Pole Position: Between Logic and Passion

It had been a long night.

I didn’t sleep. Couldn’t. Every time I closed my eyes, all I saw was the way Charles had looked at me—wounded, betrayed, furious. And I kept hearing his words on repeat, over and over again.

"You knew I couldn’t have it. Was this just to torture me?"

I didn’t answer at the time. I couldn’t. But now, with the silence echoing through the apartment and the sky slowly turning from grey to gold, I wished I had.

I sat on the edge of the bed, fingers tangled in the hem of his hoodie that I had thrown on at some point during the night. It still smelled like him. That mix of soap, cologne, and something uniquely Charles. I hated how comforting it was. How much I missed him even though I was still angry at the way he had looked at me like I was the villain in his story.

I hadn’t meant to hurt him. God, that was never the intention. I thought… I thought we were in a place where I could share things with him. Where we could dream together. Build something. But maybe I’d miscalculated. Maybe I’d been naïve.

By morning, he still hadn’t come back. No calls. No messages. Nothing.

The silence was loud. Deafening.

I picked up my phone and stared at our last messages. Nothing useful. Nothing angry. Nothing at all. Just void.

Eventually, I called Kate.

She answered on the third ring, her voice still laced with sleep. “Amy?”

“I need to ask you something,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. “Have you heard from Charles?”

There was a pause, then the rustling of blankets. “No. I thought he was with you.”

“He left last night. After we fought.”

Another pause. Longer. Heavier. “What happened?”

I let out a tired sigh. “It’s complicated. I showed him something I’ve been working on—a setup. And I let him try it on the simulator and then in his own car. It… worked. A little too well.”

Kate didn’t say anything at first, and I could practically hear her putting the pieces together on the other end.

“You think that upset him?” she asked carefully.

“I think I made him feel like I gave him something he could never really have,” I admitted, voice cracking just slightly. “And I didn’t think it through. I wasn’t thinking about how that would feel for him.”

“Have you tried calling?”

“Of course I have.” I rubbed a hand over my face. “Goes straight to voicemail.”

“I’ll try Arthur,” she said after a moment. “Maybe he knows something.”

“Thanks,” I whispered.

We hung up, and I just sat there, phone resting uselessly on my lap.

I hated the way the apartment felt without him. Like a space waiting to be filled. Like a breath half-held.

I replayed everything from the day before—his excitement, his shock, the disbelief in his voice when he felt what I’d built, and then… the anger. The bitterness. The feeling of betrayal.

He’d trusted me. And maybe, in his eyes, I’d broken that trust.

The worst part was, I got it. I understood exactly how much it hurt to touch something you’d wanted your entire life, only to be told you couldn’t keep it.