Style // 𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙡𝙚𝙨 𝙇𝙚𝙘𝙡𝙚𝙧𝙘

11.

Friday

Nightclub bathrooms. Such a weird place, like it's own little world.

I stand in the furthest corner of the room, leaning my shoulder against the wall with my arms crossed. My face is a perfect illustration of expressionless, yet my head is a jungle.

Your youth is meant to be your time to shine. To live your dream, to purposely be an asshole just for the thrill of it. Here I am, in one of the biggest night clubs in the principality, wishing I never came.

Alright, that's a bit dramatic. Maybe, just maybe, if teenage me hadn't gotten herself in a part-time relationship, I wouldn't be in this situation. Where my on-off relationship wanders around wherever he pleases and occasionally pops up out of nowhere, and my friend wants to strangle him. If you think 'strangle' is a harsh way to explain it, you're wrong. In fact, I think that is a somewhat polite way to put it.

If I could, would I change the way mine and Charles' life has played out, and continues to play out? Probably not.

I've been gone for a while, a lot longer than a 'quick bathroom break'. If I'm honest, I'm delaying how much time I spend out there. I watched Charles march his way over, I had to turn my back on him in case he went straight into the private lounge. There could be a massacre out there, or he could've lost interest.

"Hey babe, what's up?" A girl with a strong, American accent asks me out of the blue. "You've been zoned out for a while?"

The girl that's approached me looks sweet and innocent. Cute, colourful, frilly outfit, sweet face, genuine concern for me. Her friend?  She couldn't give a flying fuck. Full black outfit, grumpy face, dramatic make up to emphasise the RBF. Miss RBF ignores her friend talking to a stranger, like it's nothing new. Nothing special. Instead, she checks herself out in the mirror, fiddling with parts of her outfit she's least impressed with.

"Oh, I'm fine, just a low social battery." I shrug it off, giving her a smile. "I haven't been in here for that long."

"I've bombed a toilet whilst you've been here." The other girl mutters, looking down at her nails.

Lovely.

"Ignore her, she's vulgar." The girl waves a hand towards her friend, who gives a proud smirk. "Are you part of that white party in the lounge?"

"Yeah, I am." I nod, standing up and brushing my outfit down. "I should probably get back to-"

"Is Charles Leclerc with you?" She interrupts, eagerly stepping closer. "Is he single right now? Could you give him my number?"

This must be what it's like to date a celebrity! Strangers approaching you, trying to pry into the relationship. I could mess with her head right now! If I had the energy to create a story, pretend to take her number as if I'll give it to him. These poor girls think F1 drivers will date anybody. They won't! Unless you're a model or come from a fancy family that can wipe their tears with £50 notes, they aren't interested. I just got lucky, and met Charles before his career blew up.

"No, no he isn't with us." I mumble, taken aback by the change in morale. "Thanks for checking in on me."

Before the American had time to pipe up again, I dash around her, dodging her friend's shoulder by a fraction of a centimetre. I should've known what was about to happen. I should've just gone about my business and left the bathroom. Now I've got to return to the stupid lounge with all these snobby people- besides Stella and Elliot, maybe Mark- and pretend I'm having a good time!

I scan the lounge as I approach it, making sure Charles isn't in there. I don't need him and drunk Stella in the same room, let alone within an arm's reach of each other. The lounge seems crowded and cramped now everyone has stood up, loosening up their high-horse egos and gaining a flow to the music.

My drink stands alone on the table. Unattended, I don't know how long for. Long enough for me to leave it. I weave back through the maze of people loitering around the bar, trying to find either Elliot or Stella. I hate white parties. Men always wear white shirts, but not white bottoms. The girls wear the skimpiest white dresses they can- including myself. Everyone blends into a human cloud. Luckily, Elliot is stood on his own at the bar, leaning on it as the screen of his phone harshly lights up his face.

"Hey, sorry I took so long." I apologise as I stand next to him. "Just ran into two girls who are obsessed with Leclerc."

"So, every other girl in Monaco?" Elliot replies, slipping his phone into his pocket.

"Yeah, pretty much." I respond drily, considering my current situation with the driver. "Who were you texting?"

"Just my on-off relationship, funnily enough." Elliot grins, taking his drink from the bartender. "Sorry- did you want anything?"

"A rum and coke would be nice, thank you." I smile, and the bartender dashes off once again. "Are you getting back with her?"

"Absolutely not, not this time anyway." Elliot scoffs, shaking his head. "She's somehow got my location linked to her phone, she's pissed that I'm in a club."

"Is that not illegal?" I frown, surprised at how chilled he is about this. "She knows where you are 24/7?"

"Probably, but I don't care." He pops his phone against the card machine to pay, sliding my drink along the smooth, sparkly counter. "I don't even know why she has it, it's not like I'm anywhere interesting right now."

"Yeah, that's true."

We both clink our glasses at his statement before bringing them to our lips. I'm glad it's not just me who's bored out of their brain. My eyes dart to the main dance floor, where everyone is having a much better time than us. Normal people, wearing normal outfits and doing normal things. Not like these stuck up rich blokes who have a lounge booked out so everyone can acknowledge their money.

I spot Charles and a friend chatting in a corner across the room, a bit further from the dance floor. Probably wanting to be left alone rather than have all the attention on him. The pair of them talk to one another whilst observing everything going on around them, like two popular girls in a high school movie bitching about the rest of their year.

"How long has Mark been single for then?" I ask Elliot, taking my eyes off Charles before he catches me staring.

"Couple of months?" Elliot guesses, pulling the corner of his lips downwards. "What about Stella?"

"Since I can remember." I giggle, causing Elliot to grin. "He has to tame her down, some days she acts like an animal."

"Oh, Mark loves women who are crazy, they'll be dating in a few weeks." Elliot explains, bringing his drink to his lips with a hum. "This lounge is fucking tedious."

"I am so glad you're thinking the same." I voice my opinion swiftly after his. "D'you want to go to the dance floor?"

"Yeah, fuck it, why not?" Elliot says, already leading the way. "Maybe I can run into Leclerc and squeal over him like a fangirl."

Let's not do that.