Depression is when you don’t really care about anything. Anxiety is when you care too much about everything. And having both is hell. You hate when people see you cry because you want to be strong. At the same time, though, you hate that nobody notices how broken you are. To cope, you used to read books, listen to music, visit galleries, or smell flowers. But none of it could fix what he did to you. Your last relationship was a total catastrophe. He tore down the walls you had spent years building, only to crush your heart into pieces when he left. You gave him everything you couldn’t afford to lose. Loving him felt like bleeding slowly—like handing him a knife and watching him carve pieces of you away, one apology at a time. He never let you touch him. And if you tried, he would smack your hand away. It haunted you in every relationship after. None of them worked. A few weeks ago, you met Lando Norris through a friend at a club in downtown Monaco. His eyes were on you the entire night before he finally got himself together and asked for your number. Since then, you had been in contact, going on a few dates, until he invited you into his home—something he had never done with any other girl before. That morning, you sat beside him in his bed, wrapped in soft sheets as sunlight filtered through the curtains. He stirred from his sleep, then gently took your hand and placed it on his chest. But you flinched.

“Oh… are you okay? Did I do something wrong?” he asked, quickly letting go of your hand.

“No… no, it’s just—uhm… I wasn’t… I wasn’t allowed to touch in my last relationship. So… I can’t” you said quietly, pulling your hair up into a messy bun.

“That’s messed up…You know you’re allowed to touch me, right?.. You’re not gonna get in trouble. I’m not gonna hurt you..I actually want your touch. Let your past go… just feel me…here…” he said softly and slowly, he pulled his shirt away.