Formula 1 | One Shots

Sometimes It's Not Enough | George Russell

Author's Note: Done in George's POV. Short story! 

------------------------------------

I was sweating again. I closed my eyes and tried to calm my pounding heart. I saw her there, in my mind. The light brown hair that smelled like honey and vanilla. I remembered every detail, how her hazel eyes crinkled when she smiled, the way the left side of her lips curled more than her right when she laughed. The look on her face when we made love, her soft, sensitive neck. I could still see the few freckles that lay speckled across the bridge of her nose.  

I turn to the empty side of the bed, the side she should be on. Now, the bed feels too big, too cold. I can faintly still smell her shampoo on the one pillowcase I refused to wash still, even after 2 months. The breakup with Emily had been agonizing. She had been my anchor, the person I could turn to after the chaos of racing and fame. But the constant scrutiny, the invasive nature of my fans, and the relentless harassment had taken their toll. I understood why she had to leave. I saw the sadness and exhaustion in her eyes, the way her shoulders tensed whenever I posted something of the two of us on social media.

"George, I can't do this anymore," she had said, her voice trembling. "I love you, but this... this is too much for me, I'm so sorry. It's not your fault and I could never ask you to hold back from doing what you love." 

I remember standing in stunned silence as she packed her bags, the words sticking in my throat. I wanted to argue, to beg her to stay, but I knew deep down that it would be selfish. The fame that had been my dream, had become her nightmare.

Now, alone in my apartment, everything reminds me of her. The blanket we curled up under during movie nights is draped over the back of the couch, our collection of history books scattered across the coffee table.

My eyes fall on the Polaroid photos pinned to the wall, Emily's favorite thing to do was take photos. She carried disposable cameras with her everywhere went. My eyes wander across the endless memories we had created over the years. Emily laughing as she smeared sunscreen on my nose at the beach, the two of us at a friend's wedding, a photo of us the night we moved in together. Each image is a dagger, twisting deeper into my heart.

I manage to stand and walk to the kitchen, needing a distraction. I open the fridge and stare blankly inside. I grab a bottle of water and lean against the counter, closing my eyes as memories flood back. The way she used to sing off-key while cooking, her laughter filling the small space. How she would sneak up behind me, wrapping her arms around my waist. Making coffee together each morning when I wasn't traveling. 

My phone buzzes on the counter, pulling me from my thoughts. For a second my heart hoped it was Emily, but my to my disappoint it wasn't. It was a tag and a bunch of notifications from the Mercedes Instagram account. I turn it over, not wanting to see the notification. Emily had been right, this wasn't the life we had imagined.

I wander back to the living room. I sink into the couch and reach for the blanket, pulling it over my shoulders. The nights are the hardest. During the day, I can distract myself with work, with errands, with anything to keep my mind occupied. But when night comes, there's no escaping the loneliness. I miss the way she used to curl up next to me, her head resting on my chest. 

I wonder what she's doing now. Is she thinking about me too? Or has she moved on, leaving our memories in the past where they belong? The thought of her with someone else is a knife in my heart, but I can't stop my mind from going there. I pick up my phone, my thumb hovering over her contact. I've done this countless times, debating whether to reach out, to say something, anything, just to hear her voice again.

But I know it's not fair, not to her. She ended things for a reason, even if that reason feels so distant now. The pain of our breakup is still fresh, and reopening that wound would only make it worse for both of us. Instead, I scroll through our old messages, reading the words we exchanged when we were still in love. I swipe through the photos she sent me, the selfies with silly faces. I listened to old voice notes she would send me at night when I was traveling for races.

Maybe one day, I'll be able to look at her photo without feeling like I've been punched in the gut. But tonight, I just miss her. I wish her all the best and I truly hope she finds happiness, even if I want it to be with me, she deserves someone normal to make her happy.

I miss her more than I have words for. Her absence is a void that no amount of podium finishes or race wins can fill. I know I can't go back and change things. I can't undo the relentless bullying my female fans gave her. 

But I wish, more than anything, that I could hold her one more time, tell her how much she meant to me. I guess love just wasn't enough for us, and she deserves the world.