i. pulling teeth.
◞ ྀི◟ ͜  ׁ ˙ ◞   ྀི◟ ͜◞ ྀི◟ ͜  ׁ ˙ ◞   ྀི◟ ͜◞ ྀི◟ ͜  ׁ ˙ ◞   ྀི◟ ͜◞ ྀི◟ ͜  ׁ ˙ ◞   ྀི◟ ͜

The tense air of the hotel suite crackled with energy, the echoes of the Monaco Grand Prix still fresh in the air. Max Verstappen stood by the window, his jaw tight, staring out at the shimmering harbor. His hands were clenched into fists, his frustration barely restrained. Across the room, Augustine leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, her face flushed with a mix of anger and disbelief.

"Do you even hear yourself?" she snapped, her voice cutting through the silence. "You shut me out for weeks, Max. Weeks." she adds emphases on the word, as if she dares him to contradict her, "And now you're acting like I'm the problem because I dared to ask what's going on?"

Max turned sharply, his blue eyes blazing. "I told you, Augustine, it's not that simple! Do you think I have time to sit down and spell everything out? I'm trying to win a championship here, not—"

"Not what? Not deal with me? Not be honest with the person who's supposed to mean something to you?" Her voice cracked slightly, but she masked it with venom — she refused to let him see her cry. "You can throw a car into a corner at 200 kilometers per hour, but the idea of communicating scares you?"

He took a step closer, his frustration bubbling over. "You think this is easy for me? Do you know how much pressure I'm under? How much I have to juggle? I can't just drop everything because you're upset!"

Her laugh was bitter, and she shook her head. "This isn't about the championship, Max. This is about you refusing to let me in. You act like I should just wait in the wings, smile when you win, and disappear when things get hard. Well, guess what? That's not how this works."

Augustine lets out a sound of frustration at his silence — the kind of sound that comes from deep in her chest and burns on the way out. Her eyes flick to the half empty glass of whiskey on the small table and then back to him, with one decisive motion, her fingers close around the glass before hurling it at the wall — nowhere near close to him but it's enough to scare him just a little bit — it shatters with a deafening crash and the shards of glass litter the carpeted floor; the amber liquid streaks the pristine white walls like a jagged scar; Max flinches, his gaze flicking to the mess but not a word leaves his lips.

The silence that follows is deafening and when he finally looks at her, the flicker of surprise in his eyes is easily replaced by something colder — defensiveness, contempt even; his silence is suffocating and unforgiving, "say something." she says softly — her voice is shaking, the underlying fury present and heavy in her tone before she speaks again, "please." she adds, a plea, a beg.

"Happy Birthday Augustine." is all he says — his voice is quiet and gentle.

"Max." she pleads. "Say something, anything." she says again and when he doesn't budge, she sighs. "What am I doing? Max, it shouldn't feel like I'm pulling teeth while I'm talking to you, my god." she let out a sigh.

"Maybe we need some time."

"Are you serious..?" she asks. "I am begging you to talk to me and you can't even tell me what's wrong before you suggest a break?"

"I'm not suggesting — I'm saying it's what we need Augustine."

Augustine's eye twitches and she glanced at him, "fine."

"Fine."

Another pause, "I'm sorry." she says quietly. "I'm sorry for being too much for you."

With that, Augustine slams the door behind her and there's nothing but a silent rattle of the doorframe. Like all good things they come to an end.

࣪𓏲ּ ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃

Willa sits on the edge of Augustine's bed, "fuck his best friend, his teammate even." she suggests with a shrug as she flicks the ashes of her cigarette into a small pile on Augustine's dresser.

"Yeah, as if." Augustine says with an eye roll and takes a drag off of Willa's cigarette, "he's such a fucking man child." a pause, "I guess I'm no better, I threw a glass at the wall." she blows the smoke out with a slight cough, "Fuck him." she adds finally.

Willa pauses, "you threw something at the wall...?"

"I wanted him to talk to me." Augustine says softly. "I figured that he'd respond to violence if he didn't respond to love." she explains. "He's not used to such gentle motions, not when..." Augustine trails off and glances at Willa, "it seems all my efforts were wasted." a small frown distorts her face, "I wanted him to say something even if it hurt my feelings, Willa, he's the only person I've ever loved, why is it so hard to get him to talk to me? I am not begging him to devote his life to me, I am merely begging him to tell me what's wrong."

Willa's gaze softens, "you love him so much you might as well let it kill you Augustine." she says softly, twirling a strand of the other's hair around her finger. "And you forgive him for every failure he's committed throughout your relationship," she hums, "dogs are like that, you know." a small pause and then her gaze flicks up to the blonde's blue eyes that are so red and puffy that it almost hurts Willa to finish her sentence, "dogs are loyal. you'd beat yourself into a dead dog just to be around him."

Augustine winces — not because Willa was wrong, but because she had a point. "You're saying I need to walk away."

Willa shakes her head, "I'm saying you need to hit him where it hurts." Willa's green eyes flicker with something that Augustine can only define as malice. "Max likes to talk, that's all he ever does, right? Beat him at his own game Augustine. If he goes low, then you go lower."

Augustine tilts her head in confusion, "how?"

"He's a man Augustine." Willa reminds her, "they all have insecurities, just pick which ones you want to weaponize."

"I can't do that." Augustine protests. "It's not fair!"

"Life isn't fair. Why should you suffer when he'll get to live his life without facing the consequences of his actions? Yes, he's a driver, a millionaire, and a lot of other things, but you know him. You know things about him that the public doesn't. Don't let him write your narrative — become his worst nightmare." Willa explains. "Don't let him let the media perceive you as some kind of gold digger, if anything tear him down to his bear essentials."

Augustine mulls the idea over — she'd like to see the media know him for what he was.

She could see the articles now. Max Verstappen: Red Bull's Golden Boy or boy with daddy issues striving for his father's approval?

She'd have to make a couple of calls, drop a couple of hints to the gossip rags. "Willa," Augustine interjects, "I don't want to hurt him."

"You say that now." Willa acknowledges, "but deep down, theres a part of you who hasn't let go anything he's done that's hurt you, now is your time to do pay it back tenfold."

And it resonates with Augustine — Willa is right. There's a lot Max Verstappen has put Augustine through, and there's a hell of a lot more that she'd like to put him through. "What about the consequences?"

"You call them consequences, I call them reparations." Willa shrugs and looks at Augustine with a small smile, "after all, this is no different than a man slandering a woman. It's okay to flip the tables on them occasionally."

Augustine never thought of it as her flipping the script on Max but now that Willa had put it into perspective— everything seemed to fall into place.

Augustine Slade would destroy Max Verstappen — strip him down so the world could see what was underneath that cool and aggressive façade he put on; after all, revenge was sweet and Augustine loved everything sweet.

𓏲ּ ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃