Doomed - Charles Leclerc

7

-Aurora-

The hospital's sterile halls echoed with the muted footsteps of Charles and Aurora as they made their way to Dr. Moreau's office. The air was charged with a subtle tension, the weight of unanswered questions lingering between them. Aurora clutched the strap of her handbag, eyes flickering nervously around the clinical environment.

Dr. Moreau, a middle-aged woman with a calm demeanor, greeted them as they entered her office. The walls were adorned with degrees and accolades, a testament to the expertise that would hopefully bring clarity to Aurora's fractured memory.

"Please, have a seat," Dr. Moreau gestured toward the chairs arranged in front of her desk.

Aurora took a deep breath and settled into the seat, Charles sitting beside her. The doctor studied them both, her gaze lingering on Aurora with a mix of empathy and clinical curiosity.

"I understand this must be a challenging time for you, Aurora," Dr. Moreau began, her voice measured. "Losing memories can be disorienting, and it's not uncommon to feel like a stranger in your own life."

Aurora nodded, a tightness in her chest making it difficult to articulate the depth of her confusion. Charles reached for her hand, a silent reassurance.

"We've run a series of tests, and physically, you seem to be in good health," Dr. Moreau continued. "However, the extent of your memory loss is concerning. It's as if a part of your past has been erased."

Aurora's gaze dropped to her lap, fingers tracing invisible patterns on her skirt. "Is there anything you can do to help me remember?"

Dr. Moreau sighed, a mixture of sympathy and professional detachment in her expression. "Memory is a complex and delicate thing. We can't force it to return, and there's no guarantee that it will. What we can do is provide support and monitor any changes."

A heavy silence settled in the room, the weight of uncertainty pressing on Aurora's shoulders. She looked up, meeting Dr. Moreau's eyes with a plea for answers.

"When will I remember?" Aurora asked, her voice wavering.

The doctor hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "It's hard to predict. Memories may return on their own, triggered by familiar experiences or stimuli. Sometimes, it's a gradual process, and other times, it happens in a sudden rush. But there's no fixed timeline, Aurora. Patience will be crucial."

As the reality of her situation sank in, Aurora nodded, a mix of acceptance and frustration churning within her. Charles squeezed her hand, offering silent support. She wasn't sure how to feel about that, but for now she accepted the offer of support, even if it was from him. After the discussion with Dr. Moreau, they proceeded to the hospital for a check-up, a routine to ensure that Aurora's physical health remained intact. The medical procedures felt like a detached dance, each step moving them further away from the enigma of her lost memories.

The drive back home was punctuated by a heavy silence, the weight of the unknown hanging in the air. Aurora gazed out of the window, her thoughts a whirlwind of uncertainty. She turned to Charles, her eyes seeking answers in his familiar face.

"When can I get back to work?" she asked, the prospect of returning to a semblance of normalcy offering a small glimmer of hope.

Charles, surprised by the question, looked at her with concern. "Already thinking about work, Lora?"

Aurora nodded, determination flickering in her eyes. "I need to try. Maybe it will trigger something. Besides, I hate being stuck inside without anything to do."

"Alright," Charles conceded, "you should email your boss at Sky Sports F1. Let them know you're ready to return when you feel up to it."

-

The rest of the drive home was a silent one. Aurora's mind churned with questions, uncertainty clinging to her like a persistent fog. Her eyes flickered to Charles, her husband, a man she couldn't remember marrying or falling in love with. The man beside her seemed familiar, but the emotional connection eluded her like a forgotten dream.

In the living room, Charles sat beside her, uncertain about what to say. Dr. Moreau's words echoed in her mind, probably resonating in his thoughts as well. Restlessness crept into her veins, and she turned to Charles with a furrowed brow. "Who exactly is my boss?"

He laughed, breaking the tension a little. "Glad to know you find this amusing, Leclerc," she teased. "Glad to know we're back to last names, Barlowe," he teased back. "It's not Barlowe anymore, you know," she said with a hint less excitement. "You'll always be Barlowe to me," he said, looking into her eyes. She appreciated that, especially since she felt more like a Barlowe than a Leclerc. It seemed considerate of him not to use her actual last name. "Richard Sterling," he said, opening his book. "He must be in your email contact list."

She opened her laptop, typing her password when reality struck once again. The password was wrong; shit. "Do you know my password?" she asked in a small voice. He looked at her, clearly sensing her feeling like an outsider in her own life once again. "It's our wedding date," he said, closing his book. "And when is that?" she asked hesitantly. "We got married in April last year, on the 22nd of April 2023."

Once the message was sent, Aurora closed her laptop and placed it on the coffee table. As they sat together, the weight of the unspoken lingered. She turned her gaze to Charles, curiosity etched on her features. "How did the crash happen exactly?" she asked, her voice hesitant.

Charles sighed, the weight of untold truths resting on his shoulders. "You drove back late from a work investigation. You were onto a big story, at least from what you had told me. They say you had a flat tire, and the car spun out of control." Aurora furrowed her brow, trying to piece together the fragments of a night she couldn't remember. "How did I get a flat tire? Tires don't just go flat, do they?" Charles hesitated, his eyes avoiding hers. "The police are still investigating that part. That's all I know for now." She nodded. "And my car?"

He smiled, "You mean my car?" He stood up from the couch, walking towards the kitchen. "Oh no, I crashed your car?" she asked him, feeling like a terrible wife. "I don't care about the car. All I care about is that you are okay." Unsure of what to say to that, she followed him to the kitchen. "But I crashed your probably very expensive car. I'm so sorry."

"Don't apologize, Lora. It wasn't your fault," he said as he filled a glass of water. "You don't know that; maybe it was. I don't remember, and you weren't there." He filled another glass of water, offering one to her. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, we got married in community of property, so it was as much your car as it was mine."

Jesus, why would he do that? If she knew one thing from his job and from looking at their house, it was that at least he was loaded, which now meant they were loaded. "Are we rich?" she asked him a bit sheepishly. "Yes," he said with a suspicious look in his eyes. "Why would you ever let me marry into your money, Leclerc?" she asked him sincerely. "Because I love you. What's mine is yours and the other way around. Don't underestimate yourself, Lora; you've built quite a career for yourself."

He really did love her. She felt bad, not feeling quite the same. The room fell into a heavy silence as they both drank their waters. 

"I wonder what this big story I was onto was about," she said thoughtfully. "So do I," he replied.