first time for everything
pairing: oscar piastri x reader
summary: a lot of things were in the cards for oscar’s first home race. he just wasn’t expecting confessing his love for you to be one of them. (3.3k)
warnings: maybe a swear word idk
a/n: my first oscar fic! not sure if i've got his personality down quite yet but hopefully i've done him justice :)
“You’re nervous.”
Oscar tore his attention from his phone camera, where he was messing with the swoop of his hair for what had to be the fifth time. He shook his head, though you could probably see right through him. “No, I’m not—I just didn’t sleep that well last night.”
“Yeah, ‘cause you were nervous for today.”
“I’m fine.”
“It’s okay to be nervous, Oscar. I’d be more worried if you weren’t.”
You were right, he was nervous about a lot of things—this weekend was his first home race, the first race you were able to attend during his time as a driver for McLaren. But the first thing he learned from competing at this level was to never let his nerves show. Put up a front, make it seem like he was cool as a cucumber so people wouldn’t doubt him, let his skills on the track do all the talking.
Normally, Oscar was good about that. But you could see right through him. You knew him well enough to know how he was feeling and how to help, even if he himself didn’t quite understand it.
The story of you and Oscar was quite the cliche, really. He knew of you through a friend of a friend and was instantly intrigued without even meeting you, managed to reach out, and the rest was history.
You hadn’t even met each other face to face until a month into your constant texting, but when you did finally find the opportunity to meet up in person, it was like you’d both found the other half of yourselves in each other. While Oscar was more of a straight to the point, cut and dry kind of guy, you managed to bring him out of his shell a little bit, to get him to expand his horizons (within reason, of course).
You were the opposite—always smiling, always happy to try new things, warm and sunshine-y and everything in between. Oscar toned you down without holding you back, reminded you to take a breather before immediately jumping into the next exciting thing, to enjoy what you had while you had it so you wouldn’t miss anything.
He’d only just gained the courage to ask you out a few months back, but it only seemed fitting that you were here with him for his first race in front of his home crowd.
“It’s a lot to process.” Oscar admitted, letting his shoulders creep up towards his ears in a shrug. You leaned against him, looping an arm through the crook of his elbow and slipping your hand into his for a reassuring squeeze, pressing your chin against his bicep. “I just don’t wanna let anyone down, y’know? Wanna make everyone proud.”
“You’re going to do great. I promise.” You said firmly, reaching up to push his hair into its perfect place. Oscar nuzzled into your touch on instinct, letting you cradle his cheek in the palm of your hand. Your thumb swept over his cheek a few times, lulling him into a sense of contentment.
“Forget me. How are you feeling?”
“I’m excited! I’ve never done something like this before.” You replied, letting your hand drop. “And kinda nervous, but it’ll be fine, right?”
“Yeah, ‘course it will.”
“Have any sage words of wisdom for a first time paddock goer?”
“Oh, you know me. Keep your head down, walk fast. There’s gonna be a lot of cameras, lots of fans, they’re all gonna want something from you. I’ll be with you as long as I can, so I’ll be there in case things start to get out of hand.”
“Can I say hi to the fans?”
“If you want to, yeah. They already love you.”
That was another thing Oscar had to be worried about. Today was a day full of firsts, it felt like, because it was also the first time you’d be making your public debut as a couple. You’d already become a fan favorite when the two of you were just friends (two very mutually pining friends, no less), but making your relationship paddock official seemed daunting.
Oscar wasn’t at all worried about what people would think. In fact, he didn’t really care. He was happier than he’d been in a long time and nothing would change that. What he was worried about was how you’d be treated. Oscar loved the fans, he really did, but there were always that handful who thought they knew him—knew what was best for him. Knew who was best for him.
If he could protect you from any harm that could possibly be aimed your way, he’d do it in a heartbeat, but things could get so very unpredictable out there. The best he could do was keep you close.
Your grip on Oscar’s hand tightened just the slightest bit at seeing the sheer amount of people outside the window. Noticing this, he rubbed his thumb along your knuckles soothingly.
“You don’t have to come along.” He said softly. You tore your eyes away from the passing crowds to look at him. “There’s a back entrance, you can go through there.”
“No, it’s alright! I’ll be fine.”
“You sure? It’s okay if you're having second thoughts, sweetheart.”
“I’m not, I promise. It’s kind of a lot, but nothing I can’t handle.” You said firmly, more for yourself than anything. Oscar squeezed your hand with a soft smile. “If you can do it, I can do it.”
“There you go. You’ll be the star of the show. Everyone’ll be like Oscar Piastri who? There’s the most beautiful girl in the world, and just some guy.”
You had to bite back a laugh at his words paired with the deadpan expression gracing his face. Oscar always seemed to know how to get you to relax.
“Well, you’re the hottest just some guy I’ve ever seen.” You pressed a kiss to his cheek, smiling at how his fair skin immediately flamed hot under your lips.
Despite your previous hesitation, you looked entirely in your element as you made the walk hand in hand, looking around with bright eyes and an even brighter smile. Oscar couldn't help but watch you take it all in, not bothering to mask the awe in his eyes as he did so. He wouldn’t be surprised if photos of him looking at you made it to fan Twitter by the end of the day.
Oscar was whisked away as soon as you got through to hospitality, giving him barely enough time to say goodbye to you before he was shuttled to meeting after meeting, press conferences and pre race interviews, a thousand things to do in the few hours he had before he had to get ready for free practice.
He was already exhausted by the time he made it back to his driver’s room, pushing open the door with a heaving sigh. You glanced up at the commotion he was making, smiling at him warmly and setting aside your phone.
“Hey, you,” You hummed, holding out your arms towards Oscar as soon as he closed the door behind him.
“Hi.” Oscar sighed, folding you into his embrace as comfortably as he could in the cramped alcove. There was barely enough room for one person on the bench, let alone you and your boyfriend with his broad shoulders. You shifted sideways to solve the problem, throwing your legs over Oscar’s lap, to which his hand immediately came to rest on your knee. “I missed you.”
“Wish I could say the feeling was mutual.” You teased. Oscar rolled his eyes goodnaturedly, giving your leg a gentle pinch that you giggled at before leaning in to press a quick peck to his cheek. “I missed you too.”
“What did you get up to while I was gone?”
“Oh, so much! I took a walk around the paddock just to check everything out, and I kinda got lost, but someone helped me find my way back eventually.” You shrugged, not noticing the way Oscar’s eyebrows flew up into his hairline.
“Wait, you got lost? Why didn’t you call me?”
“You were busy.” You said, very as-a-matter-of-factly. He blinked at you slowly, a blank expression present on his face. “I’m a big girl, Osc, I can find my way around just fine.”
That made Oscar falter. You were right. He cared so much, especially about you—so much so that sometimes he forgot you were entirely capable of taking care of yourself.
“A lot of people asked to take pictures with me. Me! Isn’t that crazy?” You exclaimed, beaming bright. “I promised one of them your sweaty fireproofs in return, but that’s beside the point.”
“You what?” He spluttered, eyes widening almost comically. His fingers froze in their fiddling with the rings adorning your fingers.
“I’m kidding, obviously. Lighten up, Oscie, jeez.”
Oscar rolled his eyes playfully. “Right, well I’m glad you’re having fun.”
“You know what would make this day even more fun?”
“I don’t think I want to.”
You stuck your tongue out at him before continuing. “Can I meet Charles Leclerc? Is that something you can pull off?”
Technically speaking, it would be extremely easy for him to pull off. All he really had to do was bring you over to the Ferrari motorhome for a quick introduction, and he was sure Charles would take a liking to you, just like every other driver you’d gotten to meet so far. You had that kind of persona; one that made people want to get to know you.
Oscar quite liked that about you. What he wouldn’t like as much was you being immediately wooed by the driver’s seemingly irresistible French charm. And yeah, you were Oscar’s girlfriend and Charles also had a girlfriend of his own, but still. Nobody wanted to see the girl they loved fawning over another man, even one as cool as Charles Leclerc.
But Oscar would never tell you that, because he loved you, and he’d do anything to make you happy.
“Uh…yeah, sure. I could probably get you an intro, if that’s something you really want.” He heard himself saying, scratching the back of his neck. His heart thudded a little harder in his chest at the way your face lit up.
“Really?”
Oscar smiled tightly. “Why not? D’you wanna go now? There’s some time before we need to be on track.”
“That would be amazing, Osc.”
“Right then, let’s go.” He nudged your legs off him, heaving himself to his feet with a groan that would usually be associated with someone much older than him. You threaded your fingers through his as soon as he finished popping all his joints like an old man, following his lead out of the room and the motorhome, all the way to the bright Ferrari red building a few doors down.
Luckily, Charles was sitting at one of the tables in the main area, so you didn’t have to look far to find him.
“Charles, mate, you got a second?”
The aforementioned Monegasque tore his attention from his phone upon hearing Oscar’s voice, an easygoing smile already present on his face. “Oscar! What can I do for you, mate?�� His eyes found you next, and he nodded politely. “Hello!”
“Hi.” You said quietly, clinging to Oscar’s hand tightly. This feeling was foreign to you. You’d never been so stunned into silence by someone before, but maybe that was because you’d never met someone as well known as the Charles Leclerc.
“This is my girlfriend. It’s her first time in the paddock and she’s a big fan of yours, figured I could introduce the two of you. Y/N, Charles. Charles, Y/N.”
“Ah, yes, I’ve heard much about you!” Charles exclaimed, popping to his feet. He moved forward to embrace you, wrapping you in a warm hug like he’d known you for a long time, let alone just met you not even fifteen seconds ago.
Oscar never really understood the whole hugging thing Charles had going on. Maybe it was a French thing. Either way, the hug seemed to have shaken you out of whatever starstruck daze you were in, because you straightened up.
Charles smiled warmly. “Welcome to your first race. I trust they are treating you well over at McLaren?”
“There’s definitely a few perks.” You replied, returning his infectious smile. You squeezed Oscar’s hand as you said it, and part of him felt a smidge proud that you considered him a perk. Charles laughed goodnaturedly. “I hate to sound so forward, but I wanted to say I love your music. The way you play piano is…the only way I can think to describe it is beautiful.”
“Oh wow, you—thank you! That means a lot, thank you. Do you play?”
“A little bit, but I haven’t had much time to sit at the bench lately.” You replied, giving a haphazard shrug. Charles nodded sympathetically, like he understood the troubles of carving out time to play. “D’you mind if I ask you a bit more about your inspiration while I’ve got you?”
“Of course, yes, yes, I would love to talk about it!”
Oscar touched a hand to the small of your back to snag your attention for a second. He liked music as much as the next person, but not as much as you and Charles, it seemed. “I’ll be over there.”
You nodded, popping up on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek before returning to your animated conversation with Charles.
Now, Oscar wasn’t a jealous guy by any means. On the contrary he was always quite calm and collected, so he thought he’d be fine. Secretly a little miffed, sure. It was nothing he couldn’t handle, but actually seeing you go starry eyed while talking to Charles sparked something inside him. He didn’t know how hard he was squeezing the can in his hand until he felt liquid trickling down the sleeve of his fireproofs.
“Ah, shit.” He muttered, shaking out his arm frustratedly.
“Stare at her any harder and she might burst into flames, mate.”
Oscar glanced to his left to see Lando standing there, arms crossed over his chest, expectant brow arched.
“Dunno know what you’re talking about.” Oscar grumbled, moving to toss the now crumpled can into the nearest rubbish bin. Lando looked wildly unconvinced. “What?”
“Don’t feed me that shit, Oscar, you’re way too easy to read for me to believe you’re not absolutely fucking in love with Y/N.”
Oscar made an offended noise from the back of his throat. “I am not easy to read.”
“Mate, you’re the openest book in the history of open books right now.”
“Openest isn’t a word.”
“Whatever! Stop deflecting.” Lando scoffed, wrinkling his nose. “You love her. Tell her that.”
“I can’t. I mean, I shouldn’t.”
“Why not?”
“What if it’s too soon? What if she doesn’t feel the same way yet?”
“You’re kidding, right? Please tell me you’re kidding.” Lando groaned, letting his head tilt back in exasperation. Oscar squinted at him, unamused. “Oh, you’re serious? Mate, come on. Just today, in the half a day I’ve known her, I’ve seen the way she looks at you when you’re not looking. I see the way you look at her when she’s not looking. It’s obvious. You’re both obnoxiously in love with each other, and it’s sickening.”
The corners of Oscar’s mouth lifted into a grin. “Really?”
“Oh my god, yes, really. I mean honestly, how dense can you be?”
“A lot, it seems.” Oscar cast another glance at you, feeling a lot better than he had a few minutes ago. You were laughing at something Charles had said, but now all that was running through his mind was how pretty you looked when you laughed. How happy you looked talking to a person you held a lot of admiration for. Professional admiration, nothing more.
Part of him felt a little guilty. He should’ve been supportive the whole time, not sulking around being a jealous little prick thinking you would ever choose Charles over him.
“No point in overthinking it now, bro.”
“Since when did you become such a wise old man?”
“Oi, watch it, you muppet. I’m only two years older than you.” Lando huffed, rolling his eyes. “And I’ve always been wise, thank you for noticing.”
“Sure you have.”
“Tell her.”
Oscar nodded once, accepting the clap on the shoulder Lando gave him. “I will. Thank you.”
“Of course. And if you ever need any more advice, come on down to Lando’s love shack, where you can get—”
“Leave now, I’m begging you.” Lando took the hint, wandering away to go wreak havoc somewhere else, leaving Oscar alone with his own thoughts as he waited for you to finish up. It wasn’t long until you were making your way back over, practically aglow with excitement as you approached him. “Made a new best friend, have you?”
You snorted, clearly amused. “Oh, of course. We’ve already arranged to go on a double date when we’re all in Monaco at the same time.”
“Ha ha, very funny. You do know Ferrari’s one of our top competitors, right?” Oscar laced his fingers through yours once more, letting your joined hands swing between the two of you as you walked.
“You know what they say—keep your friends close, but your enemies closer. Consider my blossoming friendship with Charles your way into the heart and soul of Ferrari’s strategies. You’re welcome.”
You were just joking, of course, and it made Oscar smile. Lando was right. Oscar was in love with you. He tugged you off the main path suddenly, leading you to a more secluded area between motorhomes.
“Osc? What’re you—” You were entirely cut off by him stopping in his tracks, and before you could comprehend what was happening, he was kissing you. He curled a hand around the back of your neck, the other coming up to cup your cheek gently.
It was by all means a sweet kiss, but a completely unexpected one nonetheless. Oscar had never been a public display of affection sort of guy before, so for him to kiss you out of the blue where anyone could see you…well, let's just say there was a first time for everything.
To say you were taken aback was an understatement. You let out a noise of surprise, but returned his kiss wholeheartedly as soon as you realized what was happening.
“That was new.” You breathed as soon as he pulled away, splaying your palms across the firm plane of his chest to steady yourself after he’d kissed the living daylights out of you. Oscar’s eyes fluttered open slowly, a dazed grin stretching his lips. “You feeling alright, babe?”
“I love you.”
Immediately, you beamed, lighting up faster than a bonfire on a warm Melbourne night. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, it’s about damn time you said it.” You poked his chest playfully, stifling a giggle at the way he did the biggest double take ever at your words.
“You—hang on, what?”
“I was waiting for you to be the one to say it first.” You shrugged. Oscar’s brow scrunched in confusion now. “Didn’t wanna scare you off and lose one of the best things in my life.”
“So…you do feel the same way?”
You reached up, smoothing a stray curl away from his forehead fondly. “Do I love you? ‘Course I do. I think I’ve loved you since the first time we met.”
“That was a good one, I should’ve said that. You’re so much better at this than I am.”
“What can I say? I’ve got the best just some guy as my inspiration.”
“I see what you did there. That’s gonna become a thing now, isn’t it?”
“Oh, Osc,” You sighed, patting his cheek affectionately. “It already has.”
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don’t lock the door ☆ cs55
genre: fluff, humor, smut, angst, thriller/suspense, mentions of depression, mentions of suicide, mentions of homicide, erotic literature, tragedy
word count: 9k
An oleander is beautiful—yet deadly. You’re beautiful—yet deadly. But Carlos has always been gentle, and has always known how to take care of things he loves. And even if he doesn’t, he’s willing to learn, just for you. But you can’t outrun secrets. Not when they have everything to do with the only thing he adores—you.
nsfw warning under the cut!
18+... fingering, riding, car sex
STOP AND READ:
The story you are about to read is not meant to be admired or looked up to. Regularly, the types of fics that I like to present to all of you are light, humorous, and sweet. While I feel that this story does have occasional glimpses of that, it also deals with heavy topics such as; suicide, depression, and homicide. At the end of the day, I care about all my readers, so if any of you feel like this is not something for you then you are always welcomed to head over to my masterlist for much lighter reads. You all know me by now, so you must know that sometimes I like to mix a story of traditional love with a dash of real life struggles, such as trauma and guilt, in this case. With that, I hope you enjoy word for word.
cherry here!...did you miss me????
Tension is normally one’s enemy. It’s fairly simple, you try your best to avoid what makes your skin crawl. Isn’t that how the story goes?
Not quite.
There’s tension, yes, but it's only because you’re the opposite sex. Nothing beyond that. It could also be because you’re both introduced to each other as a pair of miserable singles. Lewis is the person you share in common.
She’s a close friend, he proclaims as you two shake hands. The touch is sticky, just like hot glue— and for a minute—it feels like a knife cuts this invisible strain in half. He lets himself salivate over your lioness stare; dark, sharp, amorous. You lean towards him just the same; dominant, mature, suggestive.
I’ve seen you race.
He hums, still attached to your desirable touch. Yeah? Why haven’t I seen you then?
Fingers press sternly against his warm skin, as if to provoke him more than he already feels himself falling into. It should be alarming the way his mind slips into a frenzy because of it, but likes it. The rush.
Maybe because I wasn’t rooting for you.
There. Right then, he disconnects. I was hoping that wouldn’t be the case.
You grin. Well, now you know.
“You know what? Mingle—”
“Who says mingle?” you and Carlos question at the same time, judgemental eyes staring coldly.
Lewis blushes. “I-I-Is that not a thing anymore?” Silence. “Fuck, I really am getting old...”
The night consists of mimosas, because according to you, it reminds you of your late-mother. “She liked something fruity, but also fun enough to make her head spin. It was entertaining to watch.”
“How so?”
“She’d ramble on and on. Slurred about her dreams.” A sad smile. “That’s the only reason why I ever found out she wanted to become an author. She was fifty—five decades too old—but she said she wanted one last adventure before retiring. It didn’t even matter if she made it onto the New York Times Best Seller list.”
The way your eyes even out, round and almost doughy, makes him trip for a second because this is not the same girl he shook hands with nearly three hours ago. No, this version of you was almost childlike, but he supposes that's how everyone who loses a parent becomes.
It comes out shy—closed off—your laugh. As if you just caught yourself being too vulnerable. That was always the worst. “Look at me making you my therapist. I have got to stop doing that.”
His mouth opens lamely, ghostly scoff sitting upon his lips. And if it were to be released, it wouldn’t hurt your feelings. It was a weird thing to note. “I like hearing you talk.”
A beat. “We’ve only just met.”
Carlos grins, crinkles tracing the corner of his eyes like some beauty. “Then let's meet some more.”
The opportunity is there, the kind you’ve been looking for. With a sheepish smile, you nod. “I should warn you though, I’m a bit of a mess.”
Finally, the scoff escapes. And like envisioned, you laugh at the sound.
“Consider me warned.”
-
He fucked you that same night in the back of his car. It was late, so dark that you barely even had the chance to register the fact that you squirted all over his vintage Ferrari.
“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” he pants as he snaps his hips up again, fast motion making you head loll bad. You wonder what he means, but as soon as his long fingers circle your swollen bud, you’re just as good as gone.
He asked you out an hour later, when he dropped you off right in front of your apartment. You happily accepted, unable to hide your excitement.
Your smile falters. “Give me a reason as to why I should say yes.”
“Um, well, you sort of already said…yes?”
The confusion that settles onto his handsome features makes you glow with satisfaction. “I could always change my mind. Pretend this night never even happened.”
Panic rushes harshly against his shoulders. He doesn’t even know why he cares so much, but he does.
Vulnerability is a bitch.
“Huh,” he hums, relaxing against his seat, head hitting the expensive cushion. And you can see it. The challenge. He clicks his tongue, bored all of a sudden. “Listen, I want you, but I certainly don’t need you.”
You realize right there and then—you met your match.
You realize right there and then—you two share the same green pride.
You realize right there and then—
“It was nice getting to know you.”
-
The only reason you’re even friends with someone like Lewis is because your mother married rich.
Filthy fucking rich.
Then, somehow, married richer by her third and last marriage. The man was twisted, but you never knew just how much. Not for a very long time.
He dabbled in stocks, or some boring shit like that, and later invested in some other crap. Somewhere along the line, you met the Brit.
The same Brit who now hisses at you through the phone.
“God damn it, what happened? Weren’t you two getting along?”
You sigh, rubbing your feet together as you admire the way the navy blue paint covers your pedicured nails. Stormy clouds match your mood as you shake the bottle of pills that lay on top of your desk.
“He’s too vain.”
He groans. “You my dear, dear friend, are looking into a mirror then, I suppose.”
A sharp gasp. “Are you insinuating I’m the same?”
“If the shoe fits…”
“May I remind you that you sit and stare at yourself for God knows how long before any race? Newflash, dickhead, you’re going to sweat, look like shit, and one out of ten times, you’re going to win.”
“I see I triggered something.” He sighs heavily. The sound tells you he’s not really upset or anything, but more so worried. Ever since she died, you’ve been that way.
Snappy. Defensive.
“Hey, I’m sorry—”
“Don’t be. I know you.”
And although he can’t see, you still smile fondly. Rattling the bottle of antidepressants, you inch up higher and higher onto your chair until you face your own reflection. Shattered glass stares back at you as you feverishly look down.
“Do you still have an extra pass to this weekend's race?”
-
There had to be something wrong with you. Everyone could tell, and quite frankly, you could agree. Would you admit to it out loud? No, now that’s something different. Or maybe you’re just odd. That would also make sense. Whatever it was, it would explain as to why everyone around you screams with excitement as the fast cars fly by. You, on the other hand, simply stare with straight lips and empty eyes.
While all clap cheerfully when Lewis finishes on the third step, you cross your arms. While everyone runs out of the Mercedes garage to declare front row, you drag your feet slowly to the last.
While Carlos makes eye contact as he lifts his trophy—notably bigger than the Brits—you yawn.
You’re not impressed.
She’s not impressed, the Spaniard remembers thinking to himself as he smiles wider towards the stacks of cameras that turn him temporarily blind. He selfishly thinks you’re here for him, but he knows that's straight bullshit. Truth be told, it didn’t seem like you were here to support your friend either.
“It’s been so long,” Lewis huffs in disbelief as you stare across with vacant eyes. To him, you’re simply jetlagged. “Can you believe it?”
An exhale. “You did good.” Extending your legs outward, you admire the black tiles that shine back brighter than if it were to be white. “Drinks. On me.”
The Brit laughs. “Deal.”
-
Somewhere close by, they play jazz.
“Pretty,” you softly speak as you connect your lips to the glass. The live band sways back and forth, only adding to the charm you seem to like. And you like it a lot. “Dance with me.”
Lewis snickers. “I love you to death, but I’m gonna have to go with no.”
You frown. “Come on. I never ask you for anything.”
“You were born with a golden spoon and have used retinol since you were ten, you’re not allowed to ask for anything when you’ve already had everything.”
“Yeah…well not this.” You’re secretly envious of every lady in the room. The way they beam with sincere smiles at their husbands. Boyfriends? Flings? Affairs? Who cares honestly, you were jealous nonetheless.
The Mercedes driver watches as your fingers lazily tap against your lap, as if signaling you’re free. Guilt slithers down his neck as he sighs in defeat. “Fi–”
“Nice seeing you two here.”
Lewis wants to cry with utter thankfulness as Carlos inches closer with a lousy grin. “Hey! Oh God—hey.” You blink. “Wh-what are you doing here? Not that I’m complaining, of course, because I’m not.”
The Spanirad shrugs. “I won. Wanted to celebrate, I suppose.” Brown eyes flicker towards you like thunder and suddenly you feel naked under his gaze. You swallow. “You look nice.”
And there it is again—tension.
He cocks his head to the side, almost as if waiting for a compliment of your own. Instead, he finds himself being ignored. Crossing your legs, you lift the empty glass up as the bartender hurries for a refill.
Finally, Lewis speaks up. “I think I’m gonna hit the hay—”
“Who says hay?” you and the brunette spit out with snarkiness. You bite back a smile while he releases a chuckle.
The Brit stands up, chugging the rest of his drink as he waves you two off. “I’m not that old,” he shouts as he turns the corner and disappears.
Carlos takes the time to catch up on your appearance. Last time he saw you, you had longer hair, now it appears you’ve had a trim. He likes it. You were slightly tanner, but now appear a shade lighter. It could just be because it’s winter. It's nice seeing other versions of you.
“So, how have you be—”
“Why are you still here?”
He freezes. It takes him a while to find the strength to open his mouth.
“We never finished our conversation.”
-
He didn’t fuck you that night, no, he took you dancing. And maybe that’s why it worked this time around. Instead of taking the time to learn all the different types of moans you have, he took the time to learn all about your upbringing.
I learned how to bike when I turned six. Had severe trust issues for a year, so I tried again when I was seven.
That must be where your scars are from, he thinks to himself, but he finds them endearing.
I like long hair, I find it beautiful, but as soon as it’s starting to grow out I think it looks too weird on me.
That must be why your hair is shorter than he remembers, but he loves it. Has the urge to run his fingers through.
My favorite movie is How Harry Met Sally, but quite frankly, I don't find Harry attractive at all, so I never really understood why Sally settled down with him after so long.
And you’re honest. Brutally honest. And he finds that attractive.
“How about you, Mr. Singapore?”
I learned how to kart before I learned how to bike, actually. I, too, have scars on my hands from small crashes.
You blush as you hide yours beneath your coat.
I have two sisters, so I mainly learned how to dance because of them. I hated it at the time, but now I’m quite grateful.
Is it possible to swoon harder?
And I don’t have a favorite film, necessarily, but I’ve watched How Harry Met Sally, and I would agree. Sally was too good looking for him.
You have to laugh. “Is that so?”
He smiles. “The name Harry sounds so…” He winks cooly before running a hand through his locks. You giggle. “He looks more like a Bob.”
“Oh my God! Could you imagine? How Bob Met Sally?” You pause. “Wait, that actually doesn’t sound half bad…”
He chews on his bottom lip slowly, nodding in agreement. Silence engulfs you two as you stare at each other with round eyes. He’s the first to crack a loopy grin and you quickly follow with a sheepish one. Then, it vanishes and he’s left looking like he swallowed a frog.
“Listen, about last time…”
“Long forgotten.”
He halts, almost surprised by your response. “No, no, there’s no need to pretend, I was a—”
“Jerk?”
The Spaniard rolls his eyes. “Great, so you haven’t forgotten.”
You shrug. “I’m a girl. We remember everything.”
“Got it,” he declares. “Ask me again.”
Now it’s your turn to freeze. “What?”
“Ask me why you should say yes to a date with me.”
“You don’t have to do this, we’re good—”
“I know we are, but I still want you to ask.”
You lick your lip anxiously before relaxing your stiff shoulders. He tilts his head as if urging you and you nod. “Why should I say yes to you?”
Satisfaction settles. “Because you like a good challenge.” He leans closer. “And isn't that what this is?”
-
Carlos Sainz Jr. was made for you.
“Leave me alone,” you scream, veins throbbing, as you rush past him, heading towards the guest room. You’re glad his parents aren’t home at the moment because Lord knows the embarrassment you would feel.
“No. Not until you talk to me.” As simple as that. Your eyes twitch as you turn back, then bring your hands up to your hips. He adores it when you do that, though he probably shouldn’t right now.
“You want to talk?” You let out an unhinged scoff. “Oh, would you look at that, he wants to talk! Now he wants to talk. Well guess what, fuckhead—I don’t.”
With that, you march out into the balcony. His eyes follow the way you light up a cigarette. The way you drink the last drops of champagne that linger in the bottle gifted to you by his mother.
She was kind. She was beautiful. She didn’t deserve someone being this mean to her son.
You barely recognize him because of how blurry your vision is, but his scent does it. Musky. Woody. Calm.
He hands you the familiar pill, then a glass of water. He rushes the champagne away, then takes the cigarette and squashes it against the cold floor. He doesn’t so much call you out for being a lunatic, for upsetting his dogs with all your yelling, or for pushing him. No, he doesn’t do any of that. And you have never been more in love with him than now.
“I know I can be a bit much sometimes…” A sniffle. “I swear I try to catch onto it so you don’t have to deal with any of this, but—”
“You don’t mean it.” He tangles his fingers through your hair as you sob. And it’s soft despite spending the entire day near the ocean. It feels silky. He’s obsessed. “I know you.”
-
You were made for Carlos Sainz Jr.
“How do I look?”
“Like an angel.” He swears he turns bright red when you blow him a kiss. “Your name must’ve been Bonita in another life because look at you…” A hand flies up to clutch onto his heart as he makes a face. “Though, I must say, you do know how to make me look bad.”
You giggle. “Oh? This old thing? I thrifted it. Nice, eh?”
He groans. “Very, but you’re supposed to be rooting for Spain.” A gag. “Not Italy.”
You frown. “That's all I had. Plus, you’re basically Italian given your working status.”
“No, amor, they pay me to like Italy. It’s a cover up, think about it.”
You huff, popping your hip outward. “Still. I like it, so I’m wearing it while cheering for the opposite team.”
“Always over complicating things.” He laughs. “Can’t say I’m surprised, you’re a complicated person.”
A deadpan expression. “Suck your own dick.”
“Oi, relax.”
Spinning to face the mirror, you fix your jersey one last time before skipping out the door, tube socks sliding as you go. The Spaniard lets out a dreamy sigh.
Were you flawless? Not at all.
Were you put together? Not without a prescription.
But he loved figuring it all out with you. And that’s called love.
-
You’re in the middle of a rampage, during dinner. While everyone stares at you puzzled, he simply laughs at your cartoon expressions.
“I mean, I offered!” A pout. “I clearly stated I could get the cap signed for her and she gave me the nastiest, ugliest, dirty-looking glare! I for sure thought her face was permanently damaged.” You relax against the chair, your shaky hand finding its way to your water bottle. “Like sorry for riding your favorite driver…”
Charles laughs nervously. “I don’t think that was a necessary thing to include…”
You shrug, raising your brows over to your boyfriend who struggles to breathe.
The conversation flows easily, like most nights you're all together, but this time there’s a minor bump. You’ve been good about it; avoiding the question for so long. Over the course of time, you’ve managed to be so mendacious, that truly no one knew the truth. Not even Carlos.
“I hope it’s not overstepping, but how did your mum pass?”
He means no harm, Lando, but you just wish so badly that you could believe that. While Carlos and Lewis were the closest thing you have to a family nowadays, even they knew not to ask. You never laid the rules out loud, but they could tell it was an unwanted topic to have on your behalf, no matter how curious they got.
All of a sudden, your mood deteriorates. The look in Lando’s eyes makes sure to strike off as an apology, but you’re so busy looking down onto your lap that you don’t even pinpoint the meaning. The table grows awkward as time ticks by.
No one has the power to change the subject, save you the same way doctors tried to save your mother—because they, too—wonder.
You gulp, feeling small, but far too seen at the same time. It was confusing. “She, um…her last husband…” Everyone feels bad, like you’re some limping puppy, zigzagging down an empty highway, but remain quiet. Then, you look up, stone cold but the tip of your rosy nose and blotchy face is enough reassurance that you still have a beating heart.
“Husband number three strangled her to death.”
You say it like you don’t care. Like it hasn’t affected you at all, and that makes Carlos blink twice as fast as everyone else in the table. A droplet makes its way down your cheek as you let out a light laugh.
“I guess he thought he was some Superior God who had a say in cutting her time short.”
They all freeze.
“I am so sorry for asking—”
“I didn’t need to respond.” You smile lamely. “It’s fine, Lando.”
But it’s not, not even close. They ripped the confession out of your throat, at least that’s what it felt like. No one stepped up, no one said anything.
Your eyes flicker to the only man who makes your heart speed.
He reaches for your hand and you grip it hard.
No one said anything.
Not. Even. Carlos.
-
You’ve always excelled at holding a grudge. It came fairly simple.
But as you stare at him through the screen, for the first time—and only the first time—you struggle. Maybe it’s his puppy eyes that betray you, or his gentleness anytime he steps near you, you don’t really know.
And you don’t want to.
“I was thinking mariscos.”
Hair flies past your eyes as you squint. He looks particularly handsome today, wearing a linen shirt that drapes over him like some silver armor. Long waves brush against his temples as he returns the squint, slightly smiling at your lips.
“Sounds good to me.”
Soft music roams the isolated restaurant that almost seemed to belong to just you two, and that helps you relax. You could tell it helps him too.
“The car felt good today.”
“Yeah?”
He nods, biting onto a piece of shrimp. “Felt like I was flying.”
You let out a whistle. There’s a comfortable silence that lingers for a while before you raise a brow up to the open sky. “Hey,” you start as his orbs flicker up with all the attention in the world. “Do you believe in angels?”
A moment. “I’d say so, yes. Yes, I do.”
Hum. “You sound freakishly sure.” You inch forward with teasing eyes. “Why?”
“Easy.” Chocolate orbs swirl with adoration. “There’s you.”
“I don’t count.”
He frowns. “And why not?”
“Because you love me, of course you’d say that only to be nice.”
“I say so because I know so.”
“Love is blind, love is blind,” you chant, sipping on his open can.
A second ticks by. “Why do you ask?”
And like the first night he met you, your eyes merge into doe eyes. “Because I do.” A sheepish grin. “And sorry to disappoint, but it’s not you.”
“What’s his name?” he jokes.
But you’re not even listening. “My mom was pure. She was a good person, Carlos.” A beat. “She’s my forever angel.”
His heart physically hurts at your glossy eyes, immediately reaching for your hands. “You must really miss her…”
A wet laugh. “Is there a word stronger than ‘really’? If there is, then that would be one way to say it.”
And he has to apologize, even if it’s seven days too late.
“I’m sorry for not stepping in that night. I-I-I should have said something and you should have said nothing.” Thick brows knit in together. “You don’t know how shitty I felt, but—”
“You wanted to know as well.”
The way his features freeze is enough confirmation. And you can't be mad. Not even a little. Not even a lot.
“That doesn’t make you a bad person, Carlos. I should have been more open and honest with you first.” A gust of hot air slaps you across the face. “I tend to shut out people like you because…I don’t know.”
“Vulnerability is a bitch?”
You laugh. “That’s one way to say it.” Orbs scan his beauty with no shame before falling back. “You still have plenty of questions, don’t you?”
“O-of course not.”
Another laugh. “It’s okay. You caught me in a good mood. Go on.”
He’s awkward at first, but slowly eases with the sound of your breathing. “Why hasn’t he been arrested?”
“Because he’s a multi-billionaire.”
He gulps and you blink. “Why haven’t you sued?”
“Because I’m not a multi-billionaire.”
“So…he did a cover up with a wad of cash?”
“Mhm. No one dared ask whose hand shaped bruise was imprinted in her neck.”
He’s caught off guard by your bluntness, but he knows he needs this because he knows it will keep him up the same ways it’s kept him up since that god forbidden dinner.
“This was the cause of your…” He doesn’t even want to finish his sentence.
“Depression…yeah. Losing someone you love will do that to ya.”
But he wants to ask—he wants to ask more because he knows there has to be more. He’s lost people he loves too—and he loved them very much—and he never got this way. In a flash, he feels guilty for comparing his healing process to yours but quickly looks down onto his lap.
And the hot summer rain is enough warning for him not to question you any further.
The Spaniard shares a grateful smile. “Thank you for trusting me. To take care of you, and all t-that,” he stutters, blushing.
“I love you, Carlos.” A beat. “I’ve always trusted you. The only person I don’t trust is myself.”
-
“Be quiet,” she hisses, urgently signaling you closer. “And make sure to shut the door.”
Confused, you hesitantly push until you hear a click. Inching closer to your mom, you slowly become more and more lost as you eye the scattered papers all over your step-dads office table. “What is all this?”
Color drains from her normally youthful face. Even the brightest shade of red can’t help add life. “Proof of embezzlement.”
“What?”
She slides stacks of black folders towards you and you quickly flip through, to which you don’t understand a single thing. “He’s stealing money, that’s what. We’re not talking thousands, we’re talking millions,” she whispers frantically before growing green. “Oh God, I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Okay, okay, hold on, you’re okay.” Rushing to be next to her, you clumsily tie her hair up into a messy ponytail before fanning her with the white sheets. You wince, quickly placing them back down. “How did you even come across this?”
Just as fast as a lighting bolt, she spins the chair. “I’m starting my book—” She gags, “I was supposed to start today, but I came in here looking for his typewriter. You know, the one with the tiny cherubs?” Across the office, you spot it, the tiny angels delicately painted onto the infamous typewriter. You nod. “Well, I started to search for some paper and instead found all of this…”
Even you grow dizzy as you eye the infinite zero’s that jump out against all types of sums. That’s not even enough to spend in ten lifetimes. It was no wonder he just recently made it onto The Forbes list. Her eyes—honest as ever—make you panic as you twirl your thumbs. “Wait…you’re not thinking of confronting him about it, are you?”
“I have to.” Pause. “Right?”
No. You don’t want her to. Not in any scenario. It’s taken you both so long to reach the life you deserve, and now that you were finally here it’s about to be ripped away from you? Your lack of words makes her glare.
“I don’t know why I’m asking you, I have to! It’s the right thing to do.”
Adrenaline. “Mom, just think about it—”
“I did not raise you to be avaricious,” she spits out, fire practically fuming out of her. You flinch. “I’m going to talk to him.”
“Y-you’re right.” There goes all your money down the drain. “I’m with you no matter what.”
Knock knock.
Like mother-daughter, you both freeze as your eyes flicker to the sound.
“Angelica, are you in there?”
You never liked the name Angelica. Not on anyone else that wasn’t your Angelica.
Running over to open, she finds herself face-to-face to Lucifer himself as he cocks his head in humor. “Locking me out of my own office now?” He enters. “Fun.” Dark eyes roam the messy area. “Fun.”
Her eyes plead with you in a language only you both knew, but never did you mean to obey. You wanted to stay with her—something told you to stay with her.
“Honey, give us some privacy, yeah?”
“U-uh…” He winks like that was the go-ahead. Like that was the last permission you needed to agree. And maybe it was.
Deep down it’s almost like you knew he had sinister intentions. Deep down it’s almost like you knew he was capable of committing those sinister intentions.
Deep down.
It’s like you don’t even care.
You smile, tight lipped. “Whatever you need.”
You heard the argument that night, you heard the threats. You heard her pleads, you heard her chokes. You could only imagine what was going on inside, but you were your mothers daughter. You could imagine quite a lot.
She could’ve been an author—with his resources she might just have hit the New York Times Best Seller list. She could have been a grandmother one day—surely your kids would have lived a luxurious life.
She could have been obedient. Why wasn’t she obedient? Was it so hard to brush it all under the rug?
He was sweating, just as much as a pig. Or maybe he’s glowing, he is smiling after all. Here and there he apologizes in a lousy manner, but you didn’t care. All you cared about was—
“How much money am I gonna get to keep?”
He’s intrigued. “How much do you want?”
“Enough to not have to worry.” You can still see it; cramped rooms, tin canned meals on paper plates. You could never go back.
An eye roll. “You’re just like her…” A beat. “Fucking greedy.” You can feel the blood rush to your cheeks. You’re embarrassed—-of course you were—who is he to judge? He sighs. “No.”
“What do you mean no?”
“It means I’m not transferring you anything. I want you out of this house no later than Sunday.”
Plump lips open, then snap shut, teeth gritting. “I’ll tell everyone that you’re a murderer. You’ll lose it all, w-watch.”
He’s not phased. Not even in the slightest. “And who’s going to believe you? Tell me, really, because I’d like to know.”
Fuck him for having everything. Fuck him for having everything. Fuck him for having everything.
And fuck yourself for having nothing at all—again.
Months swept by, the death was ruled a suicide, and antidepressant became your loyal friend. There was no one else, and sometimes you feared there would always be no one else.
Then—by some miracle—there was Carlos.
He was handsome. He was shy. He was sweet. He was kind.
He was rich.
You played hard to get, but so did he. You played the long haul, but so did he. You were a fantastic liar, but he was an ever better believer.
And it all clicked.
Just the way it was supposed to.
-
You’ve been accustomed to a certain lifestyle for years now, but somehow you’re always surprised about the sudden boost you’ve switched to ever since you’ve met him.
Chanel heels turned into red bottoms. Last season dresses turned into those that were not yet released. You loved everything about it.
“You look so beautiful, cariño,” he groans against your lips, desperate for more. His large hands play with the silky fabric, fighting to slide it up against your hips. You shudder. “I mean…come on.”
“Hey, hey—that’s sweet and all—” You push yourself closer to his toned body, immediately feeling his erection. You nearly whimper. “But why don’t you fuck me instead?” A kiss. “You missed me, no?”
And instead—he whimpers. “How dare you even ask?”
With that, he picks you up with ease, pinning you against the wall. You’re dizzy, because unbeknownst to him, he’s casted a spell on you. Never did you think you could fall in love, much less, have someone reciprocate.
Tender fingers make their way to your clit as you lunge forward, biting down onto his shoulder. It should amaze you how he holds you up with one arm, but you’re not. If anything, you leak more and more by every passing second.
His dirty pants make you fold as you clench around him. The way they curl, the way they pulse, all of it was your kryptonite.
“Shit, shit, shit,” you squeal, keeping your eyes trapped shut, feeling the familiar knot forming. He grins, pecking your sweaty forehead, digits speeding up. Berry lips form an O as you moan louder with every push.”I-I’m c-c-close—oh God.”
“Shh. It’s okay, let go for me, yeah? I’m right here with you.”
Gritting your teeth harder, you moan like some pornstar as you finish all around him. Almost like some rule, he desperately sucks his fingers clean. The Spaniard hums like he’s living his biggest dream of all before opening his round eyes.
“So sweet.”
You blush. “Yours tastes like shit.”
He laughs. “And yet you beg for me to finish all over your face, isn’t that so?”
Nearly choking at his bluntness, you fight back a smile as you play with his floppy locks. They’ve grown so much from the last time you saw him, so this was certainly eye candy to you. He sighs, relaxing as you continue to twirl thick strands around your fingers.
Soft legs still drape over his waist, hands still lay around your waist, and even breathing connects you both. Carlos feels like he’s nearly dozing off, but his hand remains firm, preferring to take a bullet than to let you fall.
You like to think that you like his lashes the best. But then there’s his eyes. And his nose. And his heart. And his lips. And his hands. And his sculpture body. And his jokes. And his laugh. And his freckles. So you never could choose, not truly.
Inching closer to his ear, you smirk slowly. “Wanna fuck my mouth?”
His eyes snap open, jaw clenching. “You’re such a tease.”
A shrug. “Want to or not?” You bite your lip, legs letting go of his hips as you slide down. “Because this offer ends in five…” He raises a skeptical brow. “Four…” You motion him closer to which he steadily follows. “Three…” He laughs. “Two, one!”
Sprinting up the stairs in a flash, you giggle as he chases after you. The sound of his steps make your heart beat faster as you jump onto your shared bed. Rushing past the corner, he cocks his head to the side as he clicks his tongue. Stepping into the room carefully, he swung the door closed before locking it. You frown.
“Reassures me that no one will walk in.”
“No one will walk in,” you whisper as your stomach drops. “There’s no need t-to—”
“No, yeah, you’re right,” he agrees, taking in your breathless state. “But I prefer it this way. Just you.” A closer stride. “And me.”
Palms are sweaty. Blood slithers down your throat and thighs. And yet your freeze. You feel hot and cold, all at once. You don’t like the feeling, any of it, but you try to ignore the inner monologue.
“You look stunning,” he states, finally reaching you. “You always do.”
Your speeding heart lessens. “T-thank you.”
A beat. “You’re not nervous—are you?”
Hastily, you shake your head. “N-no! Of course not!”
Thick brows knit together. “Because you normally aren’t.” His smile fades. “W-we don’t have to do anything tonight if you don’t want to, you know that right?”
Physically, you’re cringing. Mentally, you’re spiraling. The act itself makes the Spaniard withdraw, taking a steady step back and shaking his head. Panic rises fast as you crawl closer to him, reaching the end of the bed.
“I just have a lot on my mind, but I want this.” A beat. “I want you.”
It’s as if you’re a blank sheet of paper, blinking up at Carlos with such innocence. So much so, it makes his heart stop. He looks for reassurance, which you give him, and he looks for it again, which you give again without hesitance.
“Come on, Carlitos…” you slowly whisper, batting your eyes. “I know you’ve missed my mouth.”
If you weren’t so breathtaking, if you weren’t so seductive, if you weren’t so goddamn tempting then surely turning you down wouldn’t be an issue. By alas, you’re here—and even better—you’re all his.
“Eres un sueño.” It seems like an eternity passes by before he finally steps close to you once again, getting rid of whatever distance you ever had. Like it was never meant to be there to begin with. “Can I kiss you first?”
It’s sweet that he feels the need to build up to fucking you sore, but sweet nonetheless. That’s one thing you love about him—and there’s a lot to choose from—his respect towards you. Smiling warmly, you extend your arm, inviting him like an angel before he smashes his lips against you like the devil.
The contrast. It’s just what you needed.
“God, I fucking love you.”
“I—” His lips press harsher as he continues marking his territory. All of it was making your head spin like a rollercoaster. “I love you too,” you manage to spit out as he makes his way down. You blush. “I-I-I sort of wanted to…”
He blinks. “Sort of what?”
“Well, you know…” You point towards his hardened cock.
And he actually snickers. “Cat got your tongue today or what, bella?”
A groan. “You’re so fucking annoying—”
“No, no, no,” he cuts in with a whistle. “By all means, go ahead.”
Desperate hands crazily reach out towards his belt in a nanosecond. You should be ashamed how hopeless you are, but you don’t find enough strength to care. Not when he was looking down at you with hungry eyes.
“Tan linda,” he whispered underneath his breath. As if you weren’t meant to hear him. As if he can’t quite believe it’s you he gets to keep. This must all be a dream to him, he thinks.
Just as you’re about to pull his jeans down, large hands get ahold of your wrists. Confused, you look up at him, head tilted and messy hair falling over your shoulder. He grins wickedly.
“Just one more kiss.”
You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Are you kidding me—”
But his soft lips move with such urgency that you don’t even have time to bitch and moan. Not that you’re trying. You can feel it; the hunger, the lust. The way you run your fingers through his hair, or how he squeezes your ass. In a matter of seconds, the room grows steamy, hot breaths expanding with every peck. It’s as if Carlos was too afraid of being ripped away from you even for a second, scared your lips might change and he wouldn’t know a thing about it.
Not knowing you might be his biggest fear.
It happens without a warning, his grip. You feel it slide slowly up your ribs—you remember thinking how much you like it, how much it tickles. Then it reaches your chest, to which his eager hands squeeze your tits, pathetically moaning into your mouth. You can’t help but giggle, but still not separating. And then…
It reaches your neck.
As soon as he squeezes, your eyesight begins to blur, but he doesn’t notice. Your chest begins to rise and fall at an alarming rate, but he doesn’t notice. And you’re terrified.
But he doesn’t notice.
“Carlos,” you whimper, but he takes it as a good sign, mouth moving with ease. “Carlos, honey…”
“Yeah, baby?” His voice is deep. “You like that?” Large palm squeezes harder. “Bet you do.”
“Okay, stop!” you scream, arms flying like some madman. “Let go of me!”
Panicked, he releases you in a hurry, jumping off of your trembling body. Color drains his face as realization hits him, but it's too late. You’re sobbing hard, shoulders bouncing up and down. The way you crawl back with fear makes his heart break as he shakes his head, running a hand against his jaw.
“Fuck.” More cries. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—I am so sorry, baby…” Desperate eyes stare back at you as you hide your face against your shaky hands. “I’m so fucking stupid. I should have known, I should have known.” Inching closer proves to be a mistake when you leap off the bed, throwing a mountain of pillows like daggers.
“Stop it,” you demand. “Stay. Right. There.”
He flinches. “Are you afraid of me?”
The laugh that erupts from your throat is unlike the others he’s heard. It’s almost maniacal. It makes his skin grow with goosebumps. “Is that even a question?” Dark mascara runs down your cheeks as you breathe heavily. “You just tried to kill me.”
“No,” he pronounces. “No, you know that that’s not true. I-I-I thought you’d like it!” The glare you flicker is enough for him to wince, pinching the tip of his nose. “I should have known better, okay? Please, just…calm down.”
All your sniffles come to an end as you freeze. “Are you calling me crazy?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Oh my God.” Pushing your hair back, you release a chuckle. “You actually think I’m crazy.”
“I don’t think you’re crazy, stop putting words into my mouth.”
A scoff. “Okay, wow.”
He doesn’t have a clue as to how he continues to dig himself into a hole—and yet—here he is. Digging his own grave. Exhaling hard, he licks his lips before looking straight into your glossy eyes. “I love you,” he starts, but you remain as still as a statue. “And I want us to work through this. I want to be able to talk to you, yeah?” A beat. “I’m sorry about…what I did, I should have never done it knowing you’re…traumatized.”
He’s almost scared to see your reaction, but it never comes. Instead, you blink hastily, as if you’re mortified.
You should’ve known. You should have figured that karma would catch up to you sooner or later.
I mean, all sins must be paid for, right?
As soon as he starts closing the gap, you’re thumping heart picks right back up. “I just want to talk—”
“No.”
Despite his hurt, he continues his march towards you. “I just want to be near you, please—”
“I said no!”
It happens almost in the blink of an eye, the sound of glass shattering. He sort of thinks he must’ve imagined it, your hand flying to punch the mirror right besides you, but the gentle blood that oozes out of your hand makes his heart stop. Suddenly, all the scars you have make sense. So much makes sense.
“Just…stay there, Carlos,” you say, voice trembling, small hand holding out a piece of sharp glass towards him like some wannabe knife. You bite your bottom lip. “Just—there.”
“Cariño…”
“Stop it with that,” you plead, teardrops slipping. “Stop calling me that.”
Somewhere in the shard, he catches his reflection. Half-scared, half-brokenhearted. He doesn’t even know how you two got to this point.
He gulps. “Okay. I’ll stop, I’ll stop, but please put that down.” You shake your head fast, splotchy cheeks flushing furthermore. Carlos sighs desperately. “Come on—you’re bleeding.”
“I’m used to it by now.”
Tension resurfaces once again between you both as you stare at each other, awaiting for the next challenge. Playing the silent game for a second, curious to see who breaks next.
“Why did you lock the door?”
He almost laughs. “We always shut the door—”
You raise the blade up higher as you begin to lose patience. Deep down, you know you’re not capable of harming him, but how could you ever let your guard down once again when he tried to strangle you to death?
History almost repeats itself, and you’ll be damned if you ever let it happen.
“You said it, we shut it but we never lock it.” A soft cry. “What were you planning on doing to me, Carlos?”
It’s like a knife to the heart, you’re sudden distrust. The brunette finds himself struggling to breath as he blinks like a lost deer.
“You know that I would never hurt you. Not on purpose, at least…”
You let out a wet snarl, shaking your head. “I don’t believe you.”
A flinch. “All of this was a mistake and I adore you.”
“You don’t, though,” you protest, the shaky vision intensifying. “If not you wouldn’t have tried to mur—”
“For the last time, I’m not your step-father!” It’s as if he’s finally reached his breaking point, just now. His body is tired. His mind is tired. Everything is just tired of trying. Carlos shrugs lamely. “If you don’t want to believe me…so be it.”
The pain that rains out of him should be enough for you to know that he’s telling the complete truth. He’s a good guy, with pure intentions. He’s not here to get even with you on your mothers behalf. None of what you’re imagining is true.
But you just can’t seem to understand.
“I don’t believe your lies, alright?” you spit out with deep breaths. You drop the blade, finally. “Open the door.”
With his head hung low, he complies, feet dragging with every step. And finally, with a hand on the knob, he turns to give you one last glance. He can tell you’re holding in your breath and he doesn’t know why it bothers him so much. Why it make him feel so much like a monster…
Click. The wooden door swings open as he pushes it gently.
“Now leave.”
A wave of nausea strikes with your words. “Amor—“
“Stop. Don’t even look at me.” Tension. “I don’t want to see you ever again—not even by accident.”
And that was the last stab that ended it all.
-
Every now and then, he wonders how you are. Hopefully better.
He hears your name mentioned once in a blue moon, but instinctively blocks it out, too disturbed at the thought of what occurred between you two.
What did occur between you two?
He could take a guess and say that you’re internally fucked. Straight and simple.
But it’s still annoying. The way he wishes to forget you with every passing birthday wish.
At first, it was because he missed you. He just wanted to forget you because he missed you—yes.
Later, it was because the memory of the cramped room suffocated him. The sound of glass breaking was stronger than the sound of his car crashing. And somehow the latter seemed better.
He just wanted to forget that day—yes.
Staring off into space has been his thing for a long time, often getting called out on it. Now, he finds himself with his eyes closed, too scared that someone might notice his feelings and feel the need to ask if he’s okay.
He hasn't been. Not since you.
“Grape or watermelon?”
Popping and eye open, he catches a glance of Lewis before rolling over. “I’m good.”
It’s tough, this silent war between both his friends. The break up simply made this…tough. Especially when no one really knows what happened.
Setting the electrolytes down, the Brit claims a spot next to the brunette. Groaning at the unwanted company, Carlos switches to sit upright. Brown eyes glare strongly before Lewis laughs it off.
“How you doin’, bud?”
Great, no yeah, just severely depressed thanks to your so-called friend. Would you mind asking her where she gets her antidepressants from for me? I mean, I would, but last time we saw each other she, uh, I don’t know, tried to stab me? And you know what’s the most fucked up shit? It’s the fact that I still love her just the same.
I just wanted to help.
He forces a shy smile. “Fine.”
A pity grimace. “I can tell she misses you, you know?”
Carlos hates how excited the thought of you alone—dreamily sighing for his return—gets him to sit up straighter, suddenly interested. It’s foolish, really.
“She would never admit it, but I can tell because I know—”
“Her?” The Spaniard lets out a mocking scoff. “Trust me, you don’t. Not entirely.”
That shuts Lewis right up as he sits there, staring blankly. A dark brow furrows. “Listen, I don’t know what happened between you two—not that I need to know—but she’s a good person. And so are you. So…don’t be afraid of reaching out.”
He flickers his brown eyes accusingly. “Why should I? Did she put you up to this?”
“She didn’t—“
But the fact is, the hesitation gives him away. Anger arises as the Spaniard rolls his eyes. “I knew it, God, I knew it!” A second. “I know her.”
The Brit drowns with nervousness as he waves his hands in despair. “She just wants you to apologize!”
A singular laugh. “Apologize for what?” He pauses, squinting at his friend. “She didn’t tell you why we broke up, did she?”
“No.”
“Then you don’t really know who’s fault it was, do you?”
Lewis looks down onto his lap. “No. Not really.”
“Great, then let me be the one to tell you that it was both of ours. I’m no saint but neither is she.”
An award silence lingers as the Spaniards voice echoes the room. Lewis nods. “Understood. I got it, okay?”
He sighs an irregular sigh. “I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“Don’t worry about it, man.” A sheepish grin. “It’s not my place to fix anything about your guys’ relationship, I get it.”
Carlos’ face switches to bright red as he nods his head once. “T-thanks.”
The Brit, ever happily, stands up firmly before patting his back. “I’m always here if you need to talk.”
“Gracias.” Lewis is just a few steps away when he clears his throat before he can even stop himself from asking. “How’s she doing?”
It came across almost softer than a mumble, and one might have missed it if not alert, but not Lewis.
Spinning to face the almost manchild with round eyes, he smiles as bright as the sun, and that makes his stomach turn. Because he knows. He knows you’re doing—
“Really well.”
Fluffy hair falls down as he tilts his head, clicking his tongue. “That’s good.” Sure. He returns the same smile with a twitch. “That’s really good.”
Lewis has known you two for a long time now. He’s unwillingly memorized your ticks. How the right side of your face slightly twitches before every lie, or how the left side of his does the same before every lie. Much like right now.
The Brit contemplates for a minute, then two, then opens his mouth in the most hesitant manner.
“She’s moving to Germany.” Carlos freezes. “Only for a few months. Maybe a year, who knows. But…you should read her book.”
He unfreezes. “Her what?”
A faint smile. Eyes crinkled. “It’s a tough read, but I believe it was necessary. You know, to finally talk about it.”
-
He never quite believed you would open up this way, and yet here he was, in an unknown bookstore, spacing out. Your name jumps out like some shooting star, too difficult to ignore.
Without a doubt, you’d get a lawsuit from your step-father. Of course—you were only dragging the last name of what seemed to be the world's richest man.
For what it’s worth, Carlos is proud. This must mean you’re open to moving on. To get the necessary help you so desperately need. From start to finish, the pages are enticing. You go into gruesome depth, something you never seemed to have a problem in doing. From the mention of how her eyes remained open with no sign of life, only terror, to the fact that you got your many scars from punching the door, trying to get in on time. How he bribed his way against the laws.
Everything seemed to be coming out.
So then why, as he sits in his driver's room, staring at your picture in the back of the book, does he feel like doesn’t believe it?
Not even a generous half.
-
Angelica lived up to the first five letters of her name.
She was there for you in the moments you needed her the most. She braided your hair for playdates, she tied your shoe laces even when you were too embarrassed to ask, and she worked her way up, making sure you had it all.
Undeniably, she was one hell of a woman. Then again, she had more within her—pulled some trigger you never thought she’d pull.
You were going to lose it all, why couldn’t she foresee that? That conversation was going to rip your inheritance straight from your tight grip; the one that ensured your future vacations. How could she ever betray you? Her own daughter?
You were acquisitive. You were possessive. You were partially responsible for her death.
But call it naiveness, you really thought it’d work.
No one will truly know the way your soul left your body when you heard you wouldn’t get a single dollar. Not even a fucking cent. You had to find some other way to stay secure.
But Carlos was out to get you, you just know he was. You don’t have a clue as to how he found out about the truth, about what happened inside that stupid mansion, but he knew it all. And you had to get out of there.
Only it led you back to square one. With no purpose. With no money. Fuck men and their actions, seriously, too all hell with them.
However, you were your mothers daughter at the end of the day.
You could be a writer. An even better one that she could've ever been. If you wanted to, you could do it.
And that is exactly what you did.
You typed, and typed, and typed until your fingers would cramp up. The multi-billionaire was a leviathan and everyone would see that no matter what.
You, on the other hand, were an innocent bystander. Too weak to intervene, to fight back. Too young. Yeah. That was what happened that night.
But you also had your own perspective. One your mom could never match.
While she married for the illusion of love, you would’ve married for money with no shame. Carlos just happened to be the luckiest of strikes because you got both.
While she always was at the front of the room without having to try, you were always in the back with a bitter smile. Why did she get to have two dimples? All eyes would have surely been on you if you had at least one.
And while she never cared about reaching the New York Times Best Seller list—you did.
She would have jumped with joy just by selling ten copies, but not you. You always wanted more—craved more. Label it as ambition.
More copies sold means more money. A trust fund means more money. Playing the victim against your step-father means even more money. So yeah…
You did care about that stupid list.
Tilting your head back against your seat, you flinch at the taste of the pill, too familiar for your liking, but the wine helps. It always does nowadays.
Buzz.
Picking up with a level of indifference was all fake—you had been yearning this call for what seemed like your whole life.
“Hey.” His voice is almost raw. Like he could use a couple cough drops. “I-I-I read your book. It was incredible.”
And for the first time in a while, you smile. “Thank you, that means a lot, Carlos.”
You can hear the static against the line, indicating once again that you’re on opposite sides of the world and not together. You can almost bet that it will always stay that way.
The Spaniard coughs awkwardly into your ear.
“Oh, and also, congrats on making it onto the New York Times Best Seller.”
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