Ice and asphalt [Charles Leclerc]

49

February.

I've been off my lithium for a while now, riding on a high that feels wild, electric—dangerously familiar. But I know my time is up. My brothers, my parents, and Arthur, most of all, will see through me in an instant. I've been dodging them for weeks, faking excuses, canceling plans, but now there's no way out. Charles has organized a family dinner at our place, and all the sharp eyes and knowing glances will be there.

I know what I need. I've known ever since the first whispers of mania crept in. I've been fighting the urge, telling myself I could handle it alone. But as I stand in front of Éloise's door, the memory of 2018 crashes over me—the year we met, the year we spiraled. The door I'd walked through so many times back then feels colder, heavier now. I knock, my knuckles tapping out the frantic rhythm of my pulse.

Éloise swings the door open, her expression a mix of amusement and suspicion. Her eyes light up with the manic gleam I once knew too well, a mirror of my own. She always knew how to draw me in, push me off the cliff with a smile.

"Well, look who it is," she purrs, stepping back to let me inside. The air in her apartment is thick with stale smoke and perfume, a haze that blurs reality just enough.

"Cut the welcome act," I snap, pushing past her and pacing into the cluttered living room. It's chaotic, loud with mismatched colors and forgotten plans—just like Éloise herself. "I know what you did."

She closes the door and leans against it, arms folded, smirking. "You'll have to be more specific, darling."

"You switched them," I say, voice tight. The accusation hangs in the air between us. "You switched my meds."

She tilts her head, dark hair spilling over her shoulder. "And you feel more alive than ever, don't you?" There's no apology in her voice, only twisted satisfaction. "I did you a favor."

"A favor?" I bark out a laugh, the sound harsh and hollow. My hands tremble, not from rage but from the fraying edge of control. "You know what this does to me. You knew, and you did it anyway."

Éloise's smirk widens, a glint of challenge sparking in her eyes. "Because I know you, Louise. I know how dull you were becoming, tied down by Arthur's expectations, your perfect little mask. This—" she gestures at me, eyes gleaming, "—is who you really are."

My heart pounds in my chest, a mix of fury and longing. She's wrong, and yet she isn't. "I need something from you, Éloise," I say, my voice dropping. The shame coats every word, but I don't care anymore. The dinner tonight is non-negotiable, and I can't show up like this—raw, exposed, vibrating with restless energy.

Éloise raises an eyebrow, a slow, knowing smile spreading across her face. "I thought you might. What do you need, Louise?"

"Coke," I admit, the word slipping from my mouth like a confession. For most people, it's chaos in a line, but for me, it's control—a twisted paradox that quiets the storm in my head. Éloise steps closer, eyes softening with something almost like affection.

"I knew you'd come around," she whispers, reaching for the small glass vial on her cluttered coffee table.

As she passes it to me, our fingers brush, and I feel the familiar pull—the rush of danger, the promise of temporary calm. I close my eyes, just for a second, knowing I've already made the choice. For tonight, I'll hold it together. And in this moment, that's enough.

The train ride from Nice to Monaco is a blur, the rhythmic clatter of wheels on rails almost soothing, as if each metallic click were promising me the semblance of control. I lean back in my seat, my oversized sunglasses perched on my nose despite the low winter sun that barely filters through the gray sky. They feel like a mask, a flimsy barrier between me and the world that can't quite hide the flush in my cheeks or the energy that thrums just beneath my skin. I draw a shaky breath, the powdered remnants of Éloise's parting gift still sparking in my system.