Avos'

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐟 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐲

𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧:

"𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞'𝐬 𝐚 𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝-𝐚𝐢𝐝𝐬/𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐮𝐩 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞/𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐈 𝐝𝐨/𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫/𝐢 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫" 

- 𝟏𝟎𝟎 𝐁𝐚𝐧𝐝-𝐀𝐢𝐝𝐬 𝐛𝐲 𝐅𝐚𝐨𝐮𝐳𝐢𝐚

AND LIKE THAT, TWO MORE DAYS PASS.

Tommy breathes in the deep icy air laced with smoke from his cigarette. He can tell that it won't be long until spring is upon them but winter as always is a stubborn cunt. He wraps his coat tighter around his frame, knowing that he could be home beside a fire, but instead he's here.

He's back at the impossible cliff settled in an impossible field that overlooks an impossible lake. The place he always comes to breathe and ponder and figure out his next step.

Well, he knows what his next step is- Oksana- but he needs to be sure. He could have run to her in these last two days, but he had other matters to settle first. Nothing related to business, nothing related to war, and all to do with his main priorities.

He spent those two days looking at all the portraits he's accumulated of Grace. He spent those two days acknowledging the truth with its existence becoming less and less painful by the second. It cuts him and wounds him and it always will.

But, one day, he knows it'll only hurt a little.

So, he moved Grace's portraits from above the sitting room and the main staircase to one of the guest rooms. He decided to replace the portraits with one small photograph of her, him, and Charlie that's nestled on the fireplace mantle. All of Grace's clothes that had been previously hidden in the back of his closet were moved to the attic, along with her jewelry and her shoes.

Her presence is still in the house, but it's subtle. It's her memory, not her life, and he can finally say he's starting to understand the distinction.

He talked to Charlie as well. They talked about his mum, how much he remembers, what things of hers he'd like to keep. Charlie, for his age, handled the conversation remarkably well. He knows all about Grace, decided to keep one of her scarves to hang over his bed, and even went as far as thanking his father for talking about her.

So, he's here, back at his favorite place. Things are falling exactly where they should be, and he'll gather one last ounce of courage and fresh air and go to her.

Vowing that once he gets Oksana back in his arms, he'll never let her run again.

However, his carefully crafted plan is put on hold when he's stopped in his tracks by the presence of a familiar face in his familiar field.

Oksana.

She's here, just as beautiful as he remembers, sitting in a bed of her own creation with blankets and pillows surrounding her. She's dressed in simple clothes, the ones she had before she rediscovered herself, and the tragic slope of her nose is all he can see through her profile.

He looks up at the sky before she can notice him and wants to laugh at the irony. It's no coincidence that she's here, he told no one he was coming, and once again the heavens have pulled their most devious strings.