Pole Position: Between Logic and Passion

I sat in the hallway, the antiseptic smell clinging to my clothes, my back aching from the rigid plastic chair. The soft hum of fluorescent lights above me was the only sound, aside from the occasional beep from a nearby monitor. The doctor came out, clipboard in hand and a calm expression that somehow didn’t reassure me at all.

“He’s stable,” he began, voice low. “But the head trauma caused some retrograde amnesia. It’s not uncommon with concussions of this nature. The memories might come back as the swelling goes down—sometimes it takes hours, sometimes days, even weeks.”

I nodded slowly, my fingers tightening around the strap of my bag.

"He’s not disoriented in a dangerous way, but he’s confused. It’ll take time, Miss Carter.”

I gave him a nod of thanks I didn’t mean and sat back down. I could’ve gone in again, I guess. But I didn’t. I stayed right where I was.

When the night nurse passed, she offered to bring me a blanket. I said no. I didn’t plan to sleep.

Still, somewhere around 2 a.m., my body gave out. I curled against the wall, knees to chest, and let myself cry—quietly. The kind of crying that doesn’t need sobs or sound. Just water leaking out of your soul.

By morning, my face was puffy and my neck stiff. I didn’t care.

The same doctor from last night greeted me with a nod. “He’s being discharged today. Mild concussion, he’ll need rest, no screens for a few days. Minimal stimuli. Keep an eye out for headaches or vomiting.”

I blinked. “You want me to take him home?”

“You’re listed as his emergency contact,” he said, handing me the discharge papers. “Is that a problem?”

“No,” I whispered. “It’s not a problem.”

-------

Charles was already dressed when I stepped into the room. He looked up as I walked in, his expression unreadable, like he wasn’t sure if I was real.

“Ready?” I asked, keeping my voice neutral.

He hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah.”

The walk to the car was silent. I kept looking at him from the corner of my eye. He moved slower than usual, careful. Like his body wasn’t entirely his yet. He wore sunglasses the nurse had given him, and even then, he flinched a little in the sunlight.

When we got to the car, I opened the passenger side for him.

He looked at me and then down at the door.

I stared at him for a second. “I’m taking you home. Your home."

He blinked, then nodded slowly. “Right. Sorry."

The drive was quiet at first. I tried to focus on the road, not on the way my heart was quietly breaking beside me.

Halfway there, he spoke.

“Feels like I woke up from a coma,” he said, looking over at me, his voice uncertain.

I glanced at him, fingers tightening around the steering wheel.

"Were we okay? You and me?”

I swallowed. “We were trying. We’d been through a lot, but… we were good. At least, I think we were.”

He didn’t respond, just let his head fall back against the seat. I kept my eyes on the road, the silence settling between us again.

-------

When we pulled up in front of his house I turned off the engine but didn’t move. For a second, we just sat there. I could feel him looking at me, but I couldn’t bring myself to meet his eyes.