Page 25 of Flat Out
I rolled my shoulders back, every muscle stiff and protesting. The pain was sharp enough to make me see stars, but it was worth it. If she could give this much of herself while the world tried to silence her, I could push through a pain spike.
I turned the kettle on to brew some tea. Opening the cabinet above the kettle, I froze. My assortment of teas were lined up neatly on the bottom shelf. I tilted my head, squinting at the neat rows before it dawned on me that they werealphabetized, rather than my usual disarrayed arrangement where I had to rifle through the boxes and bags until I found the one I wanted.
Such a small thing that made sense and fit into my life. I paused as an idea formed. I thought about how many of the little things I still didn't know about her.
I reached for the stack of sticky notes she’d used yesterday, running my thumb over the faint indents of her handwriting. Then I scrawled my own, pressing the pen harder than necessary just to leave a mark.
Breakfast, my love?
Sweet (pistachio croissants in bed)
Savory (me between your thighs)
Both (you won’t walk straight after)
I was about ninety percent certain she’d go forboth. And that was the thing—I wanted to knowallof it.
I stuck the note to the cabinet above the kettle and coffee maker. Then—after groaning through the full motion—I pulled out a glass vase and dropped in the tight blooms of pale pink peonies. The color once again reminded me of that ridiculous little pink dress that made me forget how to breathe.
I left another note by the vase.
These reminded me of you because they’re pink. Like that dress you wore in Monaco. Or Miami. Or your underwear after bungee jumping. The ones I tore.
–C
It hurt to walk, but I kept going. I folded one of my T-shirts and put it on the counter beside the flowers with another note on top.
In case you miss me half as much as I miss you… you look better in my shirts anyway.
–Ton amour
My phone buzzed, lighting up with hate from the internet. Santino was trending, except now, people were questioning the truth.Did she really get assaulted? Why come forward now? Where’s the proof?
I saw red. How many more times would she have to share her story for people to fucking understand?
In less than ten minutes, I uploaded a photo from Monaco—the one where we were leaving the paddock, soaked in champagne and sweat, me holding both our bags, blood streaked across the back of my hand. After Santino shoved her into the wall, I hit him hard enough to split my knuckles.
I posted the photo to Instagram with a map overlay of the paddock alley.
You asked if it really happened. Here’s your answer. I was on my way to her when I saw him assaulting her. This is where it happened.
#IStandWithHer #NoMoreSilence #DuboisDeservesBetter
I didn’t stop there. I responded to comments, telling people off, demanding they stop being so ignorant, defending her and the unfair treatment of women in this sport.
It felt so fucking good to stray from the PR path I'd spent the last decade perfecting.
By the time I'd showered and massaged more of the salve into my aching muscles, it was just after two in the afternoon, and the boys were texting in the chat.
Marco
@Callum, you almost ready for PT or are you still busy being a keyboard warrior?
Kimi
I'm staying quiet this time. Aurélie scares me…
Marco
