Pole Position: Between Logic and Passion

Unfamiliar

“I’ll help you up,” I said, finally getting out of the car.

He didn’t argue. He just followed me slowly, his steps a bit unsteady. I walked beside him, not touching him unless he stumbled. My hands itched to hold him like I used to. But it didn’t feel right—not when he didn’t remember how much that used to mean.

At the door, I handed him the keys. “Here,” I murmured. “You might need help unlocking it.”

He struggled for a second, then got it open.

He turned around in the doorway, leaning on the frame. “Aren’t you coming in?”

I shook my head. “No. You need rest."

He didn’t move. Just stood there, searching my face.

“This is my place, right?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder. “It feels like it should be… but I don’t remember the hallway. Or that painting.”

“It is your place,” I said gently. “You moved in a while ago. After.... after we broke up"

He turned to look at me fully then, confusion deepening in his eyes.

“We… broke up?”

I froze. Shit.

Why did I say that?

He was already trying to stitch together pieces of a puzzle without having half the pieces on the table, and I just tossed him a corner that didn’t exist.

I forced a smile, awkward and too tight. “It was… a fight. A bad one.”

“I thought we were still together?” he asked, confused. “At least… that’s what it felt like.”

“We are,” I replied quickly. “Or… we were. Before the accident.” I let out a sigh, rubbing the back of my neck. “You need to rest. I’ve already called Arthur and Kate — they know everything, and they’ll probably come by tomorrow.”

“Who’s Kate?” he asked, brows furrowing.

“My sister,” I said slowly, trying to hide the ache in my chest. “And… your brother’s wife.”

His eyes widened slightly. “Arthur got married?”

“Yeah. Over a year ago, actually. Long story.” I tried to smile, but it felt hollow. “Anyway… take care of yourself, Charles.”

I turned to leave, needing the distance before I crumbled completely.

But before I could take a step, I felt his hand wrap gently around my wrist.

“Stay.”

That single word stopped everything — my breath, my thoughts, the pain I was trying to ignore.

“Charles…” I whispered.

His fingers didn’t tighten, but they didn’t let go either. His eyes met mine, soft and uncertain.

“I know I don’t remember everything,” he said. “But I remember you. Or… parts of you. From before. From when we didn’t get along. And now you’re here and… I don’t know. Everything’s different.”

I swallowed hard. “It is different.”

“There’s something about you that feels like… something I lost.” His voice cracked just slightly. “And I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

I hesitated — only for a moment. Then I nodded. “Okay. I’ll stay.”

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“I think I need a shower,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair.