𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞; oscar piastri ✔

PART TWENTY SIX

I actually love you all so much for the support I get on these chapters, seeing your comments means the world to me. Also, today is my birthday!! (and Christmas Eve for those who celebrate) - so here's a present from me to you <3

Word count; 3,020

Tomás

Just like that, we were back where we started.

And it would be a lie to say it didn't hurt. In fact, it hurt so much that I couldn't feel anything, each limb numb and cold despite the heat outside. And I wanted to do anything to get rid of it. It was unpredictable, unnatural, crushing me like a shoe stepping on an ant.

Why do I feel this way?

Why won't it stop?

What can I do to make it stop?

Why isn't there an alternative?

Dropping Oscar off at his hotel, I drove off as soon as he got out, knowing that one more glance would send me into an even deeper pit of pain. Arriving at my own hotel, I hurried to the front desk to check in, a deep, sore grasp clenching at the beat in my chest, bringing a layer of sweat to the back of my neck.

Except, the lady behind the counter frowned.

"Your room was checked into this morning."

Furrowing my brows, I tapped my fingers on the surface, "Who?"

"We can't give out details of guests-"

"You know who I am, right?" I retorted, "Right?"

She nodded meekly.

"So you wouldn't let just anyone into my room? Right?"

Her face flushed, as if she might cry, "It was my colleague who-"

"Was it Francisco?"

"I-"

"He's my manager, was it him?"

She glanced at the screen, stifling a nod.

"Was that so difficult?" I turned away, my tone a hiss, "Que Dios le pague."

Running up the stairwell - the elevators taking too long to arrive - my chest was heaving by the time I arrived at my room. Thudding my fist at the door, it swung open.

Curro's eyes widened, "Facu?"

I stepped past him, tossing my bag onto the bed, heading to the minifridge in the corner, craving cold water. Meanwhile, Curro yelled and swore, rambled about how my trip to Cardenete was practically the end of the world. I leaned on one of the kitchenette counters, watching him, until he came to a natural silence.

"Are you done?" I said, my tone flat.

Rolling his eyes, he turned around, only to whip back, "How difficult is it for a phone call?! A text?! Anything that convinces me you're not dead?!"

"I was busy."

"Busy doing what?!" He snapped. "Drinking? Partying? Fucking?" 

"And if I was?"

"You can't keep doing this, Facu!"

"Look!" I yelled, unable to keep the anger in, not with him shouting in my face. "I wanted a break, okay? Is that so bad?"

"What, with Oscar?"

I frowned, "What-"

"Don't act surprised." His hands settled on his hips. "Did you really think Mark wouldn't tell me?"