Melody of death | English Version | Charles Leclerc FF

fifty-one ఌ

Clinking, the drawer with the cutlery rolled back to its rightful place. I walked to the bathroom. My steps were as slow as if I was afraid of something. No, I was afraid of something.

Although no one was at home except me, I locked the bathroom door behind me. I sat down on the closed toilet lid and looked at the sharp blade in my hand. In the bright white light, it sparkled dangerously. I rolled up my sweatpants to just before the knee. With trembling fingers, I put the knife, with which I usually cut vegetables, on my smooth skin, which until then was hardly injured. I pressed it up and pulled it lengthwise over the delicate skin. First an irritated red stripe followed, then blood came out. I pulled in the air sharply and my chest shook. The injured stripe in my skin was covered by blood. Tears came into my eyes, dripped on my leg and mixed with the blood. I put the knife in the sink, tore off a piece of toilet paper and dabbed the red liquid with it. I ran over the cut with one finger. An indescribable feeling filled my body.

You deserve that.

Yeah, I did. I deserved this pain, the blood, the tears. I deserved all the hate which I felt from myself and from outside, is justified. There is only one thing that I don't deserve. Or more someone. Charles. He is too good for me. Wants to live and should do that. And when I am not the person who belongs to him, I am not allowed to be with him.

Break up and finally do what you wanted to do three months ago.

My inner voice was merciless, but I couldn't follow her. I love Charles. Never before has anyone in this little world meant as much to me as he does. I can't just throw away what we have.
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The cheers after the last race before the summer break boomed in my ears as I made my way to the motorhome, where Charles would also go right away. He had finished the race in Hungary in 5th place, although he had already told me himself before that it is not his weekend.

I pulled the hood of my sweater over my head and sat down on the steps of the Ferrari motorhome. Something drispeled that filled me with some peace. If my thoughts in the last few days and today had not revolved around my psychological problems, it was almost exclusively about Elmo.

On Thursday - when I was back in my apartment for the first time - I had cleaned up, packed Elmo's things in a box and put them in the basement. I didn't want to be reminded of him all the time. I had played with the idea of donating his things, but I'm not ready for that yet. But although all his stuff is no longer in my apartment, it smells like Elmo and the thoughts of him do not disappear. It just hurts not to have him with me anymore. However, one thing remains here. His ashes that I had asked for. She is in a small box with a black and white pattern on a chest of drawers in my living room. It is like a little treasure, an outline of the past that gives me so much sadness and peace at the same time.

With Sam in company, Charles came along the paddock and waved at me from a distance. As always, I couldn't resist his smile and fell into his outstretched arms. Why the hell did I feel so at home with him?

Charles changed his clothes, took part in a meeting and then didn't move away from my side. He protected me from his fans by leaving the racetrack only later than the most stressful time and behaving inconspicuously.

In the hotel, we moved back to our shared room. I poured myself a glass of water while I felt exactly that Charles was looking at me. We both knew that there was a lot to clarify.
„Célina?", His voice cut the silence like a knife. I turned to him. His look had so much pain and unspoken words in it that it almost tore my heart. All because of you.