One Shots | Formula 1

LH♥

"The happiest dad in the world."

The sun streamed through the curtains, casting a warm glow on the room as I slowly opened my eyes. The world around me seemed to spin, and a wave of nausea hit me like a ton of bricks. I groaned, clutching my stomach, as the realization set in – I was sick. And today, of all days.

Lewis, my boyfriend, was away for a Grand Prix, leaving me alone to navigate this sudden illness. I dragged myself out of bed, stumbling towards the bathroom. The cool tiles beneath my feet offered a slight relief as I leaned over the toilet, gripping the sides. My stomach churned, and I closed my eyes, willing the nausea to subside.

Taking deep breaths, I tried to summon the strength to get through the day. Lewis had been so excited about this race, and I didn't want to worry him. But my body had other plans. I reached for a hair tie and pulled my long locks into a messy bun, hoping it would keep them out of the line of fire.

As I attempted to stand, another wave of dizziness swept over me, and I sank back down. I couldn't remember the last time I felt this terrible. With Lewis away, I had to rely on my own remedies to battle the sickness. I shuffled to the kitchen, determined to find something that might ease my symptoms.

The fridge held a sad assortment of leftovers, but my eyes landed on a bottle of ginger ale. A childhood remedy passed down from my grandmother – ginger ale was always the first line of defense against an upset stomach. I poured a glass and took small sips, hoping the fizzy liquid would settle the churning in my belly.

As I waited for the ginger ale to work its magic, I curled up on the couch, wrapping myself in a cozy blanket. The minutes ticked by, and I could feel the queasiness gradually subsiding. It was a temporary relief, but I welcomed any respite I could get.

The sound of Lewis's voice echoed in my mind as I closed my eyes, remembering the way I had wished him luck before he left. The connection we shared was something special, and the thought of disappointing him weighed heavily on me. But I couldn't control when sickness struck.

A sudden urge overcame me, and I rushed back to the bathroom just in time. The waves of nausea returned with a vengeance, and I clung to the toilet, willing it to be over soon. The harsh reality of being alone in this moment hit me, and I couldn't help but feel a pang of loneliness. Lewis was thousands of miles away, completely unaware of my struggle.

After what felt like an eternity, the worst of it passed. I rinsed my mouth and splashed water on my face, staring at my pale reflection in the mirror. I took a deep breath, gathering the strength to soldier on. Lewis might be away, but that didn't mean I had to let this illness defeat me.

With a determined spirit, I returned to the couch, wrapped in my blanket cocoon. The Grand Prix was still hours away, and I had to find a way to make it through the day. As I drifted in and out of sleep, I clung to the hope that the worst was behind me and that I would be able to enjoy the race.

The hours slipped away, and despite my determination, exhaustion overcame me. I drifted into a restless sleep, only to wake with a start as the sound of Lewis's ringtone echoed through the silent room. My heart raced as I fumbled for my phone, but it was too late. The missed call notification stared back at me, a reminder of my solitude.

I stumbled to the bathroom, my body protesting every step. As I reached for my phone to return Lewis's call, a sudden surge of nausea stopped me in my tracks. I leaned over the toilet once again, the familiar ritual playing out. I couldn't bring myself to answer the call. I didn't want him to hear me like this, weak and defeated.