Turbulence [𝗠.𝗩.]

♦ Saturday, Free Day, November ♦

I can't even move normally. This is torture. - @JessicaBond57

Actually, I changed my mind: being driven around by James would be torture. - @JessicaBond57

@JessicaBond57 rude - @JamesWebb

⸻

BRAZIL
FREE DAY
NOVEMBER

There's smoke behind me.

I'm stuck in my car. The belting won't move. Every attempt to yank on it only tightens it further. The hot air burns my nose and chokes my lungs with each heaving breath.

I'm going to die here.

I try to pull free, but now I can feel the heat behind my head. And the rain. I'm on a track; my fearful eyes darting around as I struggle to make sense of where exactly I am. The surface is lined with red and yellow- no, it's green? Gravel? I keep blinking, it keeps changing.

An engine roars, drawing my attention to an oncoming car.

It's not braking.

Oh god—

Pain forces me to open my eyes. It's dark, and I'm nowhere near a track, but I feel this horrible emptiness wash over me, making me scramble to find a light, find something to help me see where I really am—

Hands are on my arms; my shoulder bursts into flames of pain as the hands move, pulling me into a warm body. I try to breathe, try to think, but all I can feel beyond this touch is the phantom sensations from whatever I've just seen. A nightmare. A stupid, stupid nightmare.

One hand moves into my messy black hair. Lips are pressed to my head. The tired, heavy Dutch voice grounds me.

"You're safe. You're with me." He sounds shattered, yet I am wide awake, heart hammering away. I blink a few times but still can't make out anything in the dark. His arms are no longer crushing me, yet I'm still held close. "Je bent veilig bij mij."

I try to tell him what I saw, to put into words the terrifying image of both of those tracks merged together, but I'm stumbling over every attempt, every word.

He shushes me gently, letting go only with one arm; which is hooked under my legs. I'm shifted quickly but carefully onto his lap. My right shoulder - the one that's managed to avoid serious injury - is pressed against him. He moves; I wince as discomfort and pain mingle together, but I'm still against him when he stops. I can't see yet, but I know where I am now; still at the hotel. He's leaning his back against something, maybe the wall the bed is pressed against.

Featherlight kisses are pressed to my forehead. I feel like a brick is smashing into my head from the other side. Breathing becomes easier, though, as he continues whispering. Listening to him, as his whispers become mumbles again, I can feel reality slipping through the cracks of fear.

His heart is thumping, but it's steady. He breathes slowly, deliberately so. My body tries to match without provocation. He still smells of that sandalwood shower gel he used earlier. My skin feels cold against his warm chest.

"I'm sorry." The words fall out before I can stop them.

"Don't be." His voice is marred by tiredness as he stifles a yawn.

I feel like I should apologise again. I swallow the words, trying to rest comfortably against him. Despite wanting to sound light, to try and brush off just how terrified I was, and how it echoes in the back of my mind, my voice wobbles. "I haven't had a nightmare like that in a while."

He doesn't answer, rubbing my back gently as I bury my face into his neck. The aftershocks of the nightmare aren't over like I hoped they were. The fear isn't really gone. I was stupid to think it was.

There's no judgment as I pathetically fall into another round of tears that I can't control. Wiping furiously at them with my right hand does nothing to help me gain any sense of calm. After a minute, he grabs my wrist, stilling it.

"Laat het los." He murmurs as a sob wracks my body, making me cry for another reason entirely as pain shoots up my neck. I can't hold onto him, but he's keeping me here, quietly soothing me as the emotions rush out.

When I can find my voice again, an apology tumbles out all too fast. He threads his fingers through my hand that he's been holding - I didn't realise he'd stopped gripping the wrist.

"Stop, Jess." His chest rises in a deep inhale, which is followed by a slow sigh. "You..."

Another sigh.

"Verdomme..." He whispers, pausing before he speaks again. His words echo through the dark room. "It was bad Jess. We all thought the worst when you—... There's nothing wrong with crying. You went through something bad. The worst thing that can happen to us on the track. Don't you ever apologise for it."

"But this isn't me." It really isn't. Is it? I don't know anymore. I feel like this isn't me, a crying wreck that needs to be comforted at every turn.

"Jessica." In the dark, I feel his head move. My eyes go up, to where I think his eyes will be staring at me. "Nobody is themselves after something like this. Please, stop overthinking it. If you need to cry, cry. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

I wrangle back my useful arm, out of his grasp, slipping it between our bodies and around his back. His arms move in response; one around my waist, the other hand on my cheek. An apology wants to force its way out again; I swallow it slowly. What little light that's bleeding through the curtains does nothing to illuminate anything in the room beyond vague outlines. Against the backdrop of the near-silent city outside the room, all I can clearly hear is his breathing. Focused. Calm. His warm skin continues to burn mine, bringing a shiver that makes him let go to briefly pull the duvet up and over my shoulders before his arm settles around my waist again.

I don't know when sleep pulls me under, only that when I open my eyes again, the sun is cautiously peering through the edges of the window, and in the gaps of the white curtains. I'm still positioned on Max's lap, leaning against him. I look up; he's on his phone with a free hand, but he notices I'm awake as my head moves.

"Morning." He briefly kisses my forehead.

I can see dark patches under his eyes; did he stay up all night? Fuck.

Guilt must be on my face because another kiss is given; this time our lips meet gently. I stupidly try to move my left arm; the pain hits, worse than last night, making me whimper pathetically.

"Careful." He mumbles, abandoning his phone to place a hand against my upper arm gently. Another kiss is given; our lips brush together softly, but there's a hint of need. On my part, it's just a pure desire for physical contact. The hand on my arm moves to my neck, thumb under my jaw to keep me where he wants me.

Eventually, we pull apart. His reluctance is clear to me as he kisses me again, barely so, like he has to get one more in. It makes me smile, and I can see joy spreading across his face.

"Shower first, then breakfast?" He suggests, voice thick with exhaustion.

I nod. It sounds like a good plan. "But first..."

I move, to sit up slightly and kiss him again. He huffs out a chuckle against my lips, more than willing to indulge in the moment.