apocalypse | charles leclerc ✓

chapter 11 | if you ever leave

«I didn't choose this town, I dream of getting out. There's just one who could make me stay all my days.»

---

It felt like someone had put her lungs through one of those compression machines because the air was not flowing the way it was supposed to. Her heart also pounded loud and incessantly everywhere. In her ears, her brain, her chest, her legs, her wrists...every corner of her body. And to top it all off, Sloane was pretty sure her stomach was crumpling into an insane number of knots because the acid kept raising up her throat alerting her that she would throw up at any minute if she didn't sit down to take a breather. Oh my god, she thought. Her physical condition could not be worse even if she tried. Or perhaps her body did not adapt well to certain workouts. Either way, she did not feel well.

"Charles, babe, stop. Wait, stop." She came to a halt, holding her side to alleviate the sharp pain pulsating under her rib. "Just a second."

Charles, of course, stopped in his tracks the moment he heard her pleas. The dust flew everywhere when they cut it on the running, the marks of their shoes printed on the ground. He turned to Sloane. Her cheeks were flushed bright red, little hairs sticking to her sweaty forehead. His lips curved into a smile when she met his gaze and her face twisted into a grimace. A couple of seconds later, as he approached her, she bent her knees, placing a hand on each one and taking deep puffs of air to try and even her breathing. She panted like a dog. God.

She was not made to take those runs. She was made for lazy strolls on a treadmill while listening to her favourite playlist in a luxury gym or something like that. Even wearing cute sportswear as she took sips from one of those savoury energetic drinks with aesthetic packaging.

"Are you okay there, ma belle?" He smiled, reaching to rub soothing circles on her back. She carried on inhaling and exhaling to fill her lungs at capacity. Her skin burned under his touch. The Monaco sun making its presence known.

After taking one final heavy breath, she looked up at him, squinting to avoid the sun and show him how unamused she was. The asshole grinned comically at the sight of her in the middle of passing away. Of course the guy with a six-pack who looked like he was about to film a Puma commercial would be all teasing smiles and raised eyebrows. He was so hot, she believed, and she was sweaty and gross, and her soul had flown out of her body a few minutes ago, probably. Along with her will to live and exist.

"Andrea makes you run like this all the time?" She asked in between short and continuous pants. Charles nodded, still smiling very pleased with himself for being the one in good shape out of the two. He was a literal athlete though. "What are you training for? The Hunger Games? Oh my god, this is insane." She coughed. Her mouth and throat were dry. "Like, you are a racing driver, why do you need to run like this? Jesus, fuck." Not two words that belonged together but the sentiment had meaning.

"It's not that bad." No, she'd disprove it. It was more than bad. Terrible.

When she straightened up, he held her by the arm, only to make sure she wouldn't seriously pass out or fall on her arse. She eyed him with narrowed eyes and he smiled sweetly, handing her a water bottle. Charles was very impressed by how fast she chugged the whole content in one sitting. Clearly, she preferred other forms of cardio. Sloane wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and gagged when the salty flavour of sweat danced on her lips and tongue. Fucking hell.

His hand slipped down her arm to check the pulse on her wrist, she felt a tingling sensation running down her spine when he did that. "Feeling better?"

"Remind me to never ask your trainer for fitness advice. My legs are shaking." She whined and threw him a death glare when he chuckled one more time.

"I'll give you a piggyback ride, come on." Letting go of her hand, he tapped his back with a palm.