Ice and asphalt [Charles Leclerc]

10.

It's Sunday now, and it feels like Charles and I have regressed to our old ways of animosity. Whatever fleeting camaraderie we shared during line dancing now seems like a distant memory.

Tomorrow, my mom has arranged a meeting with my doctor to discuss adjusting my bipolar medication. I understand her concern, especially after last year's manic episode that forced me to quit figure skating. But sometimes, her insistence on control feels suffocating. She suggested doing it now while we have the time, rather than waiting until after the Austrian Grand Prix when I'll be home for a physiotherapy check-up. After that, I'm off to stay with Pascale in Monaco for a few weeks to attend an art class.

"Louise, could you and Arthur do me a favor?" Mom's voice interrupts our idle chatter as we lounge on the deck chairs. I glance up to see her standing by the patio door, her hands on her hips in that familiar way that means she's about to ask us to do something. I exchange a quick glance with Arthur, who shrugs in response, indicating he's fine with whatever Mom needs. "Sure, Mom, what's up?" I reply, sitting up a bit straighter, ready for whatever task she has in mind. "We're running low on drinks and snacks for the beach day. Would you mind driving to the supermarket to pick up some supplies? It's not too far, and it would be a big help," Mom explains, her tone gentle yet firm. I nod in agreement, always eager to lend a hand. "Of course, Mom. Arthur and I can handle it." Mom thanks us both before heading back inside, leaving Arthur and me to gather our things and make our way to the car.

As we head towards the car, Arthur and I engage in our usual banter, this time over who gets to drive. "I should drive," Arthur insists with a mischievous grin, flashing his racing driver credentials. I roll my eyes, countering, "I'm older, so I should drive."

"Only by seven months," Arthur retorts, grinning cheekily. "Doesn't matter. I'm more responsible," I argue back, crossing my arms in defiance. Arthur chuckles, clearly enjoying the playful argument. "Debatable," he teases, reaching for the driver's side door handle. I swat his hand away with a playful glare. "Hey, I called shotgun!" With a laugh, Arthur relents, "Fine, you win this time.'' I smirk triumphantly as I settle into the driver's seat, ready to take the wheel for our quick trip to the supermarket.

As I navigate the aisles of the supermarket with Arthur, my eyes suddenly lock onto a familiar face among the crowd - Chloe, my former best friend from the rink. A pang of guilt and regret washes over me as memories of our fractured friendship flood back.

Chloe and I were inseparable at the rink, sharing laughs and dreams of skating together. But during my manic episode last year, I said hurtful things to her, lashing out in a way I never thought possible. She was only trying to look out for me, to offer support during a challenging time, but my manic mind twisted her intentions into something malicious.

Now, as I see her again, I'm filled with the overwhelming desire to make amends, to seek her forgiveness for the pain I caused. But how do I begin to explain my actions, to convey that the hurtful words I uttered weren't truly reflective of how I felt? How do I navigate this delicate situation without revealing the depths of my disorder?

Arthur greets Chloe with a friendly smile, breaking the silence that hangs between us. "Hey, Chloe! Long time no see. How have you been?" Chloe returns his greeting with a polite nod, her attention seemingly fixed on Arthur rather than acknowledging my presence. "I've been good, thanks," she replies, her voice tinged with a hint of enthusiasm. "Skating's been going really well lately. Working hard to improve." I stand beside Arthur, feeling like an invisible presence in their exchange. As Chloe and Arthur chat, I find myself lost in my thoughts, replaying the events of last year's manic episode in my mind. The memories sting with regret, each word spoken in haste now haunting me like a relentless specter. I long to make amends, to repair the bonds I've broken, but the fear of judgment and rejection holds me back. Lost in my contemplation, I barely notice as Arthur nudges me gently, bringing me back to the present moment. "Hey, Lou, you okay?" he asks, concern lacing his voice. I force a smile, my facade crumbling under the weight of unspoken apologies. "Yeah, just lost in thought," I reply, my voice strained with emotion. Chloe's gaze flickers briefly in my direction, her expression unreadable. "Everything alright?" she asks, her tone tinged with a hint of curiosity. I swallow hard, the lump in my throat threatening to choke me. "Yeah, everything's fine," I murmur, the words feeling hollow on my tongue.