SEVEN MINUTES || L. NORRIS

TWENTY

Is it too late to turn around?

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LANDO

As I loaded my suitcase into the back of the McLaren, I frowned, wiping tears away from my eyes as I realised Isabelle was not by my side. My flight to Nice left in two and a half hours from Heathrow, but I didn't want to step foot in the airport without her. I was terrified to land in France and have to endure the car journey to Monte Carlo without her. I didn't want to have to spend the next few days in her favourite city, without her. I exhaled as I climbed into the car and took a drink from the water bottle I was clutching in my hand to calm my nerves. I threw the nearly empty bottle onto the passenger seat, holding tightly onto the steering wheel in the hope of getting rid of the trembles in my hands. I closed my eyes and chewed hard on my lip, my knees buckling as I remained in my seated position. I was so tempted to drive across to her apartment and beg her to come with me, because I could not face bustling Monte Carlo alone, particularly on my first race weekend as a Formula 1 driver.

I backed out of my parking space, my hands and legs still shaking in fear as I drove through the isolated roads. It was only six thirty in the morning, I was exhausted and not at all prepared to travel to Monaco. I was dreading this weekend more than absolutely anything, because Issy couldn't be here with me. The next time I came here would be with her, to propose, to go down on one knee and ask her to be my wife. However, that was never going to happen because I'd blown it. I was so fucking stupid and I would never forgive myself for it. I was responsible for all the pain I had caused, for myself, for Isabelle.

I was at war with my own mind. My body versus my brain. Each limb was trying with all of its might to get me to turn myself around, to go back to Isabelle. They craved her touch just as much as I did, they wanted to feel her soft, warm lips lazily dragging themselves around my skin. My hands couldn't remain steady on the wheel, the muscles in my fingers twitching to highlight their need to feel Isabelle's, their way of silently begging me to go back to her. My legs were shaking violently as my feet remained on the pedals, just about, as they were definitely ready to slip off and send me flying in a different direction. My feet felt numb as I cried for her, my eyes unable to stop producing all the tears my body needed to show my sadness, to prove how I was not coping with losing my girlfriend due to my own selfish behaviour.

My head was banging as my brain told me I was in the wrong for letting her go. I should have argued. I should have held onto her carefully whilst pulling her into my chest, whispering into her hair as a i told her that I wasn't leaving her side ever again, because I loved her. I shouldn't have allowed her to make me walk off, I should have stayed right by her side and told her that this wasn't how our relationship was supposed to be. My heart was beating erratically, for Isabelle and Isabelle only. My heart never lied to me, that was something my Mum would always remind me of whilst I was growing up. She told me to always go with my heart, no matter what my head was telling me. Right now, they both worked in sync; they both wanted the same thing - Isabelle. Each day, the ache only worsened on the left side of my chest, the stabbing sensation growing more and more painful as I came to terms with mine and Issy's break up. My heart was telling me where to go, without saying anything at all. It simply told me where my home was and it happened to be anywhere that Isabelle found herself. It made me realise that leaving the country would prove that I was just a shitty boyfriend, but I had absolutely no choice apart from leaving for Monaco.

I knew that I wasn't able to turn back. I wasn't allowed to turn back - and why? Because absolutely every single part of my body restricted me, no matter how important it was for me to be alright. My body was beginning to suffer because of the breakup more than I believed I was right now. I'd lost a lot of weight in a short period of time from not eating, or not eating enough, which never went down well at training. I did try. The heartbreak was simply too much for me to cope with that I struggled to keep anything down. Thinking enough would send me into a state of panic and I would throw my insides up into the nearest toilet.

I pulled into the space at the airport, shaking my head as I watched everyone around me heading towards the entrance of Heathrow, about to start their family break or maybe even develop their skills for work. This trip to Monaco was supposed to include a bit of both for me, but I ruined it. I fucked it up.

I was so angry at myself. Tears, which came from the very deepest part of me, were filled with rage and annoyance as I realised once again what I had done. Lando, you stupid fucking prick; how could you ever do that to Isabelle?, I thought to myself whilst shaking my head and tugging on the ends of my hair. All I could do was mentally curse myself. I had fucked up big style and there was nothing I could do now to rewind time and change the way I acted. I leaned back, using the headrest as a support for my neck, whilst I shut my eyes tightly and remembered us discussing this trip to Monaco. She agreed immediately when I asked if she wanted to come to the Grand Prix, I knew anyway that she wouldn't turn it down so I had already booked her on my flight and sorted her a Paddock pass. I was so excited to have her by my side until I went and made a massive mistake.

My brain stumbled into overdrive; Lando, you're irresponsible. You only ever think about yourself, particularly when you're in the car, and it's like Isabelle means absolutely nothing to you. Zilch. You cut off all ties with Isabelle every single race weekend; you never call, you barely text, all because you're too caught up in the shitty car. She curls up at home on her bed, Lando, and she cries to herself. She asks herself what's wrong with her. She wonders why you don't love her anymore and blames it on herself. She thinks you're cheating, that you love somebody else who isn't her; somebody pretty, somebody who works at McLaren, but Lando, you never could, could you? You love her too much to ever lay eyes on any other woman who isn't your Isabelle - that's why you're so lonely right now. Some men would have already moved onto the next quick fuck, but you, Lando, you are a gentleman. You love her with all of your heart, that's why it's aching so badly for her; that's why you're seconds away from screaming and yelling out her n... - "Isabelle! Isabelle, please fucking come back to me."

No, Lando. She's never coming back and it's your fault. You pushed her away, when she needed you the most, you took little or no interest in her feelings. Why did you do it? Are you, Lando Norris, too good to deal with Isabelle's issues? Does she take away your pride? Funny, Lando, you always said she was your pride and joy. Did you let the fame get to your head, Lando? Are you finally too good for anybody else who isn't on your level? Or are you simply too fucking dumb to realise that you had the best girl you'd ever get, your childhood sweetheart, the love of your life... Isabelle adored you, she still does adore you and wants nothing more than for you to come back to her. Does she? Or do you just force yourself to believe that she does?

She should be by your side right now, Lando, clutching onto your hand as she sits in the passenger seat with the most beautiful smile painted across her features. Monaco should be for you and Isabelle, not you and the McLaren, Lando. Monaco is your special place. My mistake, Monaco was your special place. I know you don't like to think about it like that, but you know it's true. You've fucked it. Honestly, you have well and truly fucked it up for yourself and you should realise that thinking about her like this won't ever bring her back. Thinking about her being with you before you head over to Monaco doesn't mean that she will be there waiting for you at Arrivals, with her cute little handwritten sign that states 'lando :)'. It isn't going to happen. You can't go back now. You can't turn around.

I hate to break it to you Lando, but it's all your fucking fault.

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