Faking it || Lando Norris LN

13

Lando Norris

I had entered the shower trying to wash away the thoughts of today's race. However, as I stepped outside of it, I knew it had been of no use. It all kept replaying inside my head like a broken record, the turns I'd taken too wide, the risks I should've taken more of, and the straights I should've gone flat out sooner in.

I never took not winning properly after the first time I won a race. The bar kept getting higher and higher until being close to it was no longer enough if I wanted to look at myself in the mirror without wincing. It made my skin crawl and my stomach churn. The floor would start to melt under me and make me crumble to the ground like quicksand. Even as I dried my body I was avoiding looking at myself in the mirror until I realized it was too fogged for it to be possible.

I threw the towel over my shoulders and put boxers on before I stepped out of the bathroom, still looking down to avoid my reflection on any of the room's mirrors.

"Is the floor really that interesting?" Davies spoke up, making me jolt.

"For fuck's sake, ever heard of personal space?"

"Ever heard of not fucking interviews up?"

I scoffed as I made my way to the suitcase on the floor to put on a pair of black jeans and trying to juggle not looking his way as I caught a glimpse of him sitting on a chair next to the wooden desk in the room, his back turned to a mirror.

"Calm the fuck down, I handled it right there." I threw on a white t-shirt.

"Well your definition of handling it earned us a reporter questioning your relationship with Olivia." He raised his voice.

My blood was starting to boil. Davies wasn't here to sit down and tell me to do a better job, he was pissed. He wanted a fight I ached to respond to with a punch to his jaw —but I couldn't, not with the floor collapsing if I caught a look at myself. As long as he was seated in front of the mirror there was nothing I could do.

I was completely unarmed.

"They should be questioning my sanity for going out with her instead." I scoffed as I looked at the ceiling with a sly smile.

"This isn't a game, Norris!" I could see his body stand up from the corner of my eye, but I still couldn't look his way. Instead, I was just stuck to the ground and reclining against the wall with my eyes glued to the ceiling, attempting to disguise my avoidance of the mirror with my snickering. "The world has to think you're both in love with each other and yet you completely dismiss any information we tell you about her!"

"You're exaggerating." I sneered.

"Am I? Do you really want me to sit around and believe you actually ask her shit about herself you could get asked in interviews? What do you even know about her, huh?!" He spat the words out like they were poison inside his mouth.

I kept looking at the ceiling with my arms crossed, my hidden knuckles whitening while a slow uncoiling of anger began taking control of my stomach. Rage was rushing through me and expanding with every feeling of powerlessness that pooled inside me. I couldn't properly fight back without risking a glance in the mirror behind him. A wave of disdain hit me as I involuntarily pictured my reflection waiting for me to look at it, disgusted and ashamed of myself.

"Oh, I know plenty about her. She's 5'2 whole feet of mediocrity, annoyance and—"

"Are you fucking serious? Which city is she from? Why did she pick number 7? How long have you two been dating? What do you both like doing together?" He snarled, taking a step towards me every time he finished a question and getting closer, closer, and closer —and I let him, clueless that he was doing exactly what I expected.