Style // 𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙡𝙚𝙨 𝙇𝙚𝙘𝙡𝙚𝙧𝙘

34.

Monday

Stella
I can't wait for you to get back
Text me when you land
I'll stick the kettle on
We can drink tea and chat shit together <3

Me
That sounds like a dream
There is a lot of shit to chat about
I can't wait to get the hell out of here

Stella
There's a lot of tea to drink as well
Mark bought loads
He's lived with me since you ditched me for an F1 driver
Fame seeking whore

Me
Excuse me!
I didn't even get the paddock walk </3

Stella
I knew you'd fucking bring that up
Shut up and get on your private jet

Me
This will probably be the last one I get on lol
Ok I'm boarding now
Byeeee

Stella
Ciaaooooo <3

I slip my phone into my pocket, following as a man in a tidy, white, ironed shirt and long tie escorts me to the private jet. The door is hanging open on the thick hinges, welcoming me onto the final stretch of my journey. It's like that one family road trip you look forward to all year, except it's been a weekend and this road trip happens to be in the sky.

It's safe to say this weekend has had its ups and downs. I've been delighted to experience travelling in a private jet, to watch the Japanese Grand Prix with my own eyes, and living life as a Paddock Club VIP. If Mother Nature held back her onslaught of tears for the weekend, the dryness would bring my overall score from a 7/10 up to 8/10. The -3 points have come from Charles (just generally), the snobby prats in Paddock Club, and being alone for over 72 hours. We all learn new things from once-in-a-lifetime moments like this, my lesson was that I am incapable of being alone for over three days!

The winds whip through my hair, giving it one last tangle before I step into the jet. The plane has been warmed up for us; I allow the heat to engulf and swallow me whole. I could temporarily get used to this life of luxury. I'd leave it all behind the second it starts getting to my head.

"Mr Leclerc will be with you shortly." The polite gentleman who escorted me onto the jet explains.

Delay him. "Alright, thank you!"

Brace yourselves, and not for the jet crashing. Brace yourselves for the inevitable. Awkward silence, occasional snapping, and a bloody long trip home. The pair of us- despite having complete opposite weekends- are approaching this haul back home with a fiery personality. You best bet there's going to be arguing, nagging, there won't be any beating around the bush with insults. Short and sweet, blunt and brutal.

The last thing he said to me was 'I should've brought Charlotte, she's less of a pain in the ass than you are'. I threw him out after that. I couldn't care less if my hotel room neighbours heard the screaming, and the frenzy as I shoved the driver out of my sight and slammed the door on him. Let them know. Let them see how disrespectful he can be. Maybe I was in the wrong, telling him that I phoned Elliot whilst I was on a holiday that Charles paid for. But, he said it to my face- loud and proud, may I add- that he'd rather have Charlotte here.

To me, that's another way of him telling me it's over.
Indirectly.

Motion in the corner of my eye catches my attention. Now it's Charles' turn to be escorted across to the jet. His hands are shoved into the bottom of his pockets, his head hanging low as the wind rips into him. Unlike my scurrying pace, his strides are nonchalant. The weather doesn't bother him. Or, on the other hand, he knows that I'm on his jet, and wants to spend the least amount of time with me.