Faking it || Lando Norris LN

51

He said "alright."

The sentence stung deeply inside Olivia's gut. The familiarity of the phrase gripped her heart painfully as the words echoed in her brain, bouncing against every wall inside her and leaving a trace of red and thorns with every hit.

He said "alright."

She remembered standing in the middle of the marketing meeting where it had all begun: the conference room at the Ferrari Lounge in Bahrain, surrounded by Mario's skepticism and Gianna's soft gaze as she asked her to trust her. A nervous feeling had been scattered over every inch of her skin as she asked what Lando had thought about the strategy.

He said "alright."

Blatant indifference. Olivia had felt stupid for being so wary and unsure over a topic that hadn't deserved more than a word from him to accept. That was the moment her admiration toward Lando's carelessness —one that would only continue to grow— had begun, even if she hadn't realized it then and despite how many weeks it would take to admit it even to herself.

Olivia's tired eyes stared at the screen as Gianna kept pacing through the room, thinking out loud and going over every detail of her new plan, one that wouldn't depend on anyone but them. She threw ideas into the air, polishing or discarding them as the room got filled with hundreds of them, like balloons that grew bigger and bigger until it was impossible for her to fathom that, underneath them, was a broken heart and two eyes ready to turn into faucets.

Olivia didn't even mind her friend's blindness. She didn't have enough energy to hide her soulless gaze glued to the laptop before her or how her usually rosy skin had turned so white it seemed she'd seen a ghost. She was using the little energy she had to keep herself standing in front of the table instead of falling to the floor. She couldn't let Gianna know.

How could she tell her that, indeed, the stunt had gone wrong, but not because of the reason she believed it had? How could she tell her that she'd been aware of the danger of it all along, that she'd stared at it like an enormous bear trap she wouldn't touch with a five-feet pole at first, and that she'd ended up nestling inside it, thinking it wouldn't snap shut?

How could she tell her that it had snapped shut and that she wasn't standing there in front of her but trapped and mangled inside it? Olivia's heart was stuck between its claws, bleeding and bleeding until every movement got harder to accomplish.

Between thoughts, Gianna caught a fleeting glance of Olivia's stillness and her blank expression.

"Your public image will be okay. We've been in tougher situations," Gianna tried to comfort, completely misinterpreting Olivia's shock for concern about the only thing she knew was at stake: her image. "We'll make it out. We have to stand tall and swim through this. I want you ready for tomorrow's interviews. We've been through tougher situations; we can't let this one beat us. Breaking down is a luxury; we have to get to work."

Olivia barely heard her voice, but the phrase got etched into her skin for her to remember. Breaking down is a luxury. She's not even in control of her body as she gives Gianna a slow nod, stands up, and heads for the door. The unnerving wave of numbness that had grabbed Olivia since the moment she saw the first picture finally crashes and takes complete hold of her, guiding her steps and moving her hands without her knowing how she's doing it.

Exhausted and without a single drop of energy, Olivia sat on her room's bed and chose not to sleep. She tried and tried, willing the anger to finally hit, waiting for the rage to replace the emptiness inside her stomach. And still, she chose not to sleep because she knew she'll wake up thinking it was just a nightmare —and it wasn't.