𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞; oscar piastri

PART TWENTY FIVE

Sorry loyal viewers, been spending every ounce of free time I have planning where this story is going because it changes so frequently, like my original plan is completely out the window but I'm loving this one so much more.

That said, apologies for what you're about to read. You'll understand why I'm apologising once you've read it.

Much love <3

Word count; 3,225

Tomás

— June 1st, 2023. Barcelona, Spain.

I had expected it all to stop.

I had wanted it all to stop. It was the first time in months I had been completely sober, mainly because I was too afraid of what would happen the next time I drank; afraid I'd end up in the same position as before, in a bed with Oscar, unable to remember what had happened - which wouldn't have usually mattered, it never used to. But this was different. He was different. Maybe it was the fact he now knew everything, not just Paco and who he was, but everything. Maybe I didn't want alcohol taking its chance on that.

 And yet, I still found myself on the patio the following morning, crouched next to a once-empty plant pot, throat burning from stomach acid. I had ran out of excuses for the habit - as it had become exactly that. A habit. A ritual. Automatic. Before, I'd tell myself it was a way to gain back control, but deep down, now and back then, I knew it was a false reason, a justification for the guilt that plagued my stomach, the trembling of my hands the second someone else came close to finding out; it's what happened with Alex back in Bologna, and I didn't want it to happen again. But I couldn't stop. I knew it would eventually, as it had before, and I'd hoped it would be now; a consequence of sobriety. I'd wanted it to be now.

Since when did I get what I wanted?

Already exhausted, I took a seat on the front step of the town house, examining the gravel in front of me, the rental car we had come here in. Oscar's footsteps ascended the corridor behind me, and a moment later, his shadow emerged at the front door. No words exchanged, I moved over, allowing him a space to sit down beside me. Tapping out ash from my cigarette, I glanced at the back street that led to the church, a black and white cat prancing along the path.

After a moment: "You should've woke me up."

I smiled softly, "You looked like you needed it."

Even now, sat next to me, his eyelids remained shut, his frame sunken, still reviving himself from slumber. It was something I'd always noticed about him; how much he preferred sleep to being awake, and how he never seemed to get enough of it.

I took a deep inhale, the fresh countryside air washing away the smoke of my cigarette. "There's no food or water. And I'm running out."

Oscar nodded, recognising I was referring to the burn. "Is there anything around?"

"Does it look like there is?"

We both chuckled. The whole province was a fragment of what it used to be; we'd barely seen a soul since we arrived.

"There's a good diner," I suggested. "Half hour or so away though. If you can last that long."

"I'll go pack."

Except, before he could stand, I interjected, "Sit for a bit."

He didn't have to be told twice. After all, the day before still hovered over the both of us, and - for whatever reason - we weren't ready to let go of it yet. That said, some part of me wished I'd never said anything, and I didn't have to sit there thinking of my every move, of what Oscar might think of me. It wasn't like I cared. It just wouldn't leave my mind.