END GAME | Lewis Hamilton

Chapter 21: messy, mess

A break from the track was nice but after a while I got pretty bored so I was glad that I was finally in Monaco now.

I was staying with max in one of his spare rooms and we were just about to head to the track for PR Thursdays.

He walks out now in the open kitchen, "Go put another shirt on." I say bluntly.

"Why?"

"Fucken look at yourself in a mirror."

"Bro it's not that deep."

"People will think you don't have a washing machine. You literally wear the same shirt everyday."

"I do not." He tried to argue.

"Stop capping."

"Just get in the car I'll be there soon." He sighed in defeat."

As I hoped into his car now waiting for him, I started scrolling through Instagram and came across Iris's profile.

She had posted a picture of her and Charles at the Ferrari shed. Seeing her reminded me of that night and how everything was going to shit.

I wasn't going to be the one to reach out for the sake of my pride. I didn't fucken need her.

At the lowest point of my life I had no friends, why should it be any different now?

She can go fuck herself.

Lost in thought I jumped in surprise when Max opened the car door. "I listened to you, I changed my shirt. Do you like it?"

"No but it's better than the red bull merch. Baby steps." He rolled his eyes in response started the car. "How much was your house?"

"To much."

"No tell me cause I was thinking about moving here during winter."

"Like 20 million euros, 4 bedrooms 4 bathrooms and others stuff."

"I see."

"So you won't be sleeping on my couch anymore."

"Oh you're so funny."

"For real."

To sum up the day i was attacked by the media with numerous reporters questioning how serious i am how formula one and then circling back to the whole pr stunt theory.

I hadn't really messaged Lewis since i got here and I hadn't really spoken to anyone besides max. I felt so isolated.

I wasn't really doing that great... mentally.

All the little things were sending me over the edge whether it be the reporters today or seeing iris poston instagram it was all very triggering.

Am I really cut out for this? The question lingered in the silence of my thoughts, and the weight of it settled heavily on my shoulders.

The relentless scrutiny, the expectations, and the whispers of skepticism.

It was all weighing down on me.

It was building up.

I slammed my phone down on my bed screaming as my thoughts continued to race.

I felt so out of control... and i fucken hated it.

I leaned against the wall, running my hands through my hair, desperately trying to regain composure as i could feel my eyes begin to swell.

Through deep breathes i managed to grab my phone and ended up sitting on the floor with my knees at my chin.