Pierre Gasly & Daniel Ricciardo

                                    

                                          
Based on a true story of mine. Idea is - Someone is "in love" with you and then it turns out to be one lie. This will also include Charles Leclerc - you'll find out later ;) The song also goes with, so feel free. Will be written in italics until narration. This one may or may not be a happy ending and will have selfharm/suicidal thoughts triggers - so be warned. 
13 
                          
Romance can be a beautiful thing in life, they said. 
Romance is full of surprises, ones you shall remember forever, they said. But not once did they say that it would tear your insides out and make you eat them like a lion. 
I went on for days not feeling anything. Not wanting to feel anything. Not caring that I didn't feel anything. The only thing I cared about was him. How cliché, "All I cared about was him". Of course you did Pierre. For the last 8 months he was all you cared about. You put other people before yourself again. 
Argh, the voices in my head don't help. The chants of "Kill yourself", "He never deserved you anyway", overpowering my ears.
Sometimes I would cry, praying for this to all be some crazy dream and I could be back in his arms. Oh how desperate I sound. It's like I just give, give, give and I never get. But, that's not the truth. 
I cared for him when he felt sad, I cared for him when he was angry, I cared for him when he needed sexual attention. Yet, what was I doing it all for? He wasn't my boyfriend. He was a lover, well. At least, I had fallen in love with him. I did everything to make him feel cared for, loved. And what did I get? Heartbreak, denial, depression, damage. 
                          
There were times when Pierre had felt happy, being showered in attention by him. He would sometimes never want to let go of Pierre, to busy cuddling into him. Pierre had thought that the emotions, feelings, words were shared, mutual. But the secret had been deeper than that. 
The person Pierre had fallen in love with mutually, seemingly had lost all respect for the Frenchman. The feelings Pierre had felt were some how invalidated by the man he knew telling Pierre that he didn't have any feelings anymore. Pierre's sobs grew louder, the vivid images of the tall man's curly brown hair, his devilish brown eyes, his tanned, lean body and multiple distinctive tattoos crept into his mind. 
He couldn't believe how blind he had been. The red flags were there; he just didn't clock them. 
                          
His body was weak. His brain even weaker. No Pierre was not dying literally. But his heart hurt. It felt like everyday a small knife plunged into a different spot, with a different force. Some days it would be agony for Pierre. His eyes red and puffy from crying, throat dry from blowing his nose. Pierre wouldn't speak to anyone for days on end. He became skinnier, from not eating, wanting to starve himself for not being enough. He became more frail, his body was failing him. He didn't have the right nutrients to keep him surviving much longer. His body would soon give out and with nobody saving him, Pierre was glad it would soon be over. 
                          
My body aches. My stomach no longer rumbles. My throat used to being dry. My heart happily drummed along slowly. My legs too weak to work anymore. My arms just strong enough to carry one thing. My brain slowly shutting off. My eyes slowly rolling shut. Yet, the only thing moving was the stream of blood flowing out of my wrist and trickling down my fingers, dropping onto my white carpet. 
I heard a bunch of birds cawing, going crazy. My eyes darted open, I panicked when I realised what I nearly did. I couldn't believe it, I didn't trust myself. I needed help at the start and I certainly need it now. I dialled a number, begging for them to pick up. "Charles?" I breathed heavily in an attempt to calm myself down. "Please come quickly, I need help." 
Charles came quickly, he always did. He loved Pierre, the two had been friends for years. He knew his best-friend was struggling, but he hadn't thought it was this bad. He took care of Pierre, cleaned up his wounds, and threw away any kind of sharp object. He cared, always did. Whenever Pierre needed him, he would be there. He knew what this guy had done to Pierre and he knew of Pierre's history. He noticed how skinny Pierre is. He noticed how weak his body is. Charles knew this was not good. He knew Pierre would need help more than just once. 
                          
I sighed and whispered to Charles, "Please, Chéri. Please take me with you." Charles sighed and ran his hand through my hair, "You are always welcome to come with me, back home." I sighed, the comfort from Charles, way too relaxing for me to not feel sleepy. I knew that it was time I stopped him from controlling me without even being present. It was enough and I am over it. 
I got on that flight to Monaco with Charles. I needed to be anywhere away from there. There was where the memories were. It was where he was and it was killing me. It drove me crazy. Knowing he was probably getting drunk, high and fucking whoever he wants. The thought of me only being a tiny spec of dust in the deepest depths of his mind. 
                          
As we took of from Rouen, it gave me time to think. I didn't want to be in this constant state of depression. The pain is too unbearable for me. I may have loved him at one stage, but now it is only hatred. No I don't hate him because he is who he is. I hate him because he dragged me along like some slut he kept using for his own self gratification. He made me feel so little in such a short space of time that I lost myself. I let go of who I am, who I was. 
They never tell you that someone could have a huge impact on you, as well as your life. They never tell you that love hurts more than it heals. They never tell you that things don't get better if you don't let them. I was holding onto this hope for so long, that he would come back to me. I knew he would never feel the same, but he kept acting like he did. I'm only 19, I don't know how to deal with relationships. I'm barely an adult, and already, I had nearly killed myself 5 times. All over a guy, who "loved" me. 
                          
They arrived at Charles's apartment in Monaco. Pierre had finally really felt like he belonged. He enjoyed how Charles made him feel. How Charles made him feel "Normal". How Charles held him when Pierre needed comfort, someone to hold his hand. Charles knew that Pierre was fragile, beyond the point of breaking. He was already broken. They had spent the last week since they flew over to Monaco, reminiscing on old times together. This pair had always done everything together, their families very close as motorsport was a shared interest. Since those days, things had changed. With Charles, with Pierre. Pierre was glad that Charles knew what heartbreak felt like, what depression felt like. He was happy to have someone who wasn't trying to imagine being in Pierre's shoes. Someone who actually had been in his shoes was helping him more than anyone could ever. 
                          
These days turned into weeks, turned into months. It was now July, three months since I flew to Monaco with Charles. My mental state is getting better, though I shall not say it is perfect. I still have the nightmares, the insomnia, the attacks. But Charles was always there right by my side. Charles had helped a-lot actually. We have become inseparable really. He was there like a lightbulb when I relapsed, taking me into his arms, bandaging me up like a little parcel, and holding me safely until I fell asleep. Even then when he watched me fall asleep in his arms; he never left. He knows I have these demons in my head that I cannot shake. I don't know if I can ever get rid of them. I know i can control them, it was 2 months ago when I relapsed. Since then I've been happier, fitter. I know he is still there cutting me down, over and over again. The wounds will never heal, that's because I was at war with love. But now I've made peace with it. My heart is always going to damaged. But I can work on that, just like I have been. I realised that what he gave me, was not real love. It was only sex, lies, money and heartbreak. Although, what Charles gives me is affection, care, empathy. Why? Because he knows that these battle scars don't heal without love. The certain battle scars he has are like mine, they aren't ever going to heal fully. But with each other, they start to scab over and slowly start to heal. With each day we spend together, sharing the love we have founded, the scars only continue to heal. Together. 
So to you, Daniel Ricciardo, him, he. 
I say thank you. For teaching what love is truly about.
And to Charles, 
I say thank you, for picking up the pieces that he couldn't and fixing them back together. 
Merci mon coeur.