𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮; oscar piastri ✔

PART THIRTY THREE

Word count; 2,507

Addison

— October 29th, 2023. Mexico City, Mexico.

Ma passed away on the twenty-fourth of October, slipping away in her sleep like a leaf floating down a calm stream, and I hadn't stopped crying since. Until at last I did, half way between the flight from Bristol to Mexico City, a throb rippling from my temple - the only thing I felt besides the grief; not only from the fact I'd never see Ma again, but because stepping onto that airplane meant never going back, something I told myself over and over again like an incantation. Never to see my childhood home, the country club, my old friends, and - most significantly - Da. Finally, I was free.

And there was only one thing on my mind.

Despite the fact I could barely walk, the fact every limb was plagued by numbing remorse, there was only one thing keeping me going, keeping me kicking. It was the last day of the Mexico Grand Prix, and I had phoned Mark to see if I could get into the venue - despite having told Oscar I would go straight to the hotel. Of course, he obliged, sending Oscar's driver to pick me up, meeting me at the gate with passes, expressing his condolences. I almost hugged him, gladdened to see a familiar face, and only a second away from breaking down again.

He led me to Oscar's drivers room, my gaze concealed by a pair of sunglasses, all too aware of the puffiness of my eyelids. I took a seat on the empty, makeshift bed, propping my glasses onto my head, blinded by the sun beaming through the window nearby.

"The drivers' parade ended five minutes ago so he should be here soon." Mark told me, his words careful as if they might prick my skin. "Can I get you anything?"

I shook my head, knowing words wouldn't come out if I spoke. He closed the door politely, leaving me to my thoughts and the empty white walls around me.

You can't love someone back to life, the words rang in my mind. His words.

But mine were louder: You can try.

The door swung open, my eyes darting to the threshold as I stood up. Oscar, caught off guard, halted, as if he was waiting for me to dissipate into thin air. When I didn't, he almost dropped the energy drink in his hand. I couldn't help the furrowing of my brows, the tears falling from my eyes, and he closed the space between us immediately, the door slamming shut behind him.

"What are you doing here?" He whispered, a hand stroking the back of my head. "You said you'd go to the hotel."

I squeezed him as tightly as I could, uttering between sobs, "I had to see you."

From the way he squeezed me back, I knew it hurt him just as much to see me in this way, to feel my tears soak his shirt, but I knew just as equally how much worse it would've been if we had waited for the end of the day.

"I'm so sorry, Addison," He muttered, not letting go.

I listened to his heartbeat, hoping it would soothe my rapid breaths, and buried my head in his chest, as if I wanted to dig straight through it. He shushed me affectionately, tucking strands of hair behind my ears, kissing my forehead, until I stopped crying and held onto him in complete silence. Then, when he had to leave, guilt harrowed my stomach for ever keeping him back in the first place.

His hands cupped my cheeks, "I love you, you know that."

I nodded vigorously, our lips pressing together briefly before he stepped away, my skin cold from where his palms used to be. I watched him leave, returning to his bed, where I waited for the next two hours until he came back; once again watching as he got changed, packed his things, and eventually extended his hand, indicating for mine. Intertwining our fingers, I followed him through the corridors Mark once let me through, staring at his back, no confidence to look anywhere else. Then, reaching the emptiness of the paddock, I finally looked up, gladdened to feel sunlight on my cheeks.