Page 22 of Eternal

AZRA

“Elephant” by Damien Rice

Present

H aving someone take care of you when you're not used to it is kind of annoying. But in the best way possible.

People often say that sometimes all you need is to feel cared for without having to ask, to feel like your life matters enough for someone to set aside their own struggles, just to make sure you're not drowning in yours.

And they might be right, because I’m sitting here not a bit drunk, smiling after the big family hug against my will at the bratva complex with Viktor and Kat.

They love me like their own…

The car in which Vik’s friend is taking me home glides to a stop in front of my building.

I step out, letting the door shut behind me slowly.

I almost laugh, because somehow, that tiny instant stretches out.

Viktor’s driver nods and wishes me a good night, he waits there until I’m inside the building, then he pulls away.

A bike ride would’ve still been better in my opinion.

Mine’s still parked at the party, and I bet my baby feels alone and cold there, thanks to Viktor’s overprotective stupid instinct.

A few glasses of wine and champagne and he’s convinced I’m going to crash into a lamppost or someone or die.

But I’m not, I’m fine.

Not drunk, not even close, but it’s fun, and maybe a bit egoistic, to enjoy watching him and Kat being scared for me. I know it's wrong but adding another flaw to the long list I already have doesn’t seem so bad.

If he only knew how many times I took that bike while being high years ago, he’d kill me.

I freeze on the doorstep for a moment before unlocking the door. My house feels colder than usual, quiet in a way that feels wrong almost, like every night.

I like the silence, but sometimes, silence feels really lonely.

Still, I prefer it over the noise. Not because it's empty, but because in that emptiness, I can feel full.

I recharge then, feel less like a machine, and more like a human.

I can hear my heart, my thoughts, and for that brief, quiet moment, it feels like the world expects nothing from me.

The blanket on the couch catches my eye first, folded neatly like it’s my most prized possession, it probably is.

And like a ghost, I brush my fingers over its edge as I walk past.

It was his.

I truly think they should’ve never been mine, not this blanket nor the journal or anything they left.

It should’ve stayed on his small bed, in his world, on his small body, it should’ve stayed in a world where I was the big sister, the one who made sure the monsters stayed outside of his room, not becoming the monster herself.

I close my eyes and breathe calmly, taking off my shoes, my trench and breathing again.

I try to stop the thoughts before heading for the bathroom, the tiles are cold under my feet, and I shiver as I turn on the water, it’s hot and almost burning.

The steam rises quickly around me while I throw my dress further onto the ground, fogging the mirror and I put on some music.

Showers are the only place I let my guard down. Actually, now that I think about it, saying 'loud' might have distracted me from the real issue. I never feel safe enough to truly relax, even when it’s quiet.

I’m so fucked.

The hot water beats instantly against my skin as I put my whole body under the cascading water. It’s washing away the faint smell of alcohol and perfume from the party. My muscles relax, but my thoughts linger, they always do.

It’s been so long since I’ve stopped daydreaming.

And I kind of miss it.

But I can’t allow myself that now, it’s too late. I need to constantly stay focused.

I scrub at the faint remnants of makeup, and I catch my reflection in the fogged-up mirror, the scar along my jaw is so clear against my skin, so red, so ugly and a sign of weakness I hate.

And I trace it absently with my fingertips, but the memory of how I got it flickered in the back of my mind like an old wound reopening painfully.

When I step out, the chilly air wraps around me as I pull on my softest pajamas, a faded t-shirt I adore that Alexei loved to make me wear when we’d go outside and run, the t-shirt was so long and big back then it was almost a dress and now, it’s not that big but it’s enough.

My phone buzzes on the table, I glance at the screen, where the group chat with Viktor and Katarina lights up.

Kat

Are you home? Let us know you got back safe.

Vik

And tell me you didn’t take the bike and lied to me.

I can almost hear his voice in the text, laced with that cute drop of protective exasperation he always has with me. A small smile tugs at the corner of my lips as I pick up the phone and type back.

Me

Home. Thanks for the ride, Dad, and thanks Mom.

Kat replies instantly.

Kat

Good. Now sleep.

Me

Yes, ma’am.

I toss the phone aside and grab the blanket.

It smells faintly of lavender and cedar, though the scent is faint now, almost gone, and maybe it is gone and I’m imagining it, or maybe it’s because I bought this washer that smells like him when he was a baby, I wrap it around my shoulders and sink into the couch, the journal balanced on my knees.

They’re all with me here at that moment.

The TV is already on, playing the same movie as always, the one I grew up with, the kind of movie where every line, every glance, every note of the soundtrack feels carved into my bones and soul.

It’s more of a memory, a feeling, a piece of her, a piece of a life I miss and don’t at the same time.

She loved it so fucking much, she always said it reminded her of who we were supposed to be, who I was supposed to be, and when she said it, she didn’t look at me; she stared at the screen like she was waiting for the script to teach me something she couldn’t do with simple words.

I was simply a kid back then, I didn't understand anything. I didn’t even care, I was a child watching her mom’s favorite movie, giggling like life was only about being happy.

“ We’ll always have Paris .”

I didn’t understand it then, but she was always repeating it, as if the words could fill the spaces she didn’t talk about.

“ Here’s looking at you, kid .” She whispered along with the dialogue, her voice so soft it was almost a prayer. Maybe it was. Maybe she saw herself in those words, in that story, more than she wanted to admit.

Now I understand, she left her entire world behind once.

Her life, her home, her dreams, even the love of her life.

Exactly like the characters in her favorite movie, she had to choose survival over sentiment, leaving a piece of herself in the past. She never talked about it, not directly, but I think this movie said what she couldn’t.

Maybe that’s why it was her favorite, it wasn’t about love; it was about sacrifice.

About walking away to protect something greater than yourself. And every time she watched it, she wasn’t remembering her own story; she was showing me what it means to let go, even when it breaks you.

I remember the way she’d pause it at her favorite parts, holding the remote tight in her soft and warm hand.

“ Habibti… Do you see how much they fight for what they believe in? ”

Or maybe she was asking herself that question.

When I asked her why we kept watching the same movie, over and over again, she simply smiled. “Because it’s the only story that ever made sense to me.”

The journal falls open in my lap. Her handwriting is still hers. For a second, I hold it.

It’s a random page, one of the first.

My baby was so fearless today. She ran around the garden smiling brightly.

Her curls were all tangled but I didn’t want to break her happiness away.

She’s five now. She’s growing up too fast and I couldn’t decide whether to scold her when she fell but started running again or cheer for her.

I wish I could keep her like this forever. Brave, wild, unbroken.

I shut the journal quickly, taking a long breath.

The girl in that entry is long gone, now there’s only me. And a new someone in the equation. Damir.

I think of the party tonight, of the way his eyes followed me through the crowd, no matter what I was doing, he didn't look at me like the others. There’s focus behind those blue eyes. I know what that look means, it means he’s curious about me, nothing crazy, and maybe that’s why I don’t like it.

The thoughts swirl in my head as the movie ends. I close my eyes for a moment, leaning into the blanket’s coarse warmth.

There’s no one waiting for me at the end of my story.

Just this, me, maybe I’m like Ilsa. Except I didn’t walk away for love. I walked away for vengeance, for justice, and that means being alone.

And it’s okay.

If revenge is waiting at the end of my story, that’s enough.

Maybe my new partner’s eyes will be too.