𝗖𝗟𝗔𝗥𝗜𝗦𝗦𝗔 𝗟𝗨𝗖𝗔𝗦 is Fernando Alonso's replacement at Aston Martin after he retires. Her only goal is to prove that she belongs in the sport. However, one driver who goes by the name Lando Norris appears to only want to distract her from t...
Heavy, heavy, heavy themes of: grief, depression, eating disorders, and disassociation. This chapter is just really heavy in general. Please proceed with caution.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
It was all a blur. The whole ordeal. From the moment the both of them stepped onto the plane, all the way to the hospital. The anxiety that flooded the waiting room and nearly suffocated her. The fear that spiked through her when a doctor in his white coat and blue scrubs padded his way toward them, his being radiating disappointment and sadness. Cassie knew before the words were spoken,
we're sorry. We did everything we could. He didn't make it.
Lando knew his place, he knew words wouldn't comfort her when her whole body rotated 90 degrees and found solace in his chest. She broke down in front of the other patients, she didn't care. The tears stained Lando's shirt, drenching the fabric that now clung to his skin—much like her. Had it not been for him holding her up, she would have collapsed into a crumpled mess on the hospital floor.
Even when the tears stopped, when Lando could finally get her to move, she did not speak a word. Her eyes, half-lidded. Her lips, stuck a constant pout, as if the tears were still pouring in rivers from her eyes.
Even when the both of them arrived to her place, she did not utter a word. Her expression was frozen in place. The only signs of life were the body movement, the shifting of her eyes, and the occasional sniff.
Even when Lando encouraged, c'mon I'll run you a warm bath, she stayed silent. Completely unresponsive. No nod, not even a blink. It was almost like she was sleep walking.
Lando ran the bath anyway, hoping she would find the idea soothing. When he twisted back to where he left her in the doorway, she was gone. Confused, he called after her. As expected, he received no answer.
He found her curled in bed, staring blankly at the wall ahead. She was still awake, her body tense and face still frozen in an expression of misery. He sighed, brushed the hair out of her face and kissed her on the forehead, whispering out, I'm here for you.
She didn't move when he got into bed beside her, or when he placed delicate arms around her. She was awake late into the night, and even when the exhaustion finally forced her into sleep, her body was stiff.
Over the next few days, the scenes were hard for Lando. She hardly got out of bed, meals would be brought to her, only for her to pick at them and hardly eat enough to live off of. He always encouraged her, making her favorites. It was always the same measly little portions.
It was also frightening how her expression remained unchanged, and her body was permanently rigid. She was like a statue, a lifeless sculpture of her own self.
Behind her back, Lando sought the help of many professionals, describing her symptoms in great detail. He was told the same thing every time, she's grieving, this is only temporary. Hearing it repeatedly didn't make it any easier on his ears. He sobbed, overcome with worry, feeling helpless.
