Forgetting The Love of Your Life

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Scrutiny

Charles' PoV:

You can hear her faint laughter and words from the bathroom - playful giggles, happy screeches and dramatic yes' and no's. It's y/n and Gulia... What else would you expect? At least she fully remembers her. That's better than nothing, and definitely better than being completely alone in a foreign life that you do not recognise yourself.

The hot stream of water runs along the contours of your body, and you give off a tortured sigh. Naturally you're so relieved and encouraged by her motivation to do better this morning, but you cannot let go of the nagging feeling that she'll flip on you again - that she'll run off, panic, or worse, fully leave you because she's done trying.

This type of overthinking helps no one involved, but how are you supposed to just accept that she's okay today? Yesterday she felt less optimistic than today, and yet her crash was hefty nonetheless, so if she's happier today, the fall and crash and switch on you would be atomic- right?

You turn towards the tiled shower wall, exhaling, trying to rid yourself from your own negative thinking. You can't fucking jinx it, but thinking like this- spiralling- that won't help you either. Fuck.

Her touch is still lingering on your skin, you can still hear her gentle breath, and all you can focus on was that momentary sparkle in her eyes. That glance, that was the closest to how she used to look at you, and it fucking sparked something inside of you.

But to be honest, it only means that if she leaves you again, that's all you'll remember; that last little sparkle she held for you, and for what? Cereal.

The shampoo runs down your face, as you wash your hair, continuously thinking back to how she looked at you, completely distorting the memory by the time you're finished replaying it in your mind. You think back to how it used to be...

Waking up in hotel rooms around the world, cuddling up and fucking her until she moaned your name endlessly, grasping on and begging you to never let her go again.

Going places, restaurants, stores, events, having her on your arm. Just like in the picture above your bed.

Long drives with her, and her terrible navigation skills. She might be able to take a right at 190 km/h, but she can't tell you the next exit to save her life.

Her ridiculously gorgeous giggles when the two of you would goof around, taking the stupidest pictures ever, and she would protect them like a treasure, not even allowing you to delete the terrible ones.

Beach and yacht days. She fucking flourished around the ocean. Her eyes would become so big out of excitement, her laugh would be so genuine and her hair would get all wavy from the salt. You can see her right in front of you in her light blue bikini, which matched what you were wearing, her hair completely wavy and chaotic, but so fucking gorgeous - her skin tan, with that distinct smell of sunshine on it, and the warmth in her gaze... Fuck me.

You tilt your face upwards, letting the water run over it. Remembering any of it fucking painful.

You remember her voice, completely unbothered, as she'd sing Hozier or Lana Del Rey songs around the apartment, while packing her suitcases or cleaning up. How she'd give you these little smiles when she'd walk by you.

How she'd make her playlists, while in your arms, asking you about songs every now and then, and your opinion on them...

The massive, tight, loving hugs, whenever one of you did well on track. She'd practically jump into your arms. The only time she didn't, was when you bumped her from P1, and even then, she forgave you the next day, still celebrating your victory, as if it was her own.

Fuck. You step out of the shower.

Your memories have been tainted by this bitter-sweet after-taste. Even if she were to remember everything again, it wouldn't return the two of you to who you used to be with one another, it would simply make your lives continue, but everything would be changed.

You dry off, comb your hair, brush your teeth, and step into the bedroom, opening the closet doors, to grab some clothes.

She's finishing off with Gulia, you can hear it - they keep saying bye, before interjecting another topic, and then they get distracted again, before saying bye another time, and the cycle continues. It's always the same with the two of them.

You pull out your light blue jeans, putting them on, as you hear the last 'bye' occurring. After that, the apartment is drenched in silence. You lean down, putting on your socks, as her footsteps find her way to the bedroom.

y/n softly: Hi

You glance up, giving her a gentle smile.

Charles: Hi there yourself...

She steps into the room, with her hands interlaced behind her back. You get up, returning to the closet, looking for a jumper to wear. Y/n sits down on the corner of the bed.

Charles: Will you still get changed?

y/n: Yeah, in a second...

You nod, pulling out a grey hoodie and a white t-shirt, putting on both.

Charles: How was the talk with Gulia then?

She smiles saying it was good, and she proceeds to tell you about it a little. You listen attentively, doing your best to focus on her, and not your negative thoughts from before. Eventually you sit down beside her, and she turns towards you.

y/n softly: When do you want to go for the walk?

Charles shrugs: Whenever you're ready for it...

She nods understandingly.

y/n: I'll get changed out of my sweats then, do my hair and make up, and then we can go. Okay?

Charles nods: Yeah sure-