Semua Bab Fuel Me, Break Me, Love Me: Bab 41 - Bab 50

DalonInstead of going to the afterparty like the other drivers have done, I took Rejena to my house that I keep in London for when I come to visit my parents or for my home race weekends. I didn’t plan on bringing Jena here, as I didn’t want her to feel pressured. We have been doing amazing after the club and, drunk session we had in her room. We feel more comfortable with each other.When I drove away from the track, I wasn’t even thinking about where I was going, I just drove. I only realized where I was heading when I was practically up my driveway. I should probably have turned around and gone back to the hotel, but then I looked at Jena sleeping in the passenger seat and all I wanted at that moment was to give her a bed that wasn’t in another hotel room. I wanted to see her in my bed, hopefully in my clothes as all her clothes would be at the hotel. Luckily, she has her laptop with her wherever she goes, which means we don’t have to get up at dawn to get it from the hotel. Her s

DalonJena didn’t even realize that I had walked in on her conversation. Admittedly, I only heard the end of the conversation, but it was all I needed to hear. She is going home, and she isn’t giving me much warning. She is doing exactly what I had done to her when I had left Italy. She might give me last-minute notice, but that is it. Did I read too much into last night? Did I scare her off by sleeping in the same bed? Or was it the fact that I brought her to my home?Instead of trying to figure out myself what the hell I had done wrong, I call my group chat for advice. Yes, I know how bizarre it is that I have a group chat, but we practically see each other ten months out of the year, we were bound to for a bond that very few would understand, and if anyone is going to be able to give me advice on what to do, it will be the drivers that I have spent the past five years with.“Really Dalon, this early in the morning? You know, unlike you, we were actually at the party last night.” Ca

DalonI fucked up, big time. There is no denying that. As I pace up and down in my hotel room, Tiane lying on the bed that I won’t be touching again, even if she is lying there fully clothed, reading the book that I haven’t been able to read because I stopped going to school when I was fifteen and couldn’t split my focus between my racing career and attending classes and studying for exams. I did get my GED, but even that was by pure luck. I can read, but it is a struggle, and I wish I had just told Jena that from the start instead of pretending that letters didn’t get mixed around in my head and what would take the average person minutes to read a passage would take me half an hour.After Jena left the restaurant, nearly getting hit by a car in the process, I went back to Tiane and asked her for her help. I need to know what Jena said in this book. As Tiane reads the book out load, I start to feel more and more sick by the second. I read the first six chapters, but that was basicall

Dalon“How is she doing?” I ask Tiane, remembering how much weight Jena had lost the last time I had been stupid and walked away from her, leaving her in tears at that airport in Italy. She had looked hollow back then and that was when she had barely known me, had barely had time to fall for me. Now that I know how she felt about me, how her feelings had grown just as mine had, I am worried that she might be a broken shell of herself, and it would all be my fault.“She looks happy. Free even, if that makes any sense. She is here, you know.” She says, and I stop breathing. Here? In Italy? I didn’t even know Tiane was here. We had agreed to keep a distance until the media had died down, but she is here, and so is Jena.“The two of you are together?” I ask, confused. I knew that they were talking, that Tiane had reached out to apologize to Jena, even thought she had nothing to apologize for as this was all on me. According to her, Jena forgive her without much fight and she even talks to

DalonCameras flash, people scream my name, asking me to look to the left, then the right, straight ahead. I smile, force myself to pretend that I am not slightly hallow inside. They want to see the leader of the championship, not the man underneath. Then again, whether I smile or don’t smile, win from pole position or fighting my way up the grid, whether I have a clean race or whether I crash, the critics are out there, trying to break down a man they don’t know. It is never just a judge of my driving, but a judge of my character.“Dalon, smile for the camera.” A reporter says, and I have to force my smile on again, not even realizing that I had stopped smiling. “Dalon, where is Rejena.” A reporter shouts, shocking me. I have no idea why I am shocked that they know her name. They have had more than enough time to find her on social media, stalk her, dissect every part of her life. They have had more than enough time to make up their own narrative about her, and the fact that she has