rebecca acester finished her degree in media and communications in london. she landed herself a job working for chelsea fc, but when a rough breakup and higher ambitions cause her to leave her job, she finds herself travelling the world as lando nor...
I can lie and say that everything was fixed. I can say that lando and bella coming to provide me comfort last night was the solution to all the problems we were having. but it wasn't. but I have to admit that to myself, don't I?
I was never the best with my words when it came to talking about my feelings. I found myself stumbling over every word and getting frustrated spurting out the wrong thing. so, I wrote. it felt good to let it all out, placing pen to paper and letting it flow. this time felt more vulnerable, it wasn't going to be stored away in a diary, hidden at the back of my wardrobe. they were letters. apology letters to lando and bella.
I sealed them in envelopes with their names written carefully on the front. I placed them next to the two plates of breakfast that I had made according to lando's meal plan, before heading for the door. there was two minutes before their alarms would go off and I didn't want to stick around for breakfast. my stomach hadn't taken well to the pizza last night and I found myself hugging the toilet bowl after lando and bella went to bed.
I rubbed my hands over my arms, feeling somewhat cold even under the hot Monaco sun. my attention was quickly drawn from the pavement under my feet to the slightly thicker hair that had started to grow on my arms.
it has been a month. the stomach cramps were getting better, my body starting to deject even the idea of being hungry. I was skipping meals where I could but being surrounded by others almost twenty-four-seven, it wasn't always possible.
I pulled my phone and cigarettes out of my bag before perching myself on the small wall outside my apartment block. I placed a cigarette between my lips and lit it using my other hand to block the slight breeze sweeping through the street.
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are you coming with me to the track
Mason and I going with some other people
oh okay
who
Don't be weird about it
Some people we met last night
you went out last night
Why are you being so weird about this?
I rolled my eyes at the phone screen going to shoving it straight back into my bag, wanting to avoid looking at it for the rest of the day. but that was one of the downfalls of this job I was almost always on my phone, reading through all media posts. it wasn't until after my race that I started to see more posts about myself, well not about me but how noticeable my weight loss was. I slightly grimaced when reading the comments, my body filled with guilt. guilty for setting unrealistic standards that people seemed to look up to and guilting for treating my body so poorly. but my mind just wont stop.
my body seemed to be on auto pilot making my way through the streets of Monaco, down to the track. i only hope that no car or person runs into me, as I stare at my phone scrolling through twitter; a deep dive into any potential dramas. I flag a few things and make my way to the next app. I have notifications set for any mentions but with the number of comments that flow through I often found myself manually sorting through everything. my eyes only briefly leave my phone as I reach for my pass in my bag, placing it on the scanner to enter the track.
