Formula 1 | One Shots (1)

Remembering Sunday | Charles Leclerc

Author's Note: 🙊 

Done in Charles POV

⚠️ Sad one (at the start)
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I'm sitting in the hospital room, the beeping of the machines, distracting me. My heart pounds in my chest, a mix of anxiety and relief flooding through me as I watch Holly slowly stir. Her eyelashes flutter slightly and for a moment, I can't help but smile. I've been waiting for this moment, praying for her to wake up after the accident.

When her eyes finally open, I see confusion written across her face. Her eyes dart around the room, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. "Holly?" I whisper.

She jerks up at the sound, her eyes locking onto mine. I feel a flicker of hope ignite within me. I lean closer, grasping her hand in mine. "You're awake. I'm right here."

But instead of comfort, I see confusion deepen in her eyes. She pulls her hand away, her expression shifting from confusion to something I can't quite place. "Why are you grabbing my hand?" she asks, her voice shaky. She pulls her hand away, and the action feels like a dagger to my chest. 

My heart shatters as her face turns into annoyance. "It's me, Charles. I'm here for you."

"Leclerc?" she replies, the name slipping from her lips like a stranger's. It cuts through me, sharp and unforgiving. The way she says it, so detached, makes me feel as if she's speaking about someone else entirely. I can't bear it.

I open my mouth to respond, to reassure her that everything is alright, that I'm here for her, but the words catch in my throat. Just then, the door swings open, and a group of doctors rush in. "Holly, can you tell us your name?" one of them asks, already examining her vitals.

"Do you know where you are, Holly?" one of the other doctors ask gently.

She looks between them and me, confusion clouding her eyes. "My name is Holly and...I...I don't remember." Her voice shakes, and my heart sinks further. "What happened?"

As I step back, the tension in the room feels suffocating. I watch as the doctors continue to ask Holly questions, trying to piece together her memories, and my heart sinks further into despair. 

"Can you tell us what you remember, Holly?" 

She takes a shaky breath, her eyes darting around the room as if searching for something she can't find. "The last thing I remember..." Her voice cracks, and I lean in, desperate to hear her next words. "It was my 24th birthday. We had gone out to celebrate at the club. The last thing I remember was Lando popping champagne."

The words hit me like a train. My heart drops into my stomach, the realization crashing over me. Three years of her life, three years of memories that shaped who she was, have vanished, erased in an instant. It's as if a part of her has been stolen, and I can't help but feel the weight of that loss crushing down on me.

"Holly, no," I breathe, my voice trembling. "That was three years ago."

Her eyes lock onto mine, wide with confusion and fear. "What do you mean?" she asks, her brow furrowing. "What happened after that?"

The doctor exchanges a concerned look with me, and I can feel the gravity of the moment settling over us. "There was an accident," he says gently. "You were in a car crash during the race. You've been unconscious for a few hours and it seems your memory has been affected."

"Just take it easy," another doctor says, gently reassuring her. "You've been in an accident, and it's common to experience memory loss after a traumatic event. We'll help you through this."