Page 5 of Flat Out
“I’m okay!” I screamed, but the sound never left my lungs. “MOVE!”
She didn’t look scared, not until the last second. Her concern turned to confusion. Confusion turned to fear. I saw her pivot, turning her body to shield the baby, before her mouth opened again. She gave me one last look.
And then the track disintegrated. The roar disappeared, the car vanished from beneath me, and the world went silent.
I was gone again.
The race sounds still buzzed in my ears, but everything else wasquiet. My ribs ached and my neck was stiff as hell. Every muscle in my body pulsed with the kind of pain you don’t just walk off. I didn’t know where I was for a moment as panic clawedat my throat and my heart slammed against my sternum so hard I thought it might break.
Then I remembered I was in my flat, tucked in bed, the sheets feeling heavy on my bruised chest.
Aurélie was sitting beside me. I could feel the weight of her body dip the mattress, her warmth beneath my palms, the gentle scrape of her nails across my scalp. I heard her voice. She spoke in French—low, melodic, and close to my ear.
It wasn’t a race. It was a lullaby.
“Tu es mon cœur. Tu n’es pas seul.”
You are my heart. You are not alone.
There was a slow, quiet hum beneath the words—too faint to follow, but steady enough to keep me from drifting too far. Her voice curled around me like a security blanket, wrapping me in things I’d never known how to ask for. Comfort, forgiveness,a home.
She kept speaking, like a litany only the two of us knew, a string of tender nonsense and sacred truths.
“Mon amour. Mon champion. Reviens-moi. Je t’attends.”
My love. My champion. Come back to me. I’m waiting.
The lullaby shifted into something older, and I realized it was prayer.
I didn’t understand all the words, not fully—just pieces of it. They were hopes tucked into syllables like stitches. Wishes I didn’t deserve, but wanted to earn.
Her fingers threaded through my hair, her lips occasionally pressing to my temple.
She prayed for rest, for healing. For peace and for the pain to ease.
Forme.
And I nearly broke. Somewhere deep inside, behind the fog and the fire and the ache, I felt something twist. A pressure behind my eyes. A tremble I couldn’t name.
No one had ever prayed for me, not like this.
And even if I couldn’t move or speak, I heard her. Ifelther. She was here with me. Body, mind, and soul, comforting me and caring for me. She wasn’t crossing a live track about to get hit by a Formula 1 car. She washere.
I could feel her. I could hear her. And that knowledge meant I wasn’t alone.
I wanted to turn my head to look at her, but my neck screamed in protest. Pain lanced through my ribs and my eyes wouldn’t open, so I stayed still. I just let her speak, let her touch, let her love me in the ways she needed to.
It was all hazy and choppy. One second I was fading into a slumber, and the next I was back with her. I tried to hold on to it—this moment, this feeling—but it was like trying to cling to fog.
Time stretched. I drifted.
When I surfaced again, it was dark, and the sheets were cool beside me. Her scent lingered–lavender and something sweeter. It was the distinct scent of the woman I loved, the woman I could’ve been permanently torn from.
I heard her voice somewhere, but it was so quiet I wondered if I imagined it. I thought I heard her laugh coming from the kitchen, or maybe the hallway. And Iyearnedfor her. Craved her warmth again, her touch, the comfort of her voice, but my body was too heavy to follow.
Then, for the briefest moment, my eyes fluttered open. Just enough to see her by the bedroom door. Phone in hand, hair twisted in a towel, body clad in dark clothing.
I tried to call out, to beg her to stay, to not go, to apologize for my inconsiderate, selfish, idiotic tendencies. But nothing came out, just like my nightmare. Only my fingers twitched as I tried to reach for her across the bed.
