Wrecked (Dirty Air 3)

Tom nods. “That’s fine. I’m wondering what you find is the hardest part about talking to your parents?”

“Every time I do it, I feel worse. It adds to my anxiety, knowing she keeps deteriorating while I’m thousands of miles away. Now my dad asked me to talk to her more because she’s down, and it stresses me out.”

“What about phone calls stresses you out the most?”

“She pretends nothing bothers her. I’m well aware of her private suffering, so I hate when she puts on a brave face. And then after, my dad informs me about her progress and it’s not the best news lately, which adds to my anxiety.”

“It seems like you want to speak to her, but it’s difficult to manage the anxiety that comes with those conversations.”

“Of course, but I take Xanax, and that helps.”

“Are you aware of the pros and cons associated with the long-term use of Benzodiazepines?”

“Yes. I wanted something fast-acting and starting something like Zoloft wasn’t going to do the trick. Now I’m not sure if Xanax was the right call. It’s addicting as fuck to have my problems disappear with the swallow of one pill.”

“Benzos are known for those instantaneous effects. If you ever want to consider changing meds or having a second opinion on the matter, there are plenty of psychiatrists I know for referrals.”

We stay silent for another five minutes until the second case of the warm fuzzies hits me. “This is the first year I find my guilt choking me. I don’t know why, but F1 hasn’t been as fun knowing she’s getting sicker while I’m away. I feel like I’m losing precious time with her because I’m selfish.”

“Have you thought of taking a break from F1 to be with her?”

Yes, but I’m not going to admit that to him. “It doesn’t matter. It won’t make her better.”

“It might not. The real question is if it will make you feel better.”

Dammit, Tom, stop making so much sense. I return to counting the ceiling tiles, closing myself off from the one person I’ve opened up to the most.

I sit in my usual seat of the private jet. The nine-hour flight from Baku to Monaco allows me to stew in my emotions. For the first thirty minutes, I ignore Elena and her stupid puzzle.

My eyes drift back to her every five minutes. She proves a worthy distraction from my shitty thoughts. She stares angrily at a piece, attempting to jam it where it clearly doesn’t belong.

“Maybe if you bend the piece hard enough, it will finally fit how you want it.”

Her head snaps in my direction. “Those who don’t help can’t offer opinions.” She switched her usual prim clothes for leggings and a hoodie looking three sizes too big. The site of her in something so casual has me craving her like a damn wanker. I shouldn’t want her like this—shouldn’t desire her at all. But here I am with a semi because of a Mexican Billie Eilish wannabe.

“Just observing.” I put my hands up.

After another couple of minutes with her attempting to try a different piece, I get up and sit across from her.

I don’t know why I bother, but I want to check out her progress. “Wow, you’ve done what? A solid hundred pieces in a few weeks?”

To be fair, the puzzle looks hard as fuck. It beats me why she chose a one-thousand-piece puzzle reminding me of someone’s brain while tripping on ecstasy.

“Are you going to keep running your mouth or are you going to help me?” she taunts with a smirk.

I grab at the puzzle box, wanting to keep my hands busy. “You had to pick the most colorful, complicated puzzle?” There’s a shit ton of hot-air balloons with the most detailed patterns. Looking at it for a couple of seconds has my eyes straining.

“Would you believe me if I said it looked easier on the website?”

I laugh. “Did you read the reviews?”

“Do people even review puzzles? I didn’t think that was a thing.” Her mouth drops open. “But now that you mention it, maybe I should’ve because I’m convinced half the pieces are wrong. This is what I get for ordering off some sketchy website.”

“Or maybe you suck at solving things.”

“Spoken from the second-hardest puzzle I’ve ever encountered.”

I tilt my head at her. “I’m competing with a set of hot-air balloons? I’m slightly insulted. Maybe I need to up my game.”