Misscommunication||LANDO NORRIS

21

Lizzie Jones

The second I wake up, I know I fucked up big time.

What was I thinking? Like, what the actual fuck went through my head to do that? My phone says it's 5 a.m. Kate's next to me, happily passed out, wrapped in her blanket like we didn't just shatter the universe a few hours ago. I feel the panic building in my chest—my head is pounding, my legs barely stable, and my heart feels like it's caving in on itself.

I grab my suitcase and just start throwing my stuff in, not even folding anything. I don't care. I just need to go. I zip it shut, shove on something a little more respectable than my pyjamas, and glance back at Kate.

She looks peaceful. I smile—weakly. I'll tell her everything when she's back. But right now, I need to get the hell out of here.

Downstairs is quiet. Still dark. I shuffle into the kitchen to grab something, anything, while I wait for my cab. I'm halfway through the doorway when I stop dead.

There's someone sitting at the table. Hoodie up. Slouched. A suitcase next to them.

They're eating cereal.

I cough.

They jump and turn, and my stomach drops.

"Lizzie?" Lando whispers, like he's surprised but not really. His voice is strange. Like a weird cocktail of embarrassment, exhaustion, and disappointment. I don't answer—I just sink into the chair beside him and drop my forehead against the counter.

What are the chances?

Maybe we're more alike than I thought.

"Running too, huh?" he says softly.

And I don't get it. I'm the one who runs. I'm the one who ruins it. He's the one who always stays. So why is he running?

"When's your cab?" I ask quietly.

"Five minutes. Yours?"

"Ten."

He nods.

I can't form proper sentences. I can't even name half the emotions swirling in my chest. But I know I'm confused. That much is clear.

And maybe if I speak, I'll understand what the hell is going on inside me.

"I have five minutes to talk then," I say, sitting up straighter. "So please... just let me."

He looks over at me, finally leaving his cereal alone. Waiting.

"Lando... I don't know what happened last night. I mean, we were drunk. Very drunk. And we shouldn't have done what we did."

I pause. Deep breath.

"I woke up today, and I still don't know what I feel. But I knew I had to escape. Because whatever I feel for you... it confuses me. It always has. I hate you. I like you. I tolerate you. And then—I love you. And it keeps changing. It's a cycle I don't understand, and I'm scared of starting something with you because what if it breaks again? What if I end up hating you? Or worse, what if you end up hating me?"

I stare at the counter, unable to look at him.

"I don't even know if I've ever truly hated you. You make me crazy, in the worst and best ways. And no one else has ever had that effect on me. I hate who I am when I'm around you because I don't know what I'm doing or what I'll say next. It's terrifying."

I breathe in sharply.

"Dating Charles? That was a shitty move. To him. To you. I shouldn't have done it. But I was trying to outrun the feelings I had for you. I thought he'd help quiet the noise. He didn't."

I bite the inside of my cheek. My voice shakes.

"I think part of me has always loved you. Ever since we were kids. And what I said to you that night in the park... that's probably my biggest regret. I was cruel. And I'm sorry."

I finally glance at him, and he's staring at his phone. Not even reacting. My heart drops.

"I don't know why you ever told me you loved me," I say, voice almost breaking. "I've pushed you around like a toy. I've treated your feelings like they didn't matter. And I hate myself for it. I want to run away from everything I've ever had with you because I'm scared."

A pause.

"But I think that—I love you. And I'm sorry."

I sit in the silence I just created, tears slipping down my cheeks. My heart is laid bare on the table between us. And he's just... still. Silent.

Then he moves.

He taps his phone. A few quick clicks. Then he puts it down.

"I've cancelled my cab," he says simply. "I'm coming in yours."

My eyes widen, but he doesn't give me time to say anything.

"I have five minutes to talk now," he says, meeting my gaze. "So shut the fuck up and listen to me, Lizzie."

I do.

"Lizzie Jones," he starts, voice low, "you are the first and only girl I have ever loved. And I still do."

His words hit like bricks.

"Last night? I regret nothing. I've been waiting for that moment since the second I fell in love with you. I knew you'd run. I knew this would be the end. And I let it happen anyway, because at least I got to have you—just once. Really have you."

He breathes out through his nose.

"I'm not confused. I love you. End of story. You've always had me. Even when you were with Charles. Even when you screamed at me. Even when you didn't want me. I've never hated you. I can't. You're my person. My girl. My Lizzie. And yeah, I hate what you do to me. But I don't hate you."

His voice cracks just a little.

"I tried to focus on something else. Someone else. But every time you leave, it fucking destroys me. And I keep letting you. Because I love you. And you make me crazy, Lizzie. Absolutely insane. But we can't seem to make it work. And that hurts more than anything."

I can't breathe.

"It won't work," he says. "So I miss you already. And I'm sorry."

Silence.

No more words. No more glances. Just two broken people sitting in a kitchen with separate flights and the same shattered heart.

My cab arrives first.

We stand. No goodbye. No touch.

Just silence.

When I close the door behind me and the car pulls away, I break.

I cry until I'm empty.

I cry until I sleep.

And even then, I still feel the hole he left in me.