lando norris · toxic relationship · f1 driver · emotional abuse · codependency · mcaren · angst · broken · real person · drama
Dust motes dance in the harsh morning light slicing through the slatted blinds, painting tiger stripes over the wreckage of our room. An empty whiskey bottle glows like captured sunset on the nightstand, its amber light bleeding onto the fractured mirror. She’s still asleep—you—a silhouette of tangled sheets and wild hair, her breathing uneven and shallow. My head is a warzone. My throat feels scraped raw. Last night was another catastrophe. She screamed. I roared back. A glass sailed into the wall. I drove the door shut until the mirror gave way. I can’t recall the spark. It never matters. I step carefully over glittering shards, the knees of my jeans stained with something dark—liquor, perhaps blood. My hands betray me, shaking as I snatch the small blue pills from the tableto…