A Little Flirting Hurt No One

1 step forward, 3 steps back

Charles wasn't sure when he fell asleep, but when he woke up, the sun was peaking through the blinds. Its light clashing its way between them, being held prisoner behind bars.

He felt panic coursing through him, unsure of where he was. Though his panic was quickly calmed when he realized it was his house.

Weird. He doesn't remember going back to his house.

Alas, he is far too tired to question it. And frankly, his brain was too preoccupied to think about it.

He sat up, adjusting his back on the headboard. It ached quite a bit, the after results of a high intensity race. He allowed his head to fall backwards, eyes opening and closing slowly. He tilted his head to face the small opening between the curtains. It offered a small glimpse of Monaco, a dazzling site. It semi-colourful houses snuggled closely to each other, watching over the pier. Parked near them were expensive cars, probably belonging to them considering the location. It wasn't uncommon for residents in Monaco to own the world's most expensive cars (quite literally). But to Charles, all of this was rubbish compared to what Monaco truly meant to him.

This was the place where he grew up. Where he discovered his passion for racing. The streets he wandered after school before going home. The homes he passed on his way back. The place that stored all his childhood memories. The place that shaped him into the person he is now. It offered a homely feel.

Usually.

This time however, the weight of disappointment crushed the satisfaction of being home. The feeling of winning being pulled away, snatched by a mistake. It loomed over him like the grim reaper, sucking the joy of anything that offered it. It was the flaw he hated ever so much. Caring too much about everything, putting the blame on himself in every situation. Not being able to forgive himself and move on.

He decided it would be best to try and distract himself with something else for now, focus on anything but racing. And while avoiding your problems is a bad idea, it seemed to be the only thing that worked for Charles.

He started by getting himself out of bed, which was a challenge in itself, and getting ready for the morning. His feet stumbled as he made his way to the bathroom, absolutely wrecked from yesterday's race. He grabbed onto the wall for support as he made his way. His eyes struggled severely to stay awake as he brushed his teeth. It felt weird considered he'd probably gotten well over 10 hours of sleep.

The shower's scalding water didn't help take his mind off of the race, the quietness of the atmosphere allowing his mind to run free with his thoughts. The drowsiness of sleep helped to shield most of his thoughts, yet the occasional one that was processed crashed over him like a wave.

It was getting quite tiresome to keep repeating this routine after every bad race he ever has. He needs better techniques to cope, but he just can't imagine reaching out to anyone. He knows it's destroying him on the inside, draining him mentally. But he doesn't have the courage to ask anyone for help, he's afraid they'll shame him, laugh at him, tell him it's nothing. So his mental pain felt better than having his name shamed or ruined.

Leclerc the complainer.

Leclerc the weak.

Leclerc the worrier.

Leclerc the overthinker.

Leclerc the whiner.

He shut off the water, not allowing his brain to continue with its stream of thoughts. He grabbed the towel and dried himself, wrapping it around his waist. He grabbed his phone to turn on some music, trying to use it to block out his thoughts. It was a good method of avoidance, and it had worked for Charles in the past.