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I don’t and I also have an obligation to Vio. I told her I wouldn’t be intimate with Marrisa and of course, my girlfriend wants to have sex.
Telling her I’m sore or stressed isn’t going to work forever.
I have to tell her and I’m thinking about telling her in the privacy of my hotel room.
She won’t be able to make a scene. No fans or paps will talk about how she left a restaurant crying. Plus, she could let all her anger out with no inhibitions and worries about who will hear her.
Knowing Marrisa, she’s calculated, and her reputation is important to her. I mean, her father is a billionaire and that’s a lot on her shoulders.
Especially since her father has a lot of expectations.
Maybe I should go to a restaurant so she doesn’t yell at me. The gravity of this situation just gets heavier and heavier on my shoulders.
I still care about Marrisa, as a friend.
In a sense, I said the same thing about Vio, but let’s be honest here. I’ve been obsessed with her for two years and it was stupid for me to assume that I could only be her friend.
With Marrisa, I know I could only be her friend. That’s all I want, even if she hates me after. This is sad to say, but I wouldn’t be mad if we didn’t talk anymore.
Two years of a relationship have gone out the window not only because Vio exists but also because the spark has fizzled out.
“I wanted to talk to you about something.”
That’s not my voice; that’s Marrisa.
Please, God, tell me she’s breaking up with me.
“Sure, what do you want to talk about? Is it something serious?” I respond.
“Kind of. It’s about us.”
I nod, maybe too eagerly.
“The last few weeks have been really distant. I don’t know what it is, but something isn’t right. You wouldn’t ever cheat on me.”
Fuck, at that moment, I know I can’t tell her.
I swear I was going to, especially when she started the conversation.
“Why do you think I’ve been distant?” I question her, interested in what she thinks is the problem. I know what it is, but she probably thinks we’re fine.
“Last week you haven’t kissed me and every time I want to have sex, you tell me you’re sore. Right now, I wanted to cuddle and again you are sore. I know you have so much to do and you’re constantly working out. That much is clear, but it’s never been a problem. What changed?” Her voice is shaky and her eyes, God, her eyes.
I am really bad at telling people the truth.
“Genuinely, I don’t really know.” I do. “These last few races, the spark for the sport isn’t what it used to be.” That’s not a lie. “I won the first race of the season, but the past few races I’ve been struggling. I’m getting older, Marrisa, and the thought of leaving F1 is present in my mind, yet I don’t want to throw away everything I’ve worked for. All this has to do with the fact that I’m thinking constantly. I’m overwhelmed. I have so much going on at once and I don’t have time for sex.” That’s not a complete lie.
I have the time for sex, just not with her.
“Then why do you go to Vio’s matches all the time?” She doesn’t sound angry, just truly curious.
Fuck, she got me there.
“I go because it reminds me of what it was like to once love a sport like I did all those years ago. Watching Vio play like she does and the anger and passion for losing or winning makes me remember what it once was like.”
I can’t believe I’m actually saying these words.
This whole time, I’ve been so anxious about breaking up with her because of the sport my father and I created. But here I am, saying the things I dare to think. If I retire, I say goodbye to something me and my father built. It’s a part of me that would involve in a way me saying goodbye to the man who isn’t here anymore.
