𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞; oscar piastri ✔

PART FORTY THREE

Come back here and vent when you finish the chapter.

Word count; 3,495

Tomás

Learning to walk again after days on morphine was harder than I thought - though the nurses blamed that more on the crash, if anything; how the cockpit, having ping-ponged between two walls, had crushed me, and any longer beneath the weight and I actually would've lost my ability to walk completely. So many things had gone right, they'd remind me, when for many people it would've gone astronomically wrong.

Nevertheless, Oscar made sure that, every day, I'd walk a metre further down the hall. Then a metre more after that. And before I knew it, I had made my way down to the elevator, allowing us to visit the hospital courtyard for fresh air - though, it was an hour-long affair, because each step was just as aggravating as the last, my lungs barely able to form a breath after the first three. But I tried. With Oscar on my left, and the ECG on my right, I tried. Because I wanted to be better. I wanted to show the world was okay.

But that wasn't the only reason.

Oscar was leaving tomorrow. It was the Hungary Grand Prix, and he had a seat to fill, a job to do.

And we still hadn't spoken about the night Pierre had visited me.

In his eyes, I wasn't better enough. Anyone could see that. I struggled to walk, to hold a conversation, to use my phone. And I needed to be better for us to talk about it. I just hoped that would be before he left.

We'd done a lap around the courtyard and, reaching my limit, I collapsed onto a nearby bench, chest heaving. It was the first time trying it, another attempt to prove I was, in fact, better enough, but I'd failed. Miserably.

Oscar sat beside me. My fingers were already starting to crave the touch of a cigarette.

"Don't beat yourself up too much," He said, "This is the farthest you've reached."

I shook my head slight, trying to control my breaths. Not far enough.

"Maybe by Monday, you'll be back upstairs on your own."

I looked away. I didn't want to think about monday. I wanted now. I wanted him.

"What time is your flight?" I asked reluctantly.

"Six in the morning." He whined. "I'll try not to wake you up on my way out."

I shrugged, "I want to see you leave."

He smiled, though it quickly faded, as if he was contemplating the same thing I was. We'd been stuck together for so long and now I'd be without that safety beam.

I couldn't help it, "I know you said there's a time to talk about it but I'm pretty sure that's now."

"Taz-"

I was almost angry, "You don't think so?"

He sighed, turning his gaze to the other end of the courtyard. We were alone, minus a few doctors and nurses who crossed over the connecting path every now and then.

"Because I meant what I said." I affirmed. "I never wanted him. And I can't watch you leave if some part of you thinks I did."

He stayed silent. So that was what he thought.

I swallowed, the realisation hitting me like a brick.

"If I-" I sucked in a breath, "If I told you I love you, would that change anything?"