«Can't keep hanging on to what is dead and gone.»
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If she pondered on it — which she didn't very often quite honestly — none of her past breakups made her cry, if she ignored her first-ever boyfriend that was. Sloane broke up with people, they didn't break up with her. With the guy she dated before Charles, a five-month relationship that didn't even make it to the meeting the parents stage, she'd broken up outside a club in Rotterdam, telling him it wasn't working for her after realising she was too good for him, something Aurora let her know the moment Sloane talked about the guy the first time. She didn't think too much about the consequences because her exes usually got it over pretty quickly — the guy before Charles, she'd call him that from now on, did upload on social media a story of him getting a lap dance no less than two days after their relationship ended so whatever.
She never viewed herself as the one. The girl people lamented or fought for. She was replaceable, but so were they.
Sometimes she felt like a cunt for taking her relationships that way, she'd shared those thoughts with Aurora. This one would always take her side regarding anything, so she never agreed with her on the calling herself a cunt part, refuting that it was okay to end a relationship with someone for whatever reasons Sloane felt were worthy enough. Sweet Aurora wasn't the one to seek romantic advice from though. The girl had only had one serious boyfriend in her life, but whether it was because of independence or whatever reason, she envied her friend on that sometimes. That ability to be alone.
It came as a conclusion, as she stared at the phone in front of her, that the reason her past breakups were easily forgetful had been because she never loved someone so much to the point of ripping a part of herself for them to take. A love so strong it turned stifling. She'd never given herself the same way she'd done it with Charles. So exciting and beautiful as well as miserable and upsetting.
Her time, heart, life, mind, emotions...she shared all of it with him. It wouldn't be wise if she didn't let go.
With shaky hands, she grabbed the phone just to set it back down again. The atmosphere in the room held an unknown heaviness. It was like the air didn't filter through the spaces, and everything felt warmer than it should. Maybe it was only her perception. Sloane was sweating, a big lump forming in her throat and detaining her from straight-up breaking into sobbing.
She tried once more, this time successfully gathering enough of herself to avoid pushing the phone away again. She checked the time and somewhere from a corner of her mind, a little voice whispered you're a piece of shit for doing it this way. Her subconscious was very correct.
There were two sides of herself battling one another. One of them wished for him to be busy with his racing stuff, that he didn't notice the call and therefore would ignore it, but Charles, who had been waiting for a sign of life from her for days, wouldn't hesitate to pick up the moment a new incoming call with her name flashed on the screen of his phone. The other side of her, the one who wanted to deliver the final blow once and for all, was relieved when indeed he answered on the third tone.
Her stomach dropped. A nauseating sensation spreading all over her insides.
"Ma be—Sloane?" Sometimes he kept butchering the pronunciation. She never thought of missing that up until that moment. "Shit, where...how are you?" He breathlessly uttered, not even excusing himself from the conversation he was having and already wandering to a more private side of the motorhome. "Are you okay?"
She swallowed hard. Could a heartbreak be literal? Like could her heart tear itself in two halves? Because she was feeling something pretty similar only by hearing the concern and urgency in his voice.
"Charles, I have to tell you something." Her gaze shifted to the door as if suddenly Vivianne would barge into the room unannounced to stop her. There was no interruption though. It was herself and her unaware boyfriend on the other end of the line.
The background noises from his side nearly disappeared, and then the sound of a door closing. "Are you in Baku already? Where–where are you?" He paced around his driver's room with the same level of desperation Pierre had pointed out the other day.
"I..." She took a deep breath, filling her lungs and ignoring the treacherous voice who wanted to back down. "I'm not going to Baku, Charles."
The grip on his phone grew tighter. His chest heavier. "What–why? Sloane, are you alright? Did something happen? Where are you, ma belle?"
She wanted to stop hearing it. The nickname. It didn't belong to her anymore. "I don't–I need you to listen to me, please." Her voice broke at the end and the sinking feeling settled for him. A new wave of panic took over.
"Sloane,"
"I'm not going to Baku, or Canada, or Monaco, or anywhere else. Not with you." She started. The words crawled out of her throat like a poisonous spider. "Charles, I don't think we should be together anymore." She dug her nails into her palm, the pain making it real.
She'd done it. The intentions were out and the silence tagged in. It was like a moment where things just stopped. She remained silent, allowing him to take the words in. To accept it. Charles, probably still in a state of denial, never thought he would hear something similar come from Sloane herself. Even if they weren't together physically in the same place, there was a straining pressure established in the space encompassed by the call.
His stomach turned into knots. "Sloane, don't say that." That couldn't be it, could it? It was too fast and plain. "Where are you? Come on, we can talk it out. We can solve this. Are you in Rotterdam? Wait for me and I'll be there as soon as—"
"Charles," She cut him off. Her eyes were damp with the tears she wouldn't let out yet. "Please, listen to me. There's nothing to solve. You and me, that's—it's not okay. I don't want to be with you anymore. Can you understand that?"
Romantic relationships were a hilarious and cruel thing in the sense that people met someone and fell so hard for them they gave a once a stranger the power to hurt with simple actions. Why would anyone give someone they didn't even acknowledge two years ago the opportunity to rip their heart out and kick it with a string of words? I don't want to be with you anymore. As if it was some kind of wearing job. Something they could throw away on a random Sunday with no discussion in between.
Like out of a sudden, there was an open to believe the good moments weren't half as great as he had imagined them to be. From her side of the story at least. Why was she doing that? He wondered.
"You can't do this. Not like this. We can talk, let's not rush into this decision. Please." He insisted and it broke her heart how willing he was to fix a bond that didn't have any amendment. Or that even when she did things the way she did, he wanted to hold onto the possibility of it being different. Of saving it.
She'd done the opposite of what Vivianne suggested. She didn't do things right. And perhaps that raised a need to justify her decision. "No, Charles. There's nothing to talk about. This, us, it's not working anymore, you have to accept it. Being in this relationship," With you, she ceased from saying. "It's suffocating me. I love you so much but I cannot bring myself to like the person I have become during our time together. I don't deserve to feel tired with something that should make me feel good, and you don't deserve to be with someone who can't deal with the weight of being with you." A sensation lifted off her, and she felt terrible for how relieving it was. "I don't have to be with you if I don't want to, you said it yourself, no?"
"You know I didn't mean that," It had been in the spur of the moment. He never intended for that statement to sound the way it did.
"But it's the truth." She concluded, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "I don't want to be with you." Again, it felt like a sharp stab under his ribcage. "And in three months or a year, you'll feel the same about me. I'm doing us a favour."
That, he thought, was a selfish way of deciding what was good for them. "This isn't how things go. I promised we could solve it, Sloane. You can't give it up like this."
"We never solve shit, Charles. Stop fooling yourself." She pressed a hand to her forehead as though that'd stop the beginning of an already growing headache. "You get upset because I'm distrustful and insecure about you and then what? We promise to be better but it's impossible. The same story is plummeting and it's tiring to feel like this."
"If you need more time, Sloane, I'll give you all the time in the world, but please, let's not—come on." He pleaded. The secluded space of his driver's room felt claustrophobic for the first time.
The combination of heartache, exhaustion and despair mushed in her head creating a new cocktail of negative emotions. Why couldn't he understand her? Why was he so willing to hold onto them?
In the future, perhaps, she'd regret what was said next. "I don't need time, Charles, what I need is to get away from you because you and this relationship are sucking the life out of me." Her tone was unintentionally harsh. "I don't want to be with you." She said once more, this time pausing between each word to make it clearer. She sounded spiteful instead of afflicted.
But the third time was the charm — or the opposite of it in this case — and maybe that was the thing that delivered the last shot. The thing that put the final nail in the coffin containing their relationship. Charles was at a loss for words. It was hard to understand how something so special could end that way. How love could turn into resentment after a phone call. A phone call for fuck's sake. He never imagined Sloane could inspire something other than adoration, but there they were. The sweetness of it all turned sour.
"I won't apologise for doing this." He clenched his jaw at how uncaring it seemed. She made the situation sound like it didn't matter. Like what they had was disposable. "But I regret not making this decision sooner." Maybe if he hated her, it'd be easier to deal with, she thought.
"Sloane...please." It came barely as a whisper, a last attempt for a sign of life.
She parted her lips to tell him it was time to leave her alone, but no reply ever made it out of her. In a matter of a second, she drew the phone away and impulsively ended the call, throwing the phone back to the floor and flinching away from it. It buzzed again, and again until it stopped. Her hands were trembling, and she felt her heart in her throat. There was an adrenaline rush in her body but not the good kind. It was similar to being in a state of shock. The situation happened but it didn't feel real. She couldn't bring herself to think how he was feeling at the moment. If he was cursing at her through a dead line of communication or if he was saddened. Heartbroken.
She ended it. Final point.
When she opened the door, Vivianne, who sat with a computer on her lap, met her gaze and it was enough for the tears to finally spill out. Her manager instantly put everything away, jumping from her seat and rushing to her.
"I didn't do it right like you asked me to but I wouldn't have done it otherwise." She muttered in between sobs and short breaths.
Vivianne pulled her closer, engulfing her in a hug. She didn't know what to do with it now. With the love and the anguish, where to place them now, because there wouldn't be any more Charles to share them with.
—
The bartender hesitantly set another drink in front of him, and he thanked her in a combination of English and French, maybe even Italian. He wasn't clear. Every action was a blur.
Ever since arriving, he'd been thinking about the day they met and how he never taught her how to drive. Or time ran out to do so. Scoffing against the rim of his glass, he shook his head. What a shitty day it turned out to be. The girl who'd taken the seat next to him at the bar in an attempt to initiate some flirting cleared her throat, her hand brushing his and snapping him out of his walk down memory lane. She was pretty, but she wasn't Sloane. Nobody was Sloane.
"I'm so sorry that happened to you. It sucks." She sounded quite condescending, patting his hand under hers. He moved it away. Fairly, she'd stayed to hear his whole sob story but Charles assumed it made sense. Hooking up with someone who recently got dumped could be expected.
He wouldn't do it though, and he knew the girl would get tired after some time, especially because he was way past his drinking limit. No chance of anything happening other than him scrolling through pictures of Sloane to make everything worse and more painful. How could someone so beautiful cause that much torment? Was she put on this earth as a lesson or karma because of something he'd done in the past? It seemed so.
"Over the phone." He huffed and glanced at his companion. She was starting to get bored, he could tell. "Have you ever broken up with someone over the phone?" She shook her head no, slightly grimacing with disinterest. He pointed at her with his glass. "Never do it."
"You can't take her back...if she decides to regret this. That is." The girl softly wrapped her fingers around his arm. He peeked at the grip and slightly shook his arm. She let go with another eye roll.
That was the thing, if Sloane messaged him in that exact moment telling him she didn't mean any of it, that they could give each other one more chance, he would ditch everything and go wherever she told him to. But he had a hunch — and those never failed when it came to Sloane, he realised this — that it wouldn't happen. That this time she did mean her words and she wouldn't back down from the decision. I don't want to be with you anymore. The sentence echoed in his mind like a taunting song.
"You know what I think?" He carried on much to the stranger's dismay. "She's been planning this breakup for a while and I gave her the perfect opportunity to do it. Fuck." Charles scoffed sadly before downing his drink in one go. It spilt a bit on his shirt.
At that point, this girl, whose main goal had been a fling with the hot guy at the bar, was now more entertained checking her nails. "Aha. Poor you."
Eventually, after another failed attempt at flirting and probably because he ordered his god-knew-what-number drink which meant he would soon be passing out on the bar counter, the girl hopped off the stool and told him he was depressing. To this Charles raised his glass, dismissing her with a loud 'cheers' and a wave. The woman behind the bar shook her head, suggesting it was time for him to cut it off. He nearly did agree with her until he ended up doing exactly what he mentioned he would do; stare at a picture of him and Sloane. His favourite one.
It was from the year before, the British Grand Prix when he managed to finish on the podium. It'd been post-race, he was sweaty, hair sticking everywhere, flushed cheeks and balaclava marks still present, she was hugging him from behind, planting a kiss on his cheek while he smiled from ear to ear. Someone from the team had taken that picture with his phone after he arrived at the motorhome. They were very happy back then. The Charles from that photo could've never imagined the idea of that Sloane breaking up with him.
The love he had for her turned to resentment one more time, and the negative feelings drowned his senses. More than a year together ending with a phone call. None of it was right. His plastered brain was winning the battle, letting the worst version of himself tag in. His fingers worked with a mind of their own, typing each message with a frustration he'd never felt before. His vision was hazy but it didn't stop him from doing what sober him would've never done. He called her selfish, not once but a few times, and in the future — most likely the next morning — he'd regret every single text that came from his state of spite. That wasn't how he viewed her, but the situation triggered his immaturity and there was no one around to stop him.
His last message, or the one he could recall typing, did come from the side of him that was trying to deal with the irremediable heartache. He needed to know.
'Were you really unhappy with me?' He wrote, or he wished he did with enough eligibility for her to understand. She should've waited for him, he thought while his face transformed into a deep frown. They could've talked face to face even if the outcome remained the same. A phone call. Unbelievable.
Charles nearly ended up falling face first into the floor when he abandoned his stool, the bartender asking if he was fine and saying he couldn't drive like that. He promised with slurred words that he wouldn't, he was drunk but not stupid. Although what his brain planned on doing begged to differ from that. He deserved answers, and there was only one person aside from Sloane who could have them. Okay, he was about to break a promise, but those seemed meaningless to his girlfri—correction, ex-girlfriend anyway. She didn't care about their promises so why would he?
The guy who picked him up from the bar couldn't understand a thing he said, so he just showed him the address on his phone and asked if he could take him there as soon as possible. Charles was pretty sure he paid triple the fee for the ride. It didn't matter. The woman at the reception looked terrified when he stumbled into the hotel, he forced a polite smile and with a lot of effort, wandered towards the elevator. He jabbed his finger on the buttons with more pressure than was needed.
If it was worth something, there was a moment of clarity — of less than a second admittedly — where he almost regretted what he was doing, but after knocking multiple times on the door, the reason washed away and resentment gained control again. Aurora, poor Aurora, looked at him with big eyes when she opened the door of her hotel room and came to face him.
"Charles?" She held onto the door and he frowned. "Are you okay?"
No, he was not okay. Actually, he was very far from okay. "Your friend." His finger pointed at her with some sense of accusation. As though she was complicit in something only the three of them knew.
Sloane couldn't just disappear. That wasn't fair.
—
Vivianne let her cry on her shoulder for hours. Literally. She cried at the hotel room in Amsterdam, in the car on the way to the airport — her manager did glare disapprovingly at the taxi driver when he kept nosing through the rearview mirror because Sloane simply couldn't stop weeping like she'd been shot in the chest — and even when they arrived at it. She was pretty sure someone had thought she was being forced out of the country at first sight of her current state. Her manager never left her side though, holding her hand like she was a kid and not an adult going through a breakup.
For a moment, it stopped, it being the constant sobbing. Or maybe she was not hydrated enough to cry that much, but her eyes were swollen, her nose full of snot she had to wipe with the sleeve of her sweater and her face rosy and warm. She was sprawled on a chair in the waiting area of the airport, staring absentmindedly at the ceiling, the bright lights almost blinding her and contributing to the piercing pain in her head. A little boy tripped with one of her legs and she received a stinky glare from his mother after not apologising for impeding the way. When Sloane glared back at her, the woman twisted her face, most likely trying to figure out if her red and shiny eyes were from crying or if she was high. She didn't care enough, going back to staring at the white light above her. It hurt her brain.
Everything hurt anyway.
Her vision got obstructed when Vivianne loomed above her, looking down with concern. Sloane blinked, locking eyes with her. There were patches of different colours stopping her from getting a good view of her manager's face but the distinct frown would never go unnoticed. Classic Vivianne.
"You need to eat something," Vivianne said with that stern voice of hers.
She shook her head. "I'm not hungry." If she ate something, she would throw up. She just wanted to feel miserable in peace.
"Well, you need to drink water at least. You're pale, Sloane." She sunk into her seat even more, and Vivianne sighed. "Don't force me to scold you." The woman warned, cocking her head to the side.
That wouldn't happen, the scolding, but perhaps she was right. Her mouth was dry. Her lips felt like sticky tape. "I can drink water." Her voice was...lifeless. Like she was there but at the same time, her mind enclosed itself in a depression room. She wanted to be out of there.
"I'll get you water then."
They exchanged a look, Sloane nodded whilst Vivianne debated on whether leaving her alone would be a good idea or not. After a bit, her manager let another sigh slip out and decided the faster she got the water, the sooner she'd be back to monitor her process of grief. Sloane squeezed her eyes shut when Vivianne stepped away and she was obliged to face the blinding lights again. Little images of Charles displayed in her brain like a short film so she opened her eyes. Okay fuck.
The generic voice announcing destinations, departure gates and times didn't distract her enough, she found herself fishing for the phone inside her pocket and staring at it with a high level of attention and offence. She chewed on her fingernail as the other hand worked to bring the device back to life. Her reflection on the screen scared the life out of her. When the phone connected to the public wifi, she regretted it, finger hovering over the button to turn it off again. There were a bunch of new messages. Unable to pull her eyes away, she compelled herself to take accountability for her actions. For a few minutes at most.
Her mother had written about dinner, but she ignored it. When she arrived in New York she'd tell her about the decision taken, that was it. Her parents were the last of her concerns. Aurora's contact name came next, attached to multiple new messages. She scrolled through them, not feeling brave enough to play the voice-recorded ones. Sloane prayed — and shit, she wasn't even devoted — that Charles wouldn't get her friend in trouble. That he could be mature about it and keep his word regarding Aurora. She wasn't the one to blame for her mistakes and cowardly behaviour.
Aurora: Slo, where are you? You're not coming to Baku? Still with Lorenzo?
Aurora: Is everything okay? Are you okay?
Aurora: Sloane this isn't funny, where are you? Seriously
And many, many, more. She felt uneasy and like she owed Aurora something other than simply ghosting. What she wrote next was as useless as it could get, but if it served to let her friend know she was alive then it would have to do.
Sloane: I broke up with Charles.
She cringed, and god, she could already hear it: I told you so. Because Aurora had been right with her predictions but no, Sloane wanted to get with Charles from Monaco. And now she was pathetically suffering in an airport, her now ex-boyfriend probably despised her and her friend, who'd warned since the beginning that it was a bad idea, could get caught in the middle of it all. The thought of Aurora possibly hating her for this stretched in her mind, but she couldn't bring herself to think about it for too long. She was already going insane and her head would explode if she kept worrying. Shit, what if Aurora actually got in trouble? They wouldn't recover from that one very easily. Okay, she could apologise. When she landed in New York. Yeah.
Then finally, there was Charles and his messages. Her brows knit together in a frown. Apparently, someone learned the use of the word selfish. She couldn't even blame him, but still, it hurt. It hurt very fucking much because, to some extent, he was correct. She'd been selfish, the course of action could've been better and more mature. His texts showed he'd gone through every possible human emotion entitled to a breakup, but it wasn't the insulting ones that triggered her, no. Her eyes scanned each letter on the last text. That was the one who made her feel the worst pang in her chest.
Charles: Were you really unhappy with me?
And oh, she had more tears left to cry it seemed. Sloane turned the phone back off, hiding it in her pocket where it belonged at the same time she wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her hoodie. Pulling her knees up on the seat and close to her chest, she tried to hug herself and fought every desire to burst into cries right there in front of everyone awaiting their flight.
No, she wasn't really unhappy with him. Not all the time at least. She wished she could tell him, but it wouldn't be worthy to open a door she decided to close for good.
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a/n:
in an alternate universe where this book was written before ease and barely legal, they would've broken up in a friendlier way and be the kind of exes who hook up every time they run into each other lol
anyways last chapter (+ a lil extra🤭) next week!!