everything has changed ➺ charles leclerc

eighteen - angeli

– angeli

I SIT CROSS LEGGED ON MICK'S hotel room bed, my fingers scrolling aimlessly through Instagram. To my surprise, the number of notifications has skyrocketed since the race, with thousands of new followers and interactions flooding in. The online world is abuzz with speculations and gossip, and I brace myself for what I might discover.

The first post I come across is one of me and Charles walking into the paddock on the day of the Sprint, which was yesterday. I read the caption and shrug, Uncle Michael taught me that gossip is nothing unless you give meaning to it.

It's when I read the comments that I momentarily pause. The comments are filled with venom, attacking me with ruthless words. I swallow hard, my heart pounding in my chest. Homewrecker. Slut. Side chick. The words sting like a thousand tiny daggers, tearing at my self-esteem and shattering the image I had of myself.

Hot tears blur my vision as I scroll further, encountering more hurtful comments that make assumptions about my relationship with Charles. They speculate about secret affairs, hidden romances, and sordid betrayals. None of it is true, but the weight of their accusations feels suffocating.

How did it come to this? As I sit there, tears streaming down my face, a conflicted thought emerges from the depths of my turmoil. Amidst the pain and frustration, a tiny voice whispers that perhaps, deep down, I had enjoyed the attention, the perception of being in a relationship with Charles. It was a fleeting sense of satisfaction, a momentary thrill of being desired and wanted by someone I care about.
It felt exhilarating to have others see us as a couple, even if it was all based on falsehoods.

Admitting this to myself feels like a betrayal, a betrayal of the friendship we've built and the trust we've shared. But it also serves as a clue, a tiny flicker of insight into the tangled web of emotions I've been wrestling with.

Does this enjoyment stem from a deeper longing? Have I been suppressing feelings that run deeper than friendship? The questions echo in my mind, demanding honest answers that I'm not yet ready to confront.

As I continue scrolling through the Instagram comments, my heart sinks as I stumble upon a post that stops me in my tracks. It's a photo of Charles, and in the caption, it mentions something about a surprise kiss. I click on the image, hoping against hope that it's all just another rumor, another fabrication of the online world.

But as the image loads on my screen, my heart shatters into a thousand pieces. There it is, frozen in time—an intimate moment between Charles and Grace, their lips locked in a passionate kiss. The comments section below is flooded with reactions, ranging from shock and disappointment to anger and betrayal.

A surge of emotions washes over me, threatening to drown me in their intensity. Hurt, anger, and sadness intertwine within me, each emotion vying for dominance. It feels as if the ground beneath me has crumbled, and I'm left floating in a sea of uncertainty and heartache.

And then, amidst the turmoil, a realization strikes me like a bolt of lightning. The reaction I'm experiencing, this overwhelming sense of devastation—I've felt it before. It's the same feeling that engulfed me when I saw Charles and Grace share that spontaneous kiss after the sprint race. It's the unmistakable pang of jealousy, the ache of unrequited emotions. The exact feelings that I felt crying into Mick's arms, I feel again now.

In that moment of clarity, I come face to face with the truth I've been denying all along. I do have feelings for Charles—feelings that go beyond friendship and camaraderie. The pain I'm feeling now, it's not just because of the kiss itself, but because it represents the possibility that the connection I've been yearning for might be slipping away.