid-sentence. She gave up and let the tears roll down her cheeks. "Should I lock myself away in a dark room, just like you?"

"At least we haven't forgotten," her mother's voice echoed through the phone, cold and unforgiving, "But you," Carolina could hear the disgust in her voice, "You carry on as if nothing ever happened. As if Ollie never existed."

Hearing the words, Carolina gasped for air, her legs giving way beneath her as she collapsed to her knees, her phone ending up in her lap. This must be a bad dream. The sharp edges of the walls blurred into a smudge. Her body gave up on her. Was she dying? One, two, three – she counted in her head. Her lungs lacked oxygen, while her heart over-pumped the blood all over her body. She pressed a hand against her chest, hoping to calm the frantic heartbeat. Four, five, six. Catch and release. The silhouettes gradually turned back into objects, blurred edges into window frames.

After a few seconds that felt like eternity, she managed to draw in a shaky breath, forcing herself to straighten her back.

With a distant look, she picked up her phone and pressed it against her ear. "Don't ever call me," her voice still trembling, "ever again."

She slipped into the nearest bathroom to clean the smudged mascara. That was the least she could do, before returning to the studio. Fix her outside, while her inside was still wrecked after the hurricane.

***

Finally, after a couple of minutes, Carolina emerged from the door. The colour of her face almost matched with the Ferrari polo shirt, she was wearing. And her eyes, all puffy and wet from recent tears. By an instinct, Charles moved to approach her, but he was halted by the firm grip of Carlos's hand. The warning glance in his eyes said it all – the paddock romance rarely ends well.

"Maria?" Carolina called in a soft voice. Still, half of the room turned her way, whispering their concerns. What? Is he supposed to stand there and watch? He shifted his attention from his teammate back to Carolina. He had to do something. In the name of team spirit to say the least.