SEVEN MINUTES || L. NORRIS

TWENTY TWO

Now I know how I let you down

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LANDO

After countless attempts of begging the lady on the desk by the gate to let me onto the flight to Nice, she finally gave in and allowed me through. Herself, along with the medics who were called, tried to persuade me to go home, to rest up and I would be able to be transferred onto the same flight tomorrow morning. Even though this would be more convenient as the rest of the McLaren team were flying out tomorrow, I wanted to go alone, to spend an evening in Monaco visiting the places Isabelle would have dragged me to. I'd been given plenty of fluids to take onboard with me, the weight of three bottles of water pulling me down as I trailed towards the entrance of the aircraft. I found my seat, frowning as I glanced at the empty one beside me, which should have belonged to Isabelle. Fastening my seatbelt, I rested my head backwards in the seat, closing my eyes as I awaited the pilot's voice coming over the speakers in the plane.

I knew that every time I did this and boarded a flight, I was breaking Isabelle's heart. I knew that she would be lying on her bed, sobbing into the sheets because she was so panic-stricken, terrified in case I became hurt whilst I travelled. I understood. I was very much aware of the dangers of my career, but I had trust in the safety regulations and I had trust in my team, for preparing both myself and the car to be race ready. Isabelle made herself sick worrying about something happening to me - that's what her separation anxiety did to her and it absolutely killed me inside to see her feeling so low because of something which was out of her control. Even as she took her medication, her nerves still rose and she couldn't find a distraction to calm them. She would pace around her apartment to make the hours pass as she waited so desperately for me to call, to tell her I'd landed safely and that I loved her. I felt so cruel for making her feel that way. It wasn't fair and I knew that, but I loved her too much to allow that to get in the way of our relationship. I was devastated when Isabelle cut it off, because I knew exactly what drove her to it. And it was me.

All she needed was to be with me. I knew she wanted to quit her job and travel the world with me; she would wake up crying during the night, shaking against my chest as she told me that she was terrified of her boss, scared in case he would hurt her for quitting. He wasn't that bad of a person, nor was he violent; he would accept that she didn't want to work at the bookstore anymore and that she wanted to move on with her life, to the next level. She could write whilst travelling with me, I knew that visiting different places would inspire her and her work would be a global success within seconds, with all the publicity she could gain for herself. I knew that the anxiety surrounding her job and quitting her role there was the main barrier between her staying home and her coming to every Grand Prix with me. I tried my best to assure her that her boss would never lay a finger on her, that he would be accepting and he would understand that she had no choice but to leave her job. Sometimes, I would sit up with her and give her ideas on what to say to him. Together, we drafted emails and letters which she never sent, because she was so scared of the outcome. I wanted to step in and say something myself, but Isabelle would never let me do such a thing. She was adamant that she couldn't leave. I knew how conflicted she felt because of her anxiety, she was constantly at war with her own mind; one minute she wanted to leave and be with me by my side always, whereas the next minute, she knew she couldn't quit her job because she feared being hurt by her boss. She lived in fear every single day. That was not the life I wanted for Isabelle.

She would lie peacefully on her side of the bed, her head not lifting from the pillow which provided comfortable support for her head. She wouldn't budge. Only the sounds of her delicate sobs would fill the room as she struggled to find the correct words to use as she spoke to me. She wanted peace, that was all, but I couldn't give that to her. My life was far from peaceful. She would take my hand as she lay there, her body tensing up as her breathing got louder, accompanied by the sobs that would often escape from her lips. Her actions were so intimate; she never cried in front of anybody but me. Isabelle was only ever at her most vulnerable whenever she was with me. Nobody got to see her in the ways I did and even after seeing her at her lowest, worst point, I still thought she was the most breathtaking person in the world. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her, I never doubted it because I knew that was the only thing I had ever wanted. I wanted to help her, I wanted to make her life easier for her because watching the struggles she faced truly crushed me. I just wanted her to be fucking happy. I wanted to make her so happy, and that's why it broke me so terribly when she admitted she wasn't. Hearing her tell me the reason why she wasn't happy when I asked absolutely destroyed me: "You, Lando." It replayed over and over in my head. It crushed me. It was harsher every time I heard it.

I leaned against the window, my eyes fixating on the early morning sunshine as it shone in the direction of the aircraft. A tear slipped away from my eye as we began to taxi along the runway. My hands shaking, I wiped away the tear before anybody could notice. I wanted to go back home. I wanted to get off the plane and I wanted to go to her. I didn't want to be anywhere else other than by Isabelle's side right now, even if she put up a fight, because I wasn't leaving her side again.

I want to be wherever you are, Isabelle.

A large sob escaped from my chest as my head fell forwards into the palm of my hands. Fucking hell Lando, pull yourself together. I was cursing myself for the shit I'd caused, it finally dawning on me that this really was nobody's fault but mine. It felt like everybody on this damned plane was staring at me. I didn't care. I didn't want to be on this plane anymore. I wanted to be at Isabelle's apartment, tucked up beneath her sheets, holding her against my chest as I apologised to her. I knew everything I wanted to say.

The tears didn't stop. I felt the wheels close up into the underside of the aircraft and I knew there was no turning back. I should have listened to those medics. There would have been time to leave, head back to Isabelle's apartment and beg her to come to Monaco with me. I would prove to her just how sorry I was, I knew I would, because I wanted her back. I shoved my head into the hood of my warm hoodie, turning my face away from the other passengers on the flight, as I simply wanted to be alone. I didn't want anybody to hear my cries right now. I just wanted the plane to turn back around to the airport, so I had the chance to drive back to Isabelle. To stay by her side.

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