Forever and Always | Max Verstappen *ੈ✩‧₊˚

For me?

Canada 7th April 2019
Emma had one week left.

Just one more week of this torture slash notice period.

She rolled out of bed, already dreading the day ahead.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.

And then again.

And again.

Emma frowned, reaching for it.

She'd been careful these past few weeks, avoiding social media like the plague.

She knew what awaited her there—comments, headlines, theories from people who didn't know the first thing about her but had no problem tearing her apart anyway.

But this morning was different.

Her phone was practically lighting up, notification after notification flooding her screen.

Instagram tags, mentions, messages.

She was debating whether to put it down and ignore it altogether when her phone started ringing.

Kika.

"Hey," Emma answered, rubbing her eyes.

"Emma, oh my God, have you seen it?" Kika's voice was breathless, like she'd been running.

"Seen what?" Emma asked.

"It's everywhere, Em," Kika said. "You need to check your phone. Now."

Emma sat up, "What are you talking about?"

"The video! Everyone's talking about it. Just—just look at Instagram."

Emma's stomach dropped.

Her thumb hovered over the app for a moment before she tapped it.

The first thing she saw was a post from one of those gossip accounts, the kind that lived for drama and clickbait headlines.

But this time, it wasn't about her.

It was about Max.

The video autoplayed, the caption screaming something like: "Max Verstappen LOSES IT Over Question About Girlfriend!"

She clicked on it, her hands trembling slightly.

The clip started with Max standing in the middle of a media pen, a dozen microphones shoved in his face.

He looked tired, his jaw tight, but he was answering questions as usual.

Until one reporter—some smug, self-important guy Emma vaguely recognized—asked a question she couldn't quite hear.

Whatever it was, it made Max freeze.

His expression turned icy, his eyes narrowing as he stared the man down.

"You think that's funny?" Max said.

The reporter stammered, clearly not expecting the reaction. "I was just—"

Max didn't let him finish.

He stepped forward, his hand darting out to grab the microphone.

"You don't talk about her like that," he snapped.

Then, before anyone could react, he threw the microphone aside.

The reporter flinched, and the media pen erupted into chaos.

Emma stared at the screen, her heart pounding.

She replayed the video, this time catching snippets of what the reporter had said: something crude, something demeaning, something about how Emma must "enjoy the attention" Max brought her.