Toute Ma Vie

Chapter One: Injili, Injili

• South Devon •

"You again?"

Rita tried to keep the smile at bay as she repeated his words, "Me again."

"It's good to see you," Damon spoke through his mild shock. He took two steps back, opening the door to his home wide enough for her to slip through.

They exchanged a brief hug highlighting how she stumbled through the interaction and functioned as a makeshift greeting. Her nerves have yet to dissipate from her journey over fully and lingered deep within her stomach.

"I'm surprised you remember me," She admitted, attempting to smooth her stiffness, and they entered the warm home.

"Please, Rita," Damon waved her off, leading them down the corridor. They followed the warmth to the heart of the home. There he turned to her to ensure she'd kept up and to say, "You can't expect me to forget two weeks of my life."

"Ten days." She corrected through an awkward breath as she was met with a bright room.

The lights were yellow and warm but illuminated every inch of what she could now call a studio. It was clear the room intended to be an office, but with the various wires snaking across the floor and heavy-looking devices that bowed the wooden table, it was meant for a musician.

"Same thing," He shrugged, toying with the instruments in front of him as if he'd never left them, "I'm surprised Niamh made you trek out here just to say hello."

She was always polite, that much Damon could contest for. Even now, she stood at the entrance waiting for the appropriate moment to join him ultimately. Her arms were clasped gently around her back, allowing her chest to be open, but she remained reserved and professional.

"I don't mind getting out of the city for a bit," She confessed, moving closer so her soft voice could be heard, "The air is always nicer."

He glanced at her as he spoke, "I imagine you get more sun in New York, though...Less rain, too..."

Their conversation felt gangly, unsure of which way to fall. The pleasantries were being stretched too thin. It was the curse of acquaintances in such an informal setting.

Unintentionally she'd let the conversation die down before adding, "It's nice out today." It earned her a hum from Damon, another encouragement for her to continue. "I know I'm a bit earlier than planned, so if you need a minute..."

While Damon tinkered, Rita's hands were restless, curling into each other as they sat still, hidden behind her back. He held his response for a moment, far too concentrated on saving the things in front of him.

"...Just making sure I know where to pick up later." He sat on the swivel chair behind the desk that was their barrier. Damon's eyes were always clear and fully attentive, even when he was jesting, "So what are we covering today? I hate to tell you, but my favorite color still hasn't changed."

It was a tricky habit of hers that she was trying to shake. Regardless of the conversation, her mind would wander and lose the task. As she repeated his words back to herself, she realized they already held a disconnect.

"Sorry?"

"What list did they give you this time?" He leaned back comfortably, crossing his arms to give it some thought. They always gave her a list filled with basic questions and lackluster topics, "You're still with...Uh-I'm struggling to recall the name of your magazine..."

It had been years since Rita had associated with the magazine Damon had met her with. But she noted how it was his turn to share politeness.

"I, yeah, no, I don't work there anymore," She let out a breath of laughter at the memory of her exit. Rita looked to Damon, who still sought a further explanation, "...I'm freelancing at the moment...I've mostly been ghostwriting."