Pole Position - a Charles Leclerc love story

Prologue

She sat on the couch: a glass of red wine in her right hand, the other one mindlessly draped on her lap. She swirled the wine around out of habit but she wasn't paying attention to it, nor had she taken a sip yet. She just stared at the fireplace. The soft glow of the flames lit up the living room and it was in stark contrast to the rain that was clattering against the windows. The sound was only interrupted by the crackling fire and the claps of thunder that seemed to come closer each time she heard them.

The doorbell rang and she sat up hastily. She felt surprised although she had known he was coming. It was like her brain tried to make her forget. She wished she had cancelled and had gone to bed, but instead she put her glass down on the coffee table. The sound of the glass hitting the wooden table top bringing her a little bit more back to reality than the sound of the doorbell had. As she stood up, she smoothed over her black velvet slip dress and made her way to the dark hallway. Each step she took paired with the firm sound of her heels hitting the wooden floor. The sound of the rain falling outside seemed so fast she was convinced the water might flood inside if she opened the door. When she finally reached it, she could barely make out a silhouette through the glass. She didn't see an umbrella, but that didn't mean there wasn't one, just that she couldn't see a thing in the vast darkness on the other side.

Slowly she turned the key around and slid the security chain out of place. Then she turned the doorknob and opened the door. The cold wind gave her goosebumps right away and it felt counterintuitive to open the door any further. She did so anyway while holding on closely so the door wouldn't slam out of her hands. When she looked up at the person standing in the rain, her heart stopped for a brief moment.

It wasn't him.

In front of her stood the last person she was expecting.

"What are you doing here, Charles?" she asked unsure. She could barely look at him because it hurt too much, but she also couldn't take her eyes away, afraid that she was imagining him. He stood there, in the pouring rain. The jeans he was wearing looked like they had floated around in the sea before he put them on and his white t-shirt clung to his body, every muscle visible. She could see he was shivering and his nipples showed through the white fabric. She almost didn't notice, because she was so focused on his face. The light of the street lantern reflected in his green eyes. It was clear they were watery, his expression desperate.

"I need to talk to you," his voice cracked right away, his tone pleading. "You really don't." she responded sadly, shaking her head, not sure what to do with the situation. She couldn't let him in even if she had wanted to. She was expecting someone else. She could feel a knot forming in her stomach. She couldn't believe he was standing in the rain on her doorstep, in her hometown in Belgium where she had thought she'd never walk into him, especially not after all this time.

"I do," he said: "I love you and I need to talk to you and we have to make this work.", he sounded as sincere as she ever heard him. She wasn't sure if it was the rain or if there were tears pouring down his face too.

"I can't do this.", she said in a hoarse voice as she was getting ready to close the door. He quickly reacted by putting his hand against it. "Please don't do this. You know I love you... We can make things right. You have to let me make things right.". He seemed determent, his eyes never not meeting hers. He looked at her so intently a shiver made its way down her spine, and she knew it wasn't the cold wind causing her body to react. Her brain was however not convinced. She felt anger coming up, taking over like fire. She wouldn't have been surprised if he could see the flames in her eyes. "Make it right? You want to make it right?" she sneered the last word. "You left because you were making things right, didn't you?". She spat the words at him and could feel a verbal waterfall coming. For a split second she tried to retain it, but she decided against it. It didn't matter anyway. "You went to be with her. To go play pretend and look good. Mr. Charles Leclerc, Formula 1 driver and perfect family man...", she mocked him before taking a deep breath, never breaking eye-contact. He didn't respond in any way, so she continued in a softer but more hurt voice: "You left me behind". She could feel tears well up and tried to fight them, knowing that if she let only one escape, there would be no stopping the rest of them. And she had been saving up tears for a very long time.

"This isn't fair." he muttered, his brow furrowed. "You knew I didn't want to do this, I had to." he tried to explain. She was mad, but she wanted to believe him so badly her heart ached. He used her moment of contemplation to close the gap between them. He went up the three steps leading up to her front door and stopped when he stood right in front of her. She gulped, still being ran by anger mostly, although sadness and hope were both sending waves through her body. "Get the fuck out." she said coldly. There was a hint of doubt in her voice though. She had heard it herself, and she could tell he had too, by the glimmer of boldness she saw in his eyes. Strengthened by the doubt he heard, he took one more step towards her, into the hallway. She could hear the water drip from his body onto the tiled floor.

He had to look down now to meet her eyes. "I don't think that's what you want," he softly said. He looked at her calculatingly, his head tilted to the side. Her breathing hitched by the intense look in his eyes. He continued: "Tell me if that's what you really want, just repeat it, and I'm out of here". He raised his hand and lightly touched her elbow. The eye-contact was making her dizzy. His barely-there touch set off fireworks in her body, all of her strength gone at once. The anger she had felt before was completely replaced by longing. She had longed for this for months, for him. A tear escaped from her eye, but before she could say anything, he put his free hand on her back and pulled her close to him. He felt ice-cold due to being completely soaked but her shivers had nothing to do with his temperature. He pressed his lips firmly but soft on hers, pulling her against his chest so tightly she had trouble breathing. When he finally let go of her lips, he pulled her in for a tight hug, his nose pressed into her hair. He had forgotten how good she smelled. His imagination hadn't done her justice at all. "Please let me in", he whispered in her ear. 

She put both hands on his chest and gently pushed him away. Then she took a step aside so he could enter her home.

She closed the door behind him.