Adrenaline: A Lestappen Story

30.2- Room 901

You should go now.

"What?" Charles' voice was small and vulnerable, reflecting the confusion and hurt that the one sentence flashed upon him.

He felt like his heart had been punctured and the only comfort he'd held onto during the loveless and cold sex was being torn away from him in real time. He had believed that if he was obedient and complied with Max's desires then they'd find peace afterward, but it seemed like that couldn't be further from the truth.

The tears that he had just managed to suppress seconds ago were threatening to fall yet again, but with the small bit of strength that he could muster up, he sat up and covered his body using the sheets before looking up at Max—who couldn't even face him.

"If we can't stay here any longer, you can come with me," Charles offered innocently, his voice tinged with a slight hiccup as he struggled to hold back his tears.

Something had changed in Max overnight and Charles couldn't handle being left in the dark. A week prior they were pressing soft kisses into each other's bodies and now he couldn't bear to meet his eyes. All the nights they'd laid tangled up together, unable to get enough of each other could not be thrown away as if it was nothing. Did him being in the lead for the championship really cause Max to lose all that he felt for him?

Charles refused to accept that his fears were being proven correct even as all the evidence was laid out in front of him. Standing up, he found his clothes and covered his body, feeling dirty in more ways than one as he did so.

"Max, what's happening?" Charles's voice trembled with emotion, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. The weight of anxiety was too heavy to ignore, causing him to cry and bury his face into his hands. "You didn't kiss me, and you left me lying there like I mean nothing to you. Now you're not looking at me. I'm scared," he continued, his words choked with emotion as he voiced his concerns. He hoped that Max would see how deeply this was affecting him and finally fill him in on why he'd grown so distant. "I need to be close to you, please."

Clutching his shirt in his hands after he had slipped into his pants, Max turned to face Charles. "What?" His frown deepened, as if Charles had uttered something outrageous.

Disgust creased his features as he pulled the shirt over his head, adjusting it once it settled on his torso. "You can stop this bullshit now," he declared, "I know everything."

"Know what?" Charles asked, looking up from his hands, his face now reddened and displaying the agony that had plagued him from the moment he'd gotten pushed into that bed. "Max I'm not understanding anything," he pleaded, taking a step closer and wincing at the way in which the man finally glanced his way— there was no love behind those eyes.

"Please talk to me, I don't know what happened," Charles pleaded, tears welling in his eyes as confusion engulfed him, as if he had stepped into a different reality where Max was unrecognizable. Max locked eyes with him, his stare burning with intensity, as if any closer interaction would blur the line between conversation and aggression.

"Are you serious?" Max snapped back, his voice laced with anger. "Stop pretending, Charles. It's over."

"Why?" Charles exploded, defying caution as he reached for Max's arm, desperate for attention and clarity. "Why is it over?" he begged, his heart breaking with each harsh word from Max. "Pretending what?" he choked out, unable to bear being left in the dark, especially over something that seemed significant enough to end what they had cherished together.

"Do you not like me anymore?" he voiced his fear and waited for the blow.

Max abruptly pulled his arm away from him, the line in between the one of tolerance and aggression that Max had drawn being disregarded by the Ferrari driver. With his patience exhausted, Max aggressively pushed him away, reclaiming the space that Charles had invaded between them.

"What do you mean, why? Do you think I'm stupid?" the blond's tone rose in annoyance at Charles's behavior in the face of the situation. "I never thought you'd use your body to get something out of anyone, but..." he paused, laughing sarcastically. "I suppose I was wrong."

"You can stop the act," Max spoke again, taking a step towards him, closing the distance between them. "Kelly was right, Lando was right, everybody told me and I didn't listen! Maybe I was stupid," he said, latching his fists onto the collar of his shirt. "Go on, I want to hear you say it," he insisted, stretching his shirt to pull the brunette into him. "Say you slept with me just to get ahead."

The act was the final straw, confirming that Max was no longer the person he'd grown so fond of. In his place was a man willing to hurt and belittle him without so much as an explanation. Charles wasn't even worthy of a conversation before having baseless accusations thrown his way.

The Ferrari driver's sobs quickly filled the room, his efforts to wipe away the tears futile as new ones quickly replaced them on his cheeks. Charles didn't understand what the man demanded of him, and before he could even process it, he was caught in the prison of his grip on his clothes. There, panic set in, making him feel smaller than he ever had as the man he'd grown such strong feelings for didn't hesitate to insult and hurt him.

"I didn't!" he screamed out, afraid and bracing himself for the next push, knowing whatever answer Max wanted from him, that one definitely wasn't it. "I haven't used my body for anything," he pleaded, unable to comprehend what Max was accusing him of. "I thought we were sleeping together because you liked me back. If you don't, then you don't have to make an excuse, but don't start accusing me of random things. Please, just talk to me!"

Charles was crying an excessive amount, ironically wishing that Max would come and save him when it was him who was hurting him.

Letting go of his shirt, Max stepped back as he realized that his aggressiveness only caused Charles to cry and insist on his innocence. Embarrassed by his lack of control, he decided to take a deep breath to calm himself down, surrendering himself to the fact that he wouldn't get the confession or closure he so deeply wanted from him.

"I trusted you," Max spoke, his tone lowered, succumbing to the numbness he felt after every attempt to bring out the truth from Charles. "And you lied to me," he narrowed his eyes, setting his hands down. "You lied to me and you stole from me."

"I thought you meant everything," Max mumbled, gasping for air, his vulnerability briefly escaping his armored exterior. "How could you do it?"

"I haven't done either of those things," confusion ran through Charles, and all he could think was that he'd fallen asleep in his own hotel room and was currently having a nightmare that he desperately needed to wake up from. "How could I do what?" he asked again, hating that he'd been yelled at yet offered no explanation for any of it. "Max, you keep saying things that don't make any sense to me. I haven't lied to you about anything, and why would I steal from you? You make more than me, I know that, but there's nothing I would take. Max, please talk to me and explain what's happening. All I know is that you stopped talking to me the second I got a lead, and if you don't care more about me than winning, then you can say it, but I'm so tired of all these accusations. You know what I feel for you, and right now, you're acting like I'm your worst enemy."

"You are my worst enemy," Max stated firmly.

"No, I'm not, I'd never-" Charles tried to speak, only to be interrupted by Max.

"You know what?" Max furrowed his eyebrows. "I pity you, Charles," he spoke, his anger giving way to a sad expression. "You are so unlucky. You are the very personification of unlucky. Because if I had never found out there was someone stealing my strategies, I'd have continued to trust you. I'd have trusted you, and you'd have won this championship."

"But now..." Max mumbled, stepping closer, barely inches away from Charles's body. "Now the only way you'll win anything is over my dead body," he whispered, no shadow of the man who'd have done just about anything to comfort Charles previously.

"You think I stole your strategies," Charles took a step back, scanning Max and giving the statement a moment to hang in the air—hoping against all odds that the man would deny it. He knew Max better than that, he must. 

"Max... tell me you're joking," Charles pleaded, his desperation evident as he struggled to comprehend why he was being blamed, especially when he had never once been privy to the strategies Red Bull chose to implement.

"Get out," Max snarled, his voice low and menacing as he held his ground, his eyes fixed on Charles. "I've had enough."

"Let the best driver win."