Hate.

It’s impossible not to see how much it changed him.

The hate doesn’t come in waves anymore..it comes in floods.

Every day.

Everywhere.

Whether he speaks or stays silent, whether he drives like the professional he is, or makes mistakes like any other human being...it’s never enough for them.

They’ve already decided to tear him apart.

Lewis became the target.

At first, he tried to hide it.

That smile, the one that used to sit so easily on his lips, feels forced, fake, empty now.

His eyes have long started telling the truth, even if his words never do.

You’ve never seen him like this before.

The person who used to talk to you for hours, about racing, about his day, about the small, ordinary things that touched him..is gone.

And what’s left is a quiet, closed-off version of him.

---

He comes home, closes the door behind him without a word, sinks onto the couch and stares into nothing.

He stays silent.

Even when you sit down next to him, your hand resting gently on his arm.

No reaction.

No answer.

The hate from out there has eaten him up.

And there’s nothing you can do.

You used to be the one person he told everything to. You were his safe place..the only place where he could be who he was.

But even with you, he’s closing himself off.

His gaze avoids yours.

The hate hasn’t just taken away the joy of racing.

It’s taken his belief in himself.

And in the two of you.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m fine.” His voice pulls you out of your thoughts and your eyes meet his.