Et si tu n'existais pas - Lance Stroll (III)

3 - PRESSION

pression

french for the use of or to make someone do something.

Amelia's POV:

I'm sitting on the edge of our bed, looking out the window as the city was starting to wake up. Paris was getting ready for another day, bustling and busy, as if nothing in the world had changed. But my world had, in fact, changed. Drastically. Lance was far away, lying unconscious in a hospital bed, and I am here in Paris. In fact, that was exactly where I want to be, or at least, that's what I told myself. In reality, I am in an internal war with myself.

After a few minutes of me starring at the Paris, Pierre enters the room, quietly leaning against the doorframe while he wachtes me. His constant presence comforts me, as he was the only stable factor that was left in my life. He walks over to me, placing his hand on my shoulder.

"Mon ange, are you okay?" he asks, his tone gentle, although I quickly noticed the concern that was hiding behind his calm tone.

"Yeah... I mean, I should be, right? This has nothing to do with me. I'm okay, you're okay, and that's what matters right?" I try my absolute best putting up my best smile, but it feels empty, acted and cold, even to myself. I look up at him, hoping he doesn't notice the act I'm trying to play. I don't want him to worry for me, as he was trying so hard to make me feel at ease. He's been an angel the past days, always understanding and a support for me.

Pierre nods, putting his arm around my shoulders while he pulls me close. "Amelia, you know you can be honest with me. Put your guard down, it's okay." He whispers before he gives me a kiss on my temple.

"That's what I'm trying to do, Pierre," I mumble. He hesitates, as if he isn't sure what to say to me. "I know. And I'm here, okay? You don't have to go back there. If you don't want to, then you never have to face him again."

Although Pierre does his absolute best to make me feel at ease, the real truth is that I am not doing good. Every time I imagine Lance in that cold hospital room, bruised and burned, I feel my breath hitch in my throat, tears burning in my eyes and a fear coming over me. I don't know how much longer I will be able to live like this.

All of a sudden, my phone buzzes beside me on the bed, stopping the intense moment. My stomach twists as I glance down at the screen. I knew what I was going to see, yet my heart started beating like crazy the moment I saw it.

A message from Anthoine appears on my screen. Normally, his messages were nice to receive. But today, I didn't even want a message from him. Because I already know what he'll tell me.

Anthoine: Amelia, please talk to me. You can't keep avoiding this. We all know that deep down you want to visit him.

I close my eyes, feeling the guilt rise again. That was something I had felt a lot in the past couple of days. I had ignored every suggestion, every remark, every nudge from my friends and family telling me I should be by Lance's side. But they didn't understand, none of them did. And none of them ever will understand me. I finally want his chapter in my life to come to an end, and this is the perfect opportunity for that.

Pierre noticed the message, his eyes carrying a slight trace of irritation. "It's Anthoine, isn't it?" He speaks with a little annoyed tone in his voice.

I nod, and we both stay silent for a moment. The frustration in Pierre's eyes mirrors my own sadness that I felt inside of me. "Everyone keeps pushing me to go," I whisper, half to myself, half to Pierre. As if I wasn't sure if I want him to hear me. "But why should I? What will it change? It's not that once I arrive in his room, he will wake up."