Lando is true to his word, he used the bathroom from exactly six to seven this morning if the shower water running and some crashing and banging around was any hint. Other than that, I might've forgotten he existed. I wanted to thank Lando for sharing the room with me, but I didn't exactly know how to. Hey Lando, thanks for giving up half your space for the race weekend to someone you hate!
I'd have to thank him in some way. But that's another issue for later this weekend sometime. For now, I had to focus on today and getting him ready to get in the car for the practice sessions. Since my confusion last night and my stress for this weekend, I used my lack of sleep to get some work done. I now had a pretty good base memorization of Lando's file and had memorized the mechanics' names. If I was going to be a pain in the ass, making sure everyone in those garages was healthy I figured I should at least know the names of the people I'm lecturing.
I roughly heard movement outside my door and then another door closing. Everything fell silent afterwards and I assumed the noises were Lando leaving. A bit begrudgingly, I got out of bed and grabbed a change of clothes from my suitcase which had been delivered last night and unlocked the door to my room. I felt like a teenager again, sneaking around the house to avoid Dad. Only this time I was avoiding Lando.
The thought that I was comparing the two men felt extremely wrong.
Seeing that the coast was clear I looked over to where I'd spotted the McLaren keys last night hanging on a hook on the wall. They were gone. I let out a breath, letting my shoulders sag and my heavy legs dragged me towards the bathroom I shared with Lando. I entered the space and the sharp reminder of what Lando smelt like hit my nose, his cologne still hanging in the steam of the bathroom. His curly hair products were scattered over one side of the bathroom counter, and two bottles of soap stood in the shower. Even the damn bathroom reminded me of the time we spent together through lockdown.
I always hated how messy he was. And he had always made fun of me for how organized I was. I noticed with no small pain that he still used the same hair products I recommended to him four years ago. Only, now a curly hair version. I guess he finally realized he had curly hair, not wavy like he always liked to claim.
I shut the bathroom door behind me and locked it just in case he came back and set my things on the other side of the bathroom counter. I put my shampoo and conditioner beside his and turned on the water, stripping off my clothes and letting it heat up before stepping in. Like always, the warm water wrapped around me like a comforting blanket and I let my mind wander.
The pain of remembering the darkest parts of your life is addictive.
"Devin?" Charles said again from the other side of the phone.
I couldn't muster a reply, my mouth felt full of sand, my throat constricting. My eyes began to flutter shut. The room around me faded ever darker.
Before it could wrap me up and sweep me into blissful nothingness a sharp stinging pain, hot like fire ripped through my abdomen, right over my left hip. My ears were ringing and adrenaline shot my eyes awake. Darkness evaporating.
The blurry outline of my father filled my vision and was once again standing over me. I looked down at his hand, my neck straining with the effort. His fingers were wrapped around the hilt of one of the knives from the kitchen. I couldn't see where the blade was. But I knew where it was. I moved my shaking fingers over his. Even in my fuzzy state, I knew taking the knife out would make things worse.
"Dad, Dad please," I begged. But the alcohol and grief from losing mom had changed him. Harry was no longer my dad, just a monster who saw me as a reminder of everything my mom would've loved. A reminder of his grief.
There was no love left in his eyes. It hadn't been there for a long time. I'd just been too blind to see it. I sobbed and coughed again, feeling more blood run down my face from my split lip. And maybe something else. Who knows.
I held onto his hands as hard as I could, feeling the tears roll down my face in a steady flow. But my body was weak. I couldn't stop him and a scream wracked my throat as he pulled out the knife. Shit. Shit, shit. Instinctually I brought my hands over the stab wound in my side—the warmth of my blood leaking through my fingers. It felt like water, running too fast for me to stop it.
A sob wracked my throat. "Dad, Dad, please. Please stop, mom wouldn't want you to do this."
He moved, eyes hazy with drunken anger and grabbed my hair, bringing the bloodied knife up to my head, just above my ear. I felt myself being dragged backwards on the floor. My lower back and legs felt wet. Like I was sitting in a shallow bath.
My scalp burned from where he held it and my torso felt like it was on fire as he dragged me up. I wanted to scream, but it felt like I was breathing bubbles underwater. My breaths came in gasps. More pain sliced across my head, matching the fire in my abdomen. What remained of my eyesight became red-hued. Then black. My legs could barely hold up my weight as the blood from my head dripped in a steady flow down my body.
It felt like I was standing in the last lingering drops that dripped from a showerhead after the tap had been turned off.
"Your mother is dead, and you, every day remind me of her. She destroyed me, and you'll destroy me too if I don't stop it," his words came out mumbled and slurred, not making any sense.
I felt the floor when he dropped me. Felt my body fall like dead weight. I was too weak to move. Too out of breath to try. I lay there. Face down, one hand still over the wound on my side. Weak fingers attempting to apply pressure.
This time the adrenaline didn't draw me from rest. This time the darkness swept in and I knew nothing else.
Gasping for breath I washed the last bits of conditioner out of my hair and stepped quickly out of the flow of water. The droplets ran in a steady stream, and the pool of water at my feet felt too similar to my blood that day.
I used to read it in books. Not so much medical journals, they don't like to make comparisons. But the fantasy books I read when I had time liked comparisons. Blood always seemed to be described as feeling like warm water. Although the two things are different when you're in pain and your memories. Or at least my memories. It's hard to tell the difference.
I hated showering for that very reason, but I hated being dirty more so I put up with them. I do however go nowhere near baths, or hot tubs. I can get away with swimming in pools, but I think that's because I have so many memories with my mother, swimming with her in our family pool as a kid. Sometimes good memories can overpower bad ones, but for me, that's pretty rare.
I brushed my hair and moisturized. Deciding to keep my makeup to the bare minimum for work I just brushed some mascara on, a bit of blush to put some colour back into my tired face, and painted some concealer under my eyes. Looking much more awake, I blowdried my hair and dressed in my assigned team shirt. One of many. And a pair of comfortable athletic shorts. Thankfully physio didn't have to wear skirts like the media women. Something about wearing a skirt to work felt weird to me. Finally, I pulled my hair into a loose ponytail hung up my towel on the rack beside Lando's and headed out of the bathroom.
I swung open the bathroom door and was greeted by Lando standing on the other side of the hallway, leaning up against the wall with his arms crossed. He looked good. dressed in a Mclaren hoodie and loose jeans. He also looked his usual pissed off.
"You still take long ass showers," he stated.
I schooled my features, realizing I was standing in shock. I hadn't heard him come in. "I thought you left?"
Lando shook his head. "I went and got breakfast."
"Then why did you take the car key?"
Lando raised an eyebrow. "Because I didn't want you to steal my car." I guess I walked right into that one. I nodded. I wouldn't have stolen it, just stayed in my room a while longer to avoid our current awkward situation. "You didn't sleep last night," he said more like a statement than a question, his tone still dry.
"I got some."
He looked at me for a minute and I wanted to shift under his gaze. I forced myself to stand firm and hold his eyes. "You can't sleep with a light on, it was on all night."
It would do me some good to remember I'd told this man a lot about myself. Including the fact, I needed darkness in order to sleep. "You just stay awake all night and watch the light under my door?"
"No, it was on when I went to bed, and on when I woke up. One can assume."
"How do you know I wasn't sleeping in between those times?"
Because I pretty much woke up every hour to a message from Charles threatening me with his fist over text."
I sighed, rubbing my fingers on the bridge of my nose. "I told him to leave it alone."
"He'd more overprotective than I remember," Lando said flatly.
I wasn't sure whether to panic or not. This was the most words Lando's spoken to me civilly for years. "Things happen."
He slowly nodded and there was an awkward silence. "Thanks, for uh, splitting the room. I'll talk to Charles and tell him to stop."
"Yeah, sure. You're supposed to fix my shoulder, aren't you? I can't have you sleeping on the street. Even if you don't actually sleep."
"Still, thank you."
Lando got up from his position leaning against the wall. He uncrossed his arms and ran a hand through his curly hair. He took a step back from me as if he wanted to put some distance between us. "Grab the stuff you need for today, I'm driving you to the paddock."
I was feeling increasingly more confused and more like I was being ordered around. "What?"
Lando sighed like it was a pain in his ass to have to explain things to me. As if he was speaking to a toddler. "I need you to explain to me what I have to do for my shoulder to keep racing, and I have a meeting in" he glanced at his watch, "forty minutes. So I don't have time to hear you lecture me unless I drive you. Grab your stuff."
Not wanting to argue I quickly turned on my heel and slipped into my bedroom. I slipped on my team runners which were way too comfortable to be provided by the team, and my small backpack with my laptop, a few stretching bands, Lando's binder, and a couple of other necessary items. Swiping my phone off my nightstand I hurried out of the bedroom and back out into the main suite space. Lando was on his phone at the door and looked up as I walked closer to him. He opened the hotel room door and exited into the hallway. I followed like a sad puppy behind him. I imagine I resembled Charles.
Neither of us said a word until Lando had pulled the dark blue Mclaren 720s out of the hotel's underground parking.