Until my Last Breath

95

Paris,France

GAVI
_____
All I can hear is the sound of her car hitting the barrier.
Again. And again. And again.
It won't leave my head.

I watched it happen like my soul was being torn from my body. I remember dropping my phone. My hands were shaking so bad I couldn't pick it up again. The physio thought I was having a panic attack. I couldn't even answer him.

I was.
I am.

I begged. Begged them to let me fly out. Told them to cancel everything. I would've walked barefoot to the airport if I had to. But the answer was always the same:

"Not now, Gavi."
"It's out of your control."
"You have responsibilities here."

She could've died, and I had to stay here and smile for interviews like I gave a damn about this award.

I swallow hard. My throat's dry, heart still caught somewhere in that moment - watching her car, mangled and smoking, before the cameras cut away. I couldn't even tell if she was breathing.

And then...
She rose.
Like she always fucking does.

She raced the very next day like a possessed animal, overtaking drivers twice her experience. With broken ribs. A dislocated shoulder. God knows what else. She didn't just survive - she won.

I've never seen anything like it.

And I've never felt this useless in my entire life.

Rebecca clears her throat. "Pablo? Have you even looked at the new version of your speech?"

I blink slowly, turn my head just enough to meet her eyes. "No."

She blinks like she wasn't expecting honesty. "You really should. There's going to be press everywhere in Marseille, and they want you to mention the academy in-"

"I said no," I snap, voice quiet but sharp.

Pedri shifts beside me awkwardly. I don't mean to be a dick. I just- I can't do this right now.

She's out there, probably still in pain, her shoulder wrapped up, and I'm stuck on this bus listening to people talk about golden trophies like it's the only thing that matters.

I look down at my hands. I don't even want to win. What would it mean without her here?

Pedri nudges me gently with his elbow. "Hey," he says softly, "you're somewhere else, man. You good?"

I shake my head once.

He doesn't say anything. He just nods like he gets it - or at least enough of it to not push me.

Rebecca glances back at us with another paper in her hand. "We still need to finalize-"

I tune her out.

Instead, I close my eyes and pretend.

Pretend she's here beside me.

Her legs tucked up on the seat. Her head resting against my shoulder. That stupid pen between her teeth as she crosses out lines she doesn't like.

"No," she'd say, tapping the paper, "you're not opening with that. That's boring."

I'd groan. She'd smirk.

"You should thank your parents first," she'd mumble. "Then the academy. Then your team. And then me, obviously."

And I would.

Every version of the speech in my head ends with her.

I open my eyes again. She's not here.
And maybe she never will be again.