Style // 𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙡𝙚𝙨 𝙇𝙚𝙘𝙡𝙚𝙧𝙘

20.

Saturday

"Give me your phone."

Stella follows me into the bathroom, shutting it behind us. Her jaw is clenched, there's flames in her pupils, and corny cartoon steam bellowing out her ears. She thrusts her hand out to me, her palm out stretched and facing upwards. Simply waiting for my phone. The device turns heavy in my pocket, trying to become part of my pocket so I can't pull it out. How can she make me feel like I shouldn't have my own phone? My own phone! 

The impulsive urge to just throw it out the window surges through my veins. Ignoring my thoughts, I drop it into her hands, unlocked. All of the evidence already in front her eyes. There's no point giving it to her locked, Stella knows my passcode. Her nostrils flare as she begins to swipe, going up and up and up. Every single word we've exchanged, right there. Including the times we've met up. The time where I convinced Stella to go out so I was off the hook, she'll read it in minutes. Seconds.

I want to say something, an apology on the tip of my tongue. But, nothing. The need to speak boils in the back of my throat, with no idea how to translate frantic thoughts into words. My mouth feels dry, like I've swallowed a handful of sand.

"How long have you been talking to him?" Stella asks, keeping her eyes on my phone.

"Since he came back from his last race." I mumble, shifting on my toes.

"When was that?" Stella snaps, raising an eyebrow at me.

How am I supposed to know? I don't follow F1, nor do I write down when I start talking to people. I give her a useless shrug, consequently resulting in the longest eye roll ever. It must've been after the race before Russia, whenever that was.

Stella flings open the bathroom door, leaning her head out. "Mark! When was the last F1 race before today?"

"Three weeks ago in Italy!"

"Thanks!"

Stella slams the bathroom door shut again, glaring at me through her eyelashes. Her thumb glides against the screen as she reads on, prodding her tongue against her cheek. Finally, she exhaled through her nose, jabbing the phone back in my direction.

"You're a prick." She says, bluntly. "You know that, right?"

"Yeah."

"I told you, I told you to block him because he's no good for you!" Stella raises her voice, balling her fists. "I even told you I wouldn't support you if you got back with him, and you've still done it!"

I stand. All I can do is stand, stunned. Well, not stunned, I saw this coming eventually. Speechless is a better word.

"You've been lying to me for three weeks?" Stella asks, her facial expression softening. "Because of him?"

"Not because of him, I promise!" I explain rather pathetically. "It's not been three weeks, I swear! It's barely been two weeks-"

"What about Elliot-?!"

This fucking Elliot situation is doing my head in. I. DON'T. WANT. ELLIOT. His looks might be rubbing off of me, and he's a great looking guy with a great personality. He's fun to get drunk with, he's amazing company, but I do not want him like I want Charles!

"Elliot is just the male version of me who would hurt me 10 times more than Charles!" I hiss, pointing to the bathroom door as if the man was out there. "I am not ready to move onto someone just because he's your boyfriend's assistant!"

Stella sighs through her nose, shaking her head at me. It breaks my heart as she looks away, like she can't bring herself to hold eye contact. The betrayal, the lies. I should've come clean to her the second everything started to unravel.

"We set you and Elliot up to get you both out of your toxic relationships." Stella explains, her tone muted. "He's like you, Em, he's just afraid of something new. Like you."

"This is why you're forcing me on him?" I ask, putting my phone back in my pocket.

"Fine- I'm not forcing you on Elliot!" She bursts, putting her hands on her head. "I just want to see you with anyone but the fucking Ferrari driver!"

Stella takes a deep breath, her eyebrows pinched together. "Especially when he's clearly seeing someone else!"

Just a few nights ago, I was dreaming about being on the paddock. Walking through the crowds, hand in hand with Charles. All eyes turning our way, landing on the girl he dated during his F2 season. A face no one expected to see again. I dreamt about the atmosphere, the engines screaming as they soared past, and being the first person Charles laid eyes on after winning a race. That dream, which I've realised I've had for years, will not come true. Instead, another stunning woman is walking in my shoes, with no idea her boyfriend shared a bed with someone else less than a week ago.

Her boyfriend.

"I'm nothing but an affair to him." I say my thoughts out loud, my eyes zoned out on the floor.

Stella doesn't say anything. She doesn't fill me with lies to boost my confidence. All she does is wrap her arms around me, the simple act of forgiveness felt like gold. Stella doesn't hate me, after everything she just found out. She might think I'm stupid, but I'd rather that than lose my best friend.

"Come on." Stella sighs, grabbing my hand. "Sit with us, we'll turn the channel over."

"Please don't tell Mark." I glue my feet to the floor. "I don't want him knowing that I'm-"

"He doesn't know it's Charles." Stella confirms. "I've called him 'Charlie', like we always do."

Charlie. Such an obvious name, but no one guesses it. Then again, who would guess that you're in an on-off relationship- affair- with an F1 driver.

Mark looks up from his phone as me and Stella leave the bathroom. "All good?"

"Yeah, do you mind changing the channel over?" Stella asks smoothly, letting my hand go to plonk herself down next to him. "The race is over now."

"Qualifying is over." Mark corrects her, bravely. "The race is tomorrow."

Stella flares her nostrils, giving him a look of disgrace. "The stupid cars are done lapping the same track fifty times, can you change it over please?"

I sit down on the arm chair to the side of the lovebirds, crossing my legs. I can't believe he's just kissed someone on live TV after he spent the night with me a few days ago? Well, he might not of spent the night, he could've left the second I fell asleep. Regardless! The lack of care is almost heartbreaking, but what hurts the most is that Charlotte is no doubt completely unaware of my existence. Does he not feel any guilt?

How can he leave me just like that? After all these years? Imagine if we ran into our past selves, when we met all those years ago. Imagine we put them in my room, and they watched present Charles get up, sneak out, and not even say goodbye? Would younger me think that his damn t-shirt is a kind gesture, or a joke? Would both younger me and Charles be horrified at his actions, embarrassed that they can't change their future? 

"Oi." Stella snaps her fingers at me, making Mark flinch. "Stop thinking about it."

Easier said than done.