If The Stars Could Reach Us - Lance Stroll

𝐓𝐰𝐨

❝ Iᴛ ʜᴜʀᴛs ᴡʜᴇɴ ɪᴛ ᴛᴜʀɴs ᴏᴜᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴀ ɴɪɢʜᴛᴍᴀʀᴇ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ﹐ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇɢɪɴɴɪɴɢ﹐ ᴡᴀs ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀ ғᴀɪʀʏᴛᴀʟᴇ ❞

・・・・・・・・ ō͡≡o˞̶

𝓜𝓪𝔂𝓪'𝓼 𝓹𝓸𝓿

March 3rd 2024, Bahrein

My pillow had the mascara stains all over it. Ever since Lance left the room, I hadn't stopped crying. My eyes hurt, I have a headache.

Yesterday was tense, painful, and many other words that won't relate to happy. It was the complete opposite of the day before yesterday.

But Lance and I had been fighting so much lately. From the moment he came home from Italy, the fights were basically a weekly routine. If the fight wasn't about my new job, Christopher or his dad, we would fight about what time he goes to bed, waking me up in the middle of the night when he finally decided to join me in bed or about the race weekends, which hadn't even started yet.

And even though I hadn't mentioned her little visit, the fights were about Natalia too.

The fights counted up, the sleepless nights did too, and when my visa finally got approved at the end of February, and my starting date was set on March 4th, it was another fight, because the weekend prior was the first race of the year.

I was fed up. I was tired.

And the fights were honestly tearing me apart.

Until yesterday.

I grab my suitcase and throw it on the bed, it is time to leave and preferably I do that before Lance makes his way back to my room.

I do not have much to pack, as I left almost everything inside my suitcase last Friday. So within ten minutes, I close my hotel room door and make my way to the reception for my check out.

The trip to the airport feels lonely, the cab driver has no music on in the car and barely speaks a word to me. Normally, I would control the music during car trips with Lance.

Maybe we made a mistake.

Maybe I made a mistake.

Shouldn't I have given him a better chance to explain himself?

But it is not like I haven't given him several chances before yesterday, it isn't like this was our first fight. I can't even count the amounts on one hand.

My phone rings, and Lance's name pops up in the caller ID, and suddenly it feels like last year in October, when all I could see when I closed my eyes was the lipstick on his face and the hickey in his neck.

I swipe over my phone to accept the call, feeling the tears already sting in my eyes again.

"Maya, where are you?" He asks me immediately, his tone is cold but carries a little worry within it.

I try to swallow the lump in my throat, "I am... I am on my way to the airport."

"Turn around," he demands, the worry is gone and his voice is just cold now.

"No."

Lance sighs, and I can only imagine how is hands are trembling with frustration and how he closed his eyes to try and remain calm. He always did that, whenever he got too frustrated or too mad, his hands would start to tremble and he would intertwine his fingers to keep them calm and he would close his eyes while sighing heavily. It's a thing I learned by observing him.