Until my Last Breath

99

Monte- Carlo, Monaco

The sun is too bright.

Even with the oversized sunglasses covering half my face, even with my hood half up, the world feels like it's gleaming too loudly - like it's mocking me with its clarity while I'm barely holding myself together.

The air smells like sunscreen and fresh-cut grass. The crowd is buzzing, excited, carefree. Music's playing through the stadium speakers. Somewhere in the distance, a commentator is hyping up the players, throwing Charles's name around like confetti.

I should've been down there.

On the pitch. Kicking off alongside him. Laughing in the way I used to, back when my shoulder didn't feel like dead weight and my chest wasn't filled with wet cement.
But here I am, in the stands, hiding behind a pair of black lenses, next to Arthur - who has barely said a word since I told him.

I glance down at my arm, still wrapped. Still stiff. It's a neat excuse. A perfect one. No one questions physical injuries.

But Arthur did.

He looked at me the second I slid into his car earlier, clocked the bags under my eyes, the sunken hollows, the silence I thought I was disguising well enough.

"You didn't sleep," he said quietly. "Don't tell me it's just your shoulder."

I tried. God, I tried to stick to the script.

"It was throbbing all night," I murmured, keeping my gaze out the window.

"Riri."

He said my name like a full stop. Like he already knew.

So I told him.

All of it.

From the ceremony to Marina's confession. The forced breakup. The contract. The truth I didn't want to believe, and the betrayal I never saw coming.

He keeps glancing at me, not saying anything. Maybe because he knows if he does, I'll fall apart again.

Or maybe because he's scared he will.

He just sits there, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together like he's praying or trying not to explode. I don't blame him. I still don't fully believe it either - not even after living it.

Marina.

The one who used to braid my hair on race weekends when I was too tired to care. Who waited outside every press conference, who yelled at engineers when I couldn't. The last person I would've imagined crossing a line so sharp it cut me in half.

"She was always there..." Arthur finally says, voice low. "Always just there."

I nod, hollow. "Yeah."

The noise from the crowd swells as someone scores, but it feels like background static. Like it's happening in a world I'm no longer part of.

"I don't know if I did the right thing," I murmur, barely audible.

But Arthur doesn't hesitate.

"You did."

He says it with such certainty, I almost believe him on the spot.

"I've seen you go through a lot of shit," he continues, eyes fixed on the pitch in front of us. "Crashes. Grief. Losing your seat. Fighting for one. Bad results. People doubting you. And through all of it, you found a way to stand back up."

His voice softens.

"But after that breakup?" He glances at me. "I've never seen you fall like that."

I bite the inside of my cheek, blinking fast behind my sunglasses.