My Suicide Note

Charles Leclerc- Cold

Marcus glanced at his watch. It was gone half ten and there was supposed to have been a press conference half an hour ago.

Which Charles didn't turn up to.

At first Marcus thought Charles had been caught in traffic on his way to the Paddock, then he thought Charles had overslept.

Now he was worried.

When the conference ended, Marcus decided to head back to the hotel Charles was staying in and headed to the Monegasque's room.

"Charles? Are you okay in there?" The Swede asked, knocking on his ex-teammate's door.

No reply.

A housekeeper walked by just at that minute and Marcus grabbed her arm, sprouting something about his friend being injured and he needed a key to get into the room so he could them.

The housekeeper gave him a sceptical look, but after knocking and being met with silence herself, opened the door for Marcus while she radioed down to reception to ask them to call for an ambulance.

Marcus rushed into Charles' room. The first thing that caught his eye was the closed bathroom door.

His heart dropped to his stomach as he headed over, trying the door handle and finding it locked.

The ex-Sauber driver took a deep breath, bringing his leg up and kicking the door with all his might. The hinges creaked and a black mark from his trainers stained the white, but the door stayed closed.

He kicked it a couple more times and finally the door gave way. Marcus fell forward and stumbled into the bathroom.

His breath caught in his throat as he caught sight of Charles.

The Monegasque was lying a pool of dark, dried blood, the red staining his white top. His skin was almost as white as the floor tiles, there was a rather large gash on the back of his head and dried blood splattered across the rim of the bathtub.

Marcus' hand flew to his mouth as he noted the bloodied knife that sat by Charles' side.

He knelt down by Charles' side and pressed two fingers to his ex-teammate's neck, searching for a pulse.

Nothing.

Two paramedics pushed past him and a third pulled him away from Charles' body.

Once alone, the Swede finally allowed tears to run down his cheeks. Charles had been so young, he had such a bright future ahead of him with a seat in one of the biggest Formula One teams.

What caused Charles to kill himself?

Marcus jumped up, wiping his face on the sleeve of his hoodie and ran out of his room towards the Paddock.

Immediately Sebastian pounced on him.

"Where's Charles? What's happened to him?" The German was rambling frantically.

"He-he." Marcus took a deep breath.

"He killed himself. Last night. Slit his wrists."

The colour drained from Sebastian's face. His mouth hung open and he started hyperventilating.

"No he-he didn't. Not again! He can't have! Not again!" He screamed and collapsed to the floor. Marcus darted forward and managed to grab the German before he hit the ground.

The Ferrari crew were horrified when Sebastian announced Charles' death.

Whilst they weren't entirely happy with Charles at that moment- still under the impression he had leaked information- they would never wish death upon him.

Marcus sat in his driver's room the morning of the funeral, watching the snowfall settle on the ground.

"Now it's cold without you here
It's like winter lasts all year" His breath fogged up the frosted window and he closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against the cold glass.

"So I won't say goodbye
I don't have to say goodbye."