Apex | Charles Leclerc

Chapter 68

I only cleared my throat to tell him that we could leave, not uttering another word as we got into his car. I kept seeing myself as a separate part of my body after the conversation I had with Estelle. I disassociated so much that I was certain that mentally, I was nowhere near where my body was. I was stuck in a place where only I could pull myself out of the rabbit hole but I had no idea how.

"This session was different, wasn't it?" He asked and I momentarily glanced at him before nodding my head. When he didn't reply, I realized he must not have seen me because his eyes were on the road.

"Yes, it was." I was caught off guard when Charles suddenly made a u-turn, causing a few cars behind us to honk at the abrupt action. "Where are we going?"

"You're not okay." He said, ignoring my question as he glanced at his rearview mirror. "And I don't think going back home will make things better, so we're making a stop." The roads grew familiar the nearer we reached our destination. When the familiar image of our cottage came into view, I glanced curiously at Charles as he parked the car and opened the glovebox, pulling out a set of keys. "Max helped me make a copy of yours." He said before getting out. I followed behind him, closing the door as we both got inside. "I didn't really plan this so if you'd like, we can just order some food and coffee."

Charles continued to speak as he scrolled through his phone, not noticing that I haven't moved from my place by the door.

I leaned my back against it, placing my palms flat against the wood to keep them from curling into fists. My fingertips were probably white from how much I was pushing it, but it was the only way I thought I wouldn't hurt myself, the memory of crescent shaped marks on my palms whenever I tried to stop them from shaking. I tried focusing on specific objects— the clock mounted to the wall, the stack of books about travelling Asia that were sat on the coffee table, the faded marks on one of the wooden pillars in the living room that we chose not to paint over.

I thought focusing on something would help me breathe better, but it was no use. How am I supposed to relinquish control when every time I do so, something awful happens?

Losing my control with Charles was probably the only time things went my way.

I was looking down on my shoes, lips formed into an 'o' to help me when I saw Charles' familiar black converse in front of me. I looked up to meet his worried eyes, lips pursed as he figured out what to say, but I beat him to it.

"I need you to do something for me." I breathed out, shuffling from one foot to another as I continued to grow restless.

"Whatever you need, it's yours. Just tell me what it is." Charles replied without an ounce of hesitation, stepping forward and cupping my cheeks with his hands. The warm contact felt like a bright fire on Christmas day, filled with comfort and safety.

"Please help me." I said, my voice cracking at the end. "Hold me or whatever. I don't care. Just help me."

Charles didn't need to hear me twice before he was grabbing my hand and intertwining it with his. He pulled me towards the direction of the bedroom, only letting go of my hand to fix the cushions so that we had some space. He sat down, back placed against the headboard, before pulling me. My back met his chest as Charles wrapped his arms around me, my hands gripping his tightly.

He was surrounding me, almost every inch of exposed skin I had was touching his and it felt like a touch of reality was slowly pulling me back. The process was slow as every breath I let out was shaky and I knew he could feel it. Every time I squeezed his hands, he'd lean the side of his head against mine. Minute by minute, we were getting there.

Until I heard it.

I could hear French words. For a second, I thought Charles must've pulled out his phone and began playing a French song.