national treasures| Charles Leclerc

thirty-one

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆

The race was brutal—physically, mentally, emotionally. 

I can see it written all over Camille as she climbs out of her car, her helmet tucked under one arm, her shoulders tense with frustration. 

She doesn't stick around for the debrief, and doesn't glance in my direction. 

She just heads straight for her trailer, her steps quick and sharp like she's trying to outrun the weight of her emotions.

I hesitate for only a moment before following her. 

I know her well enough to recognize when she needs space, but I also know when she needs someone to remind her she's not alone.

When I reach her trailer, the door is slightly ajar. 

I knock softly, waiting for her to acknowledge me, but there's no response. 

Pushing it open, I step inside. 

She's sitting on the small couch, head in her hands, her race suit half unzipped as if she couldn't wait to shed the weight of it. 

The room feels heavy with her frustration.

"Camille," I say gently, staying near the door.

She doesn't look up, her voice tight. 

"Charles, I just... I need a minute, okay?"

"I know," I say, stepping closer despite her protest. 

"But I think you need to hear something right now."

She glances up at me, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. 

It's a look that guts me, every time. 

Camille is the strongest person I know, but moments like this remind me that even she carries the weight of doubt and pressure.

I kneel in front of her, taking her hand in mine. 

She doesn't pull away, though her fingers remain stiff. 

"You're amazing, Camille," I say, my voice firm but soft. "Don't let them get to you. Don't let one bad race make you question everything you've worked for."

Her lips press into a thin line, and she looks away. 

"It's not just the race," she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's everything. The team, the media, the constant need to prove myself... It's exhausting, Charles. And some days, I feel like I'll never be enough."

The words hit me harder than I expected, and I squeezed her hand. 

"You are enough," I say, leaning closer so she has no choice but to meet my gaze. 

"You've always been enough. You've fought harder than anyone to be here, and you deserve every bit of it. Don't let anyone—media, team, or anyone else—make you forget that."

Her eyes search mine, and for a moment, the tension in her shoulders seems to ease. "It's not that simple," she says quietly.

"No, it's not," I agree.

 "But you don't have to face it alone. I'm here, Camille. Whatever you need—however I can help—I'll be here."

She lets out a shaky breath, her fingers finally relaxing in mine. 

"You really believe that?" she asks, her voice carrying a hint of vulnerability I've rarely seen from her.

"With everything I have," I answer without hesitation.