apocalypse | charles leclerc ✓

chapter 17 | boy loses girl

«How can you say that you love someone you can't tell is dying?»

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The wheels of her little suitcase squeaked as she rolled them through the hallway. The noise nagged her to the core. She was jetlagged, annoyed, sad and Sloane decided, right there as she approached her final destination, that she hated Monaco with a burning passion because nothing good ever happened there. Not to her, at least. She huffed, staring at the door before her. Her pulses were everywhere. In her ears, her wrists, her neck, her chest. It was a pounding festival. Before moving a single finger, she hesitated, gaze focused on the lock. If she opened the door, Charles would be there.

And she'd cry most likely. Fuck. They ended in the same line. All the time. Like a vicious cycle.

When she gathered enough courage to face it and open the door, Charles was indeed the first sight that welcomed her. He sat on the sofa, his knee bouncing up and down in expectation. After hearing the click of the lock, their eyes met, and she stood still under the doorframe, gripping tightly the suitcase handle whilst he pushed off his seat rather fast with a sense of urgency.

With Sloane, there was no right or wrong thing to say during these situations, so he let out the first sentence that came to his mind.

"Why didn't you tell me you were here? I would've picked you up at the airport in Nice." He mentioned, taking a few steps to be closer, hands in the air ready to reach.

She glared daggers in his direction so he stopped dead in his tracks. "I didn't want you to." Closing the door behind her, she set the suitcase by her side.

"Sloane," That was the tone. The one he always used when he wanted to tell her the argument was stupid.

"Sloane," She imitated his intonation and followed it with a sour snort. She let go of the handle before fishing for the phone in her pocket. Each post, each picture, everything, displayed itself in her brain like a homemade movie. "I wasn't even gone for a full week, Charles. What the fuck?"

He looked up at the ceiling, frustrated about going through another one of these conversations. "This is the same shit we promised not to pay attention to. Why do you let this get into your head all the time?"

"Because I do and you're so fucking unaware. It's baffling." Why wouldn't she care? She had to. "Maybe you can get a bit of an idea with this," When she was upset, resorting to what her parents taught her was the first option. And those two were pretty good at teaching her to use words as an attack. "Do you know all those times people say you're not and will never be good enough for Ferrari, that they made a mistake with you and all that mockery whenever you have a simple miss during a race? Or even better...when they say you'll never be anywhere near Max and his level." She took a few steps closer, not to stand right in front of him but enough to have a considerable distance between each other.

Charles furrowed his brows. Her words were bitter, they hurt, and they came from her. The one person who'd supported him like no one else in the past year. "Why are you telling me that?"

"Because I know you hate when people say shit like that. It's not nice, is it? To be seen and feel like a joke. Like an idiot, if you want to sugarcoat it." She extended an arm and handed him her phone.

With some doubt, he took it in his hand, not breaking eye contact with her for the first seconds. When he did finally glance at the screen, Charles understood her point from before. He knew there were speculations and rumours, for most of their relationship there was always something regarding that, he just never saw it from Sloane's point of view. And even as he read all the stuff being said, he couldn't put himself in her shoes. People were cruel and irritating, but only Sloane truly understood that it wasn't only about what others tittle tattled. It was also what their relationship had become.