In which two childhood friends reconnect // OR // In which an f1 driver falls in love with a figure skater.
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"𝙏𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚'𝙨 𝙝𝙤𝙡𝙮 𝙜𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙 𝙗𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙢, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙨𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙠𝙨 𝙛𝙡𝙮 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙠𝙞𝙨𝙨"
F1 x f...
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Vasilisa Beaumont + FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT
FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT: so i was right about oscar 🤣🤣 (11:52pm)
This message has not been delivered FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT cannot send messages to Vasilisa Beaumont
alejandro.a has sent belle.vasilisa a message on Instagram
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alejandro.a: did you fucking block my number? so i was right about oscar 🤣🤣 (11:54pm)
belle.vasilisa: please just leave me alone i still have the files of evidence
alejandro.a: and i still have pictures 😉
• • •
Vasilisa lay in her bed, unable to tear her eyes off of the words on the screen. For two years, she had lived with fear clouding her mind, naggling to her that Alejandro had intimate photos of her on his phone—he was sick enough to release them anytime, as long as he somehow painted the situation to make him seem like the good guy.
During the last 6 months of their relationship, when everything had gotten worse—bruising kisses had turned to bruised cheeks, sharp words to sharp hands—this had been one of the reasons Vasilisa refused to tell anyone, and why it took Vasilisa so long to leave.
He had never said anything outright, of course—that wasn't his style. He was sick in the head, deriving pleasure from subtle jabs and wars of attrition. First, the connotations: "You're always gone for figure skating, baby. I miss you. I wish I could see you." Then, the teasing comments tinged with real underlying threat. "It's so funny how none of your fans know how freaky you are behind closed doors."
