IN THE DISTANCE OF BRAVERY

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

THE ANATOMY OF A BOMB

"The only way out of the labyrinth of suffering is to forgive."

― John Green, Looking for Alaska

Five years ago, Lucy 20 years old

Mumbai, India

"You could tell me, you know. What happened."

Her voice is low and honest. I avoid her wide, sincere eyes. I fidget with my hair. It's a tangled mess of snarls from the wind, the smell of earth and the lake outside.

A moment passes. Then,

"Lucille –"

Dom's voice breaks with impatience. She's staring at me and it's all – rather it's a need-to-know basis. Several hours later, I'm splitting myself into logic and courage; how things are handled and what is ignored for the sake of my own sanity.

The small cottage sighs with grief as I meet her eyes. The wind presses against the windows, howling with words unsaid. She frowns, crossing her legs and brushing her hair from her face.

"Are you sure you're alright?"

We stand in each our corner of the room. I weigh the truth for a moment, but my hands move instead, fingers skimming across the canvas. I force myself to swallow, my nails pressing into the softness of paint. I lift the frame, testing.

"Help me with this?"

Dom sighs, a soft click of her tongue.

"Luce-"

"I just needed to leave." It's not the truth. It's not a lie either.

Dom sinks. I can almost see the words catching at the back of her throat. Stay. Time. Forgive.

Yet it's never been about that.

"If I stay… If I stay, I won't make it out alive."

The words stick and I think to myself, it feels like something I should've known before, something I might have learned faster, had I paid more attention. Been honest. But it's to no use. She grabs me hard by the wrist. Her grip is too tight, Dom's eyes wide, belying any guise of calm.

"Then leave, Luce. Leave, and don't ever look back."

There's a memory here, too. Of humid summers and sand between my thighs. My laughter, loud and bulbous. That version of him and I with bare sunkissed shoulders, stealing kisses in doorways. I spot the boardgames in the corner of the room, the tattered blanket we fought about in the evenings. It's these traitorous memories that steal my voice, curling around my organs, squeezing my lungs, until all that's left is this:

"Just. Help me, yeah?"

We carry all my paintings outside, placing them gently in a pile by the lake. Dom stares at me throughout it all, an angry tilt to her mouth. I feel her look at me and open her mouth to say something – most likely something harsh – but a moment passes, and she closes it again.

Once it's done, Dom walks away.

I do remember it all.

Ted's brown eyes, the smell of the small tent in Scotland and the rings ready to make my mum go oh, Lucille. It seems like decades have passed since then, yet I feel stuck at eighteen most days, especially now. Especially standing here on the beach, feeling the span of five years of loving Ted fall into nothingness.

The matchbox clatters. My hands are cold yet steady as I flicker the match.

And as everything strives to stay, the wind picks up, the match ignites and the kaleidoscope colours of Ted catch fire, burning, churning, curling inwards on itself. Until time evaporates and all that remains is the black smoke, harsh in my throat.

"Careful you don't get burnt," Dom calls from the doorway.

There's a low whistling through the trees, the fire cracks. I step closer, the heat singing the grass and my toes.

The thing is - what Dom doesn't realize is that I'm already burnt. Whole.

We hit the ground with a loud crack, my legs nearly giving out to the sudden weight. The sun is setting, glazing Daisy's pub in a pink hue. I brush off grass and grit, turning to Vic. The wind whips her hair sideways, hiding her face from view.

"Come on," She says impatiently, taking my hand and marches towards the pub.

The bell chimes as the door opens and a wall of sound hits me along with the sweet odour of beer.

The pub is a mess. It's filled to the brim with people and loud voices echo across the room.

Daisy's flushed, perched on a table, yelling at people, wide gestures and a sharp tone, "Get out! I said get OUT! Nothing to see, just a couple of full grown men acting like five year olds - "

At first, I can't see what the fuss is about. Vic and I edge in-between people, the murmuring of the pub racketing between the walls inside the half-lit room. I stare at her head, half-hoping, half-dreading the scene.

Then, the crowd parts like a slow-ticking bomb, detonating with an earth-shattering silence.

I let go of Vic's hand.

Darren and Ted are on the ground, thrashing, roaring, beating each other up. Darren's eyes are wild, teeth gritted as he hits Ted's face with a vicious fist. Ted's face slams to the side, his eyes closed.

I stare at them, noticing the blood, recognizing the anger.

I look at Vic, "You didn't mention it was a fight between the two."

She refuses to meet my eyes as she yells for help.

Scorpius and James emerge from the crowd and manage to break the two apart. They pull them backwards, off the floor. Ted is wiping blood off his face, grimacing as he stands beside James.

The silence in the pub is as glaring as Ted's bloody nose and Darren's bloodied fists. I keep myself to the corner, folded into a chair.

But then Darren sees me. He twists out of Scorpius's hands, and then he is marching right up to me. His breath hits me, warm, crazed, full of beer and anger, and I force my eyes to meet his. His face is a map of fury, hair everywhere, eyes wild with emotion.

"How long have you known?"

I can feel my heart thundering in my throat, my knees are weak. Vic steps in front of me, her voice rises over the murmur of the crowd.

"Darren, calm down -"

There's no patience in his gaze as he barrels towards me again. He seems to stop himself a moment before he grips my arm. His chest heaves up and down.

"How long have you known, Weasley? "

"Known what?" I manage.

Recognition slips across his face then. I stare at him, trying to piece it together. I feel the pieces falling together slowly, but always slightly too late as I watch the faces around me, already in on the joke as I scramble for the truth.

"Oh, that's just great," Darren laughs bitterly as he throws a look back at the Ted and the others. Sour smiles and bitter tongue, "At least I'm not the only one kept in the dark of things."

"Darren, don't –" Vic starts, but I cut her off with a hand. And for the first time since I've come here, Vic looks scared.

It takes a moment before I trust myself to speak. Darren is still staring at me, his face calmer, but still bloody and bruised.

"Did I know what?" I ask.

This is it. The moment tithers and skitters to a halt as the crowd exhales, one last time, before the last pieces of our story fall into place.

"Darren, please –" Vic steps forward, her voice high-pitched.

Darren ignores her, his mouth twists and distorts, and I can only stare at him, wondering what is about to hit me.

"That these two –" he spits blood on the ground as he points towards Ted lying on the ground, clutching his nose, with Dom by his side.

"These two lovebirds got it on in freaking France while they were both oh-so heartbroken." He spits again, "You know, back when they were trying to fix it all."

My heart pummels to a stop.

The words continue, but I barely hear them as he goes on.

We all went to France. First Dom, then me, fleeing, and at last Ted, looking for me. Those moments come back to me like clockwork now, Dom's concerned face and my grand bonfire. And it feels oddly like betrayal.

Vic's hand drops from my arm. I allow my gaze to slide across Darren's face and over his should, where I find Ted. Ted with his right eye swollen half shut, whose cheeks are pale, who is looking at me in a way that makes me want to never feel anything again.

Dom is sobbing beside him, her face swollen and red. I look straight ahead and feel myself reel at the situation.

There's pity in every face around me, and I feel the nausea clutch at me, rising like bile.

Dom starts to get up. "Darren, please understand –"

"Yeah, that's thick," Darren scoffs, rubbing his bloody lip on his sleeve.

Ted gets up, supported by Dom and walks towards us.

I spin back in again, slouching against the back of the chair. I search the room for a familiar face but end up staring at each face that lines the room. The sorry witnesses to the destruction of my life.

Ted puts a bloody hand on Darren's arm, "Darren –"

"Don't." Darren smacks his hand away, gritted teeth and clenched jaw. I feel Ted's eyes on me, tentative, soft and it's everything I can do to not claw his eyes out.

Dom's sobs are echoing in the room as Darren turns away from me and Ted, aiming for the exit with long, sure strides. He stops a few steps before the door and turns around to meet my gaze. His shoulders hunch, I see the surrender in his eyes as he opens and closes his mouth.

"I – I'm so sorry." His face twists.

I watch him push open the door and walk out, never once looking back. And I feel cold, alone and very old. My arms are loose, uncomprehending at my sides. We're two people hurt in this. Gazing back at the other two, I realize that no one won in this. It's all a wreckage of damaged people.

Then, because I know what's coming next, I brace myself, turning slowly towards the crowd.

"Lucy –" Dom begins in a small voice.

I carefully avoid her gaze, searching out his. Murky brown meets my blue. I grip the edge of the chair, anchoring myself, brazing myself for what is to come.

"How many times?" I ask him. My voice sounds very small and insignificant compared to the vastness of the question.

It's a simple question. Yet the answer is tied to an infinite number of possible endings. As I await his answer, I feel the world spin outwards, onwards from this. There's an ending lurking here, and I can't decide what I fear the most. The end or the continuation of this dance between us.

"O-once. It was one time and I've been trying to tell you ever since you came back –" Dom answers me, her voice thrill with fear.

My exhalation is shuddering, like staccato raindrops against window tiles. Ted's eyes don't leave mine, neither of us properly acknowledging the absence of conversation.

"So just in and out, then?" I swallow the bile rising, blinking, unseeing.

"Lucy –"

My name then, finally. He says my name quietly. It's almost beautiful, that murmur of his. And I can feel it then, the culmination of loving Ted for more than a decade. And I know it will be this way for the rest of my life, no matter what happens next.

"No," I say severely. "The truth. I want the truth."

"Lucy, they were really drunk and alone –" Vic starts, but stops when I meet her eyes. I push my chair backwards and stand, jarring the table in the process.

"You knew?" The surprise is cold in my stomach, heavy and tight.

Vic nods silently, "Dom didn't know what to do."

"You knew and you didn't tell me?"

"It wasn't my secret to tell."

"Well, it wasn't bloody Darren's secret to tell either - now, was it? Doesn't matter - he got to do it anyways!"

I breathe to control my heart rate. My ears feel a little fuzzy.

"Someone should go check on him," I add as an afterthought, softer.

"I think he needs time. He'll come around." I'm surprised to hear James's voice. It sounds gentle.

"Come around?" I laugh humourlessly, the feelings are catching up with me now, and I do not appreciate the numbness disappearing.

"His best friend cheated with the love of his life. You don't just come around on something like that."

"Lucy…"

It's Dom and this time she's crying silently. Ted's still standing immobile by her side, blood dripping down, tainting his white button-up. My boy is beautiful. Hurt, but endlessly beautiful. His arms are hanging limply by his side, hands turned upwards in a silent surrender. I avoid his eyes and focus instead on the blood.

"Someone should clean him up," I say to no one in particular.

"Lucy…" It's still Dom and she's sobbing harder now and all I can really think is that I want everyone to stop saying my name.

I can't look at her.

"Everyone should start getting ready, there's a wedding tomorrow and I'm leaving this hellhole once and for all."

Nobody moves. My chest is starting to hurt, and I can hear this weird wheezing sound in the room.

It takes another moment before I realize it's me. Slowly, I bring my hands to my face. They're wet when I bring them down to study them. I'm crying.

"Lucy…" I finally meet Dom's eyes and it's like gasoline on an already burning fire.

"I trusted you. I trusted you. "

"I know," Dom heaves, "I've never regretted anything more in my life."

"I can't use that for shit, Dom." I laugh, "you're a weeping mess and Ted's just a damn mute like always! Say something, react!".

He doesn't. He just stands there, blood dripping onto the wooden floor.

"Dammit – dammit –" I finally look around only to meet the eyes of at least fifty people.

I'm a zoo animal. I take a step backwards, looking around on all the faces. There is not one I can trust here in the crowd.

"Yep, it's me again!" I yell, "The girl who got preggers at nineteen! Go have a stare, because you sure as hell won't be seeing my arse here anymore."

"Lucy…" This time it's Scorpius, stepping forward through the crowd.

I see him let go of James's hand and I laugh, the sound bitter and harsh in my ears. "That's just great. That's just fucking perfect."

"Luce, baby, I know you're upset." Scorpius is looking at me softly and I preferred it so much more when he was calling me a bitch.

"Upset? Upset doesn't even begin to cover it, Mr. Lover boy." I take another step backwards, I nod towards James who's standing together with Vic, gripping her arm.

"I see you've found yourself a new plaything. Been fucking my cousin, huh? Aww, you're no fun, Scorp. I thought we had a thing! Oh, but I forgot, you don't like girls, do you, honey?"

He takes a step back, as if I've hit him. I might as well have, I suppose.

"Lucy, that's enough," Vic throws me a dirty look, her mouth a tight line.

"Yes, it's quite enough." I whisper-breathe and take one, two, three more steps before I'm turning, rushing out of the silent pub.

The door slams loudly behind me as I half-run, half-trip down the stairs. I spot Betty in the parking lot, the car parked lonely and half-off the edges of the lot. Lonely like me in this ghost town. It's the first time it hits me how out of place my car is up here.

I stumble my way to the side of the car, half-amazed to find the car keys crammed inside my purse.

I wrestle with the keys, cursing and swearing as I push them against the lock. Mr. Gobbles appears from the shrubs, purring as he snakes in-between my legs. The doors unlock. Panting heavily, I push the car door open. Mr. Gobbles jumps inside the car and I throw my bag onto the backseat.

The car sets into motion with a step of my foot and soon, we're onto the road, bumping away to the beat of my breaking heart. Daisy's pub slowly disappears in my rear window, I stroke Mr. Gobbles fur, feeling my heart slow to a slow murmur.

"It's just me and you, Mr. Gobbles. Once again."

Five years ago, Lucy 20 years old

Mumbai, India

We always meet again.

"Hello there."

He's staring at me over the top of the clothes rack I'm thumbing through. I glance up, halting before looking down, feigning indifference.

"Hello."

We stand there for some time in front of each other. It's the third time this week that we've run into each other and it's starting to get awkward. The first encounter was brief, full of banter and confidence as I joked and jested at the coincidence – a wizard and a witch meeting up in Mumbai. The second time, the joke was old, and I tried to ignore him, carefully avoiding his gaze. I haven't seen him in years and now I'm running into him at every corner in this city of 12.5 million.

Scorpius clears his throat, "Lucy Weasley."

He draws out my name slowly, like he's tasting each syllable.

I stare at him, still gripping the fabric. He arches an eyebrow, a smug curling in the corner of his mouth.

"You running, too?"

He says it off-handedly, like it's some sort of shared joke between the two of us. I stare at him, my mouth fixes into a thin line.

"I'm shopping," I frown at my panic as I turn towards the till, walking away from him.

There's the sound of Mumbai between us, of a life remaining in motion here. Scorpius matches my steps easily, smiling down at me as he walks beside me. He stares at me as I pay for the dress, storing it in my backpack.

"That doesn't exclude the other."

I forgot he was like this. Quick-lipped and proper. I struggle for a minute, torn between telling him to get lost and hugging him. The feeling is alarming, but his face is the first familiar face I've seen in months.

"Does it?" His gaze sweeps over my face, his blonde hair curling around his ears. I can feel my heart thundering in my throat as my eyes close and I turn my head, moving to get my bag.

I breathe out in a shudder. My words are careful: "I suppose not."

I look straight ahead, and I feel myself reel at the truth in those words. We walk out the shop side by side in silence, the sun draping across our arms.

I think about London, about hospital beds and white sheets. I think of how everything has changed, yet I feel like the same person, trudging on side corners in Mumbai, covered in red dust – clearly running away from something.

And I come to think why it has to be a lonely journey. Then, because I'm tired of being alone, because right now being with someone is better than no one – I allow my gaze to slide across Scorpius's face. His face is neutral, waiting for my next move.

I exhale, "Coffee?"