Eve awoke slowly, her sore muscles begging her to stay in the curled up position she had managed to put herself in while asleep. The still atmosphere and sounds of muffled life outside made the apartment appear separate, cut-off, from the real world.
"Oksana?" Her voice echoed despite the hesitant tone. As she stumbled through the dark to the open area apart from the bedroom, her mind fought with itself. She might as well have been doing a mental version of, "She loves me, she loves me not." Instead, though, it was: "She's gone, she'll come back, she's gone, she'll come back." The deep ache in her chest and the empty rooms both confirmed to her what seemed like an inevitable event: the woman she'd burned all her bridges for had left her alone with the ashes. Even in that moment, she scolded herself. What did you expect? I mean, really? Run off with her? Good god, she's an assassin! Is she gonna get some 9 to 5 job and start over with you?
Start over. Eve sighed and leaned against the archway. Start over - without Niko. His family had taken her in when they married, declared her one of their own. Somehow the reality of that loss hit harder than the prospect of losing the man she'd been with for years. The fact that she knew he would take her back if she really wanted it just made things worse. She recalled the fight they'd had: the intensity of all that she'd hidden from him coming to the surface at once, how it had made her shake and lash out with such anger. More than anger, even... And still he would take her back and offer an olive branch in the form of a hot cup of tea.
I'm sorry, Niko. I can't. A central part of her had changed - no, had revealed itself. But where was the catalyst for that revelation? Her legs caved and she slid down to the floor. I hate you, I love you, I hate you, I love you. No tears came, only the full reverberation of the quiet surrounding her.
Walking out the apartment door, she had a momentary yearning to set the place on fire, to be literally and metaphorically done with this shit, but she noticed something on the coffee table catch the moonlight: a silver hairpin not unlike the one Oksana had used to kill the man in Tuscany. She pocketed it and left.
"Would you like to sign up for courtesy overdraft service today, ma'am?" Eve looked at the elderly woman in front of her taking about 12 years to complete every small task during their short interaction.
"Oh, no, dear, that's fine, thank you," the woman responded, reaching to adjust her glasses. Eve's thoughts drifted into familiar territory. If I was going to kill you right now, how would I do it? Pen to the jugular? Nah...too obvious. Extra points for discretion.
It had been two months since that night. When she returned to London - her home, her marriage, and her job either in pieces or obliterated - she quickly went about creating a new life. The urgency of the task and its methodical nature provided her with an unexpected reprieve. Find a place to live (check) and find a source of income (ugh, but, yes, check). Eve's reluctance to accept the highly respected position of "Teller #3" was only barely overridden by her desire to afford food and shelter, and this meant stretching her people-tolerating abilities to the edge of the friggin' emotional stratosphere.
She hadn't heard from Carolyn or Kenny in that time, and, much to her own surprise, she hadn't kicked in Carolyn's front door in search of the truth. Not this bullshit convoluted tapestry of omissions and near-misses. The real fucking truth, she sometimes mentally argued before falling asleep around 1 or 2 each morning. Elena was the one person who'd kept at least vaguely in touch. Bill would have been right by her side.
Her phone buzzed while she gathered her things to leave work. It was a text from Elena: "Drinks?"
"Sure. 7?"
"Sounds good, see you then."
After getting a drink, Eve grabbed a table in the back. She was a little late (as usual), but Elena hadn't shown yet and she was grateful she didn't have to fake-apologize. She looked at her phone: 7:17. She considered that Elena might have decided to leave after waiting around for 15 mins or so. She hadn't texted, though, so Eve sat and continued to drink.
At 7:35 on the dot, she received the text: "So sorry! Something came up very last-minute and I can't make it. Raincheck?"
"Yeah, no problem," she replied. She pulled the clip out of her hair and worked her fingers through the mass of curls. Her first two drinks slowed everything down: her thoughts, both conscious and the myriad of shadows lingering beneath. Towards the end of the third, she glanced up at the bar and her breath stopped. The sight of long, honey-blonde hair entranced her. Similar body type, relaxed but assured stance, beautiful legs. Eve's mind scanned the woman, whose back was facing her, with a mixture of systematic observation and pure, unrestrained need.
She saw the body she'd memorized in a matter of seconds begin to turn...and her entire frame sank further into her chair. It wasn't her. Where are you, Oksana? Her gaze was lowered when she suddenly heard a voice close to her.
"Hi." Eve, startled out of the fog of her disappointment, struggled to find words to respond to the same blonde woman she'd been staring at.
"Uh, hi," she sputtered. The woman smiled, as if amused by Eve's genuine awkwardness.
"I couldn't help but notice you and...," she smiled again, quite coyly, "I think you noticed me. Mind if I buy you one?"
Eve pictured her empty apartment, unpacked boxes piled up like cardboard snowmen throughout. That image alone was like touching a deep bruise, and the pleasant buzz she was currently riding beckoned her with the briefest of freedom.
"You know, I would love that," she said, motioning for the woman to take a seat at her table.
Of course, if Eve hadn't been drinking, hadn't focused on the woman, hadn't looked down when she did, she may have noticed another woman with long, honey-blonde hair carefully making her way through the nighttime crowd.
