For Real | Lando Norris

𝑭𝒊𝒇𝒕𝒚-𝒇𝒊𝒗𝒆.

Lando

I hate this stupid life. I hate the pressure. I hate the full schedule. I hate the nosy people and most of all I hate the press. Those vultures are always all over us. Why is it so important to them who we hang around with, who we date, what we do every minute of every damn day. I rush through the lobby of the hotel I'm staying to get to my room. The whole way here from the boat I went on as a hangover cure with Martijn and some of his friends I was followed around by flashlights and lenses.

Last night was fun, after all the commotion the last few weeks. Topped by Ophelia burning down my request to move in with me. The feeling of pure disappointment is not one I will soon forget. The only thing that kept my head up was the thought that she didn't say no yet, but I am not ashamed to admit that there streamed more than just water over my cheeks that night in the shower. I love her so damn much it makes me physically unwell.

After the weekend in Belgium I came to my senses and discovered that a little space would give us the clarity we need. Maybe I am going too fast. Is my heart jumping into a future that the rest of me isn't fully admitted to yet. I now get where her reaction was coming from and that she needs a little time, as do I. Carlos told me I was a fool and going way too fast, Max and Charles both left it in the middle and George and Daniel both thought that it was a great idea. Not much help so far.

I have been scared all week. Ophelia is coming to the Netherlands tomorrow and I decided that one evening before I am reunited with her, when we decide what the next step is going to be, to go doubting my whole life and every decision I made. I'm not a problem drinker, nor do I use alcohol to distract myself, but when Martijn and Max invited me to a night out in Dutch style I found it the best distraction ever. All the uncertainty mixed with alcohol proved a golden combination for me to do stupid things.

Martijn showed me the shit that's been going viral this morning and it furiated me. People don't know anything and I need to call Lia before she will think the worst. I left as soon as I saw. The messages are obviously fake and the girl in the photo's is a friend of Martijn. The press feasts on news like this and will do anything to prove it is true even when it is nothing but false. That thought brings guilt into my gut, because it isn't all false.

I feel myself becoming anxious again. On the way back I was calming myself down, but the only thing I can think about is how this all will look to my girlfriend on the other side of the North-Sea.

I slam my fist against the door of the hotel room when the keycard won't open the door immediately. "Damn it," Pushing harder doesn't work either and I look at the number. "Fuck me." I am banging on the wrong door. I curse again in myself as I walk back to the elevator. Looking at myself in the mirror I am disgusted by the person staring back at me. Black jeans, grey hoodie, hood pulled up and sunglasses to cover my eyes. When did I become this celebrity who can't even have lunch with friends without being recognized. The only thing I want right now is two small arms around me, holding me until the sun comes up and maybe I screwed that up too.

I walk to the right door getting into the room, leaning against the door when it closes behind me. I let out a sigh, finally feeling calmer when I close my eyes for a second. My rest gets disrupted by my ringtone screeching across the room from my pocket. Without looking I take out my phone answering it without hesitation, because I know who is calling and I am dying to hear her voice.

"Lia, I'm so sorry," I say hastily as I move to the bed to sit down. I hear her sit down as well and her breath become uneven. "I mean, I am so sorry for putting you through all this. My public life I mean, please don't believe this nasty rumour they've thrown into the world." I wait anxiously for her answer. I feel sweat breaking out when it remains quiet on the other end.