Hello friends! I had the best Hen Do. My sister and friends took me to the middle of the Scottish countryside and we did our own Highland Games including archery, axe throwing, and caber tossing. Pictures on Twitter for those interested š
Thank you LightXCVII, Psy-Kick, YourLocalAsexualLoser, Katsumi Star, Mirage and HumanDictionary for your lovely comments š
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Now that Damian had nothing else to do, nothing to focus on, no press conference to prepare for, no school work to complete, no friends to distract him, he was paralysed by crushing emptiness. What could he do to pass the time? He literally couldn't think, and at the same time, thinking was too painful, because it meant being in his own head, and he would rather be anywhere else.
In an effort to try to stop his shaking, Damian retreated back to his bedroom, and lay on his bed. Boredom was an especially unenviable position, because then he would start to remember things, and nobody wanted that.
Things like: the sticky feeling of Anya's blood on his hands, the metallic smell that stuck to his clothes, the shock of being pushed to the ground, the shame and guilt of learning about their shared past, the role she played in saving him from it, and the role she played in saving him again because he was nothing but a burden to her. His existence was a curse, and it was always Anya paying the price of it.
He couldn't think of a single time when he had protected her, instead of the other way around. Because of him, she had been experimented on, injured, abducted, shot, she had received multiple Tonitrus Bolts, and had even had brushes with the law. Damian couldn't help but think that she would never have experienced so much pain if he had never been born.
But thinking like that wasn't going to change anything. It wasn't going to help at all.
This is so stupid, he chastised himself, knowing that he was spinning into another one of his stupid spirals. Surely, if he thought hard enough, he might actually be able to remember somethingā¦
Something bloomed in his mind, then, like a small, springtime bud. Something that he had thought he had forgotten. The day of Emile's confrontation, when he faced Damian at the threshold of his room, desperate for answers about Anya:
Is she, like, a witch, or something?
Damian could understand why he said it. After all, Anya's mental storm had probably scared a lot of people, but it didn't change the fact that he had to protect Anya's secret.
The secret weighed on his heart and on his tongue, choking him, and Damian remembered the heaviness of feeling unable to breathe, not least because he couldn't help his friend.
Inside his mind, the words had echoed: It's not my secret to tell.
Is that what she had been dealing with her whole life? The feeling of keeping a secret so heavy, that it paralysed the ability to say anything at all?
So when he came face to face with Emile's confused and stricken expression, his distress, on the edge of begging Damian to help him understand, none of it meant anything because Damian was just as trapped as she was.
It was like looking at his past self, the version of himself from the beginning of the school year, before he ever learned any of her secrets. Before, he felt out of control, and nothing made sense, and it was so clear that Emile felt the same way, but now the weight of other people's secrets had sewn Damian's lips shut and chained down his tongue.
The irony wasn't lost on him. It must have been awful for her. Every day, she would have felt the terrible burden of having to lie to her closest friends, because she was forced to be in a position of holding secrets that didn't belong to her. Secrets that were never hers to tell.
That realisation had stayed with him, and in the rare moments of quietude, Damian found himself turning the thoughts over in his mind like pebbles, examining them.
And then, the day came when Yor had insisted on restarting his training.
That session was another memory that stayed with him:
The more that she attacked, the more his frustration and anger kept rising to the surface, and the more he defended, the faster he felt his walls crumble in the space between them, and before he knew it, the words that he had bottled up inside for so long just kept spilling out of him.
It was embarrassing. He had so much respect for Mrs Forger, and suddenly he had started crying in front of her and he couldn't even stop it.
But then she reached out herself - she embraced him so warmly, reassuring him that he had every right to feel as he did, that she would support whatever he chose. If anything, that made him feel even more anguished, but the emotions inside him were too tangled to parse.
When he eventually did pull back, he tried to hide his flushed face by turning away from her.
"Thank you," he breathed. "I-I'm sorry. I just. I can't talk about this with anyone but I forgot thatā¦ I wasn't alone."
He wiped at his eyes with the heel of his palm, while Yor gave him a kind smile.
"It's hard keeping secrets from the people you love, isn't it? Even if it is to protect them."
Damian's conversation with Emile surfaced in his mind, and his breath stuttered.
"I can't even tell my friends," he said quietly, unable to tear his gaze away from the floorboards. He stared at his own shaking hands. "I can't tell them anything, and it's not fair! I don't want to keep lying to them, to everyone, it's stressful and I'm so scared everything will blow up in my face at any minute!"
It was so embarrassing, how much he felt like a child in front of her. Even though he had grown taller than her, a part of him wanted to shrink back and resume his natural place. And at the same time, there was something about Yor's presence that feltā¦ welcoming. Like she didn't want him to shrink back and regress in front of her. Obviously, she wanted to see him grow. Hadn't she been pushing him to keep fighting? Hadn't she been encouraging him to sit with his feelings, however uncomfortable they were?
"I understand how you feel, Damian," said Yor, her voice low and soft. "It was hard keeping my identity a secret from Loid and Anya."
Something dark writhed inside him.
"Anya knew about it though."
He couldn't help the edge of bitterness to his voice, when he thought about her sitting atop the mountain of secrets, while he scrambled up from the bottom, trying to meet her. It wasn't fair that she literally knew everything, and kept him in the dark, even though he knew why, he understood why, but it didn't change the fact that she had still been lying to him for years.
She had even lied to her own parents about knowing what they were. Was that just a part of who Anya was? That she would know things others didn't, keep herself hidden, no matter the cost?
It hurt that she didn't trust him, or rely on him. Damian honestly thought he had proven himself to her, but this last secret was a betrayal of the highest order, because what if she never trusted him? What if she had always seen him as a target? What ifā¦
What if she never loved him at all?
"I wish I knew that sooner," said Yor, and it jolted Damian from his thoughts. "Maybe I could have helped her. Maybe it wouldn't have had to be such a burden on her. Anya knew about all of our identities, but she kept it hidden. She protected us."
Damian stared at her in some mix of awe and shock. Yor soundedā¦ so genuinely heartbroken and regretful, it made Damian feel ashamed for the hurt that festered inside him.
"You're not mad that she kept so many secrets from you?"
Yor crossed her arms and looked up, thoughtfully considered his words.
"I wasn't angry with Anya," she said eventually, although at her next words, her eyes did darken, and Damian felt the instinct to take a step back from her. "I was angry with Loid for hiding his identity from me. He is my husband, and we had an agreement when we married, and when I found out the truth it shook my entire reality."
Huh, Damian thought to himself. He had to admit, he had never even considered how it must have been for them as a couple, or the Forgers as a whole family. Their secrets had just existed for so long, that a part of him was convinced that they had always known about each other, and been okay with it. Imagining the arduous process of the Forgers untangling their family secrets gave him a headache.
His relationship with Anya was similar, in a way, because finding out about her shook his entire reality.
"Butā¦ youā¦ forgave him?" said Damian slowly, hesitant to say the word.
Yor shrugged.
"Forgiveness for us wasn't that simple. In fairness, I was hiding a secret, too," she glanced apologetically at Damian. "I'm sorry that doesn't help you that much."
Damian quietened then, processing everything that she had given him. Understanding his pensive state, Yor made her way to the edge of the gymnasium where she had kept her water bottle and gym bag, and beckoned him to follow. It was her signal to say that their sparring lesson had finished for the day.
As Damian shrugged on his hoodie, he wondered what to do next. It just felt like such an impossible situation, and it felt like no matter what he did, every choice just felt like the wrong one, because no choice would leave either of them unscathed. Either Damian could decide it was worth breaking up over, which would hurt both of them, or he could forgive her, and carry on as normal, which would be a betrayal to himself.
There were other choices too: harsher, more vicious choices, but he didn't want to entertain any of them. Choices like revenge, or retaliation, or the worst choice of all, which was revealing Anya's secrets out of anger to everyone and outing her completely. Even though those choices did technically exist, it was sickening to think that they could all be within his capability. He didn't want that kind of power over anyone.
More than anything, Damian wanted to forgive her, because wasn't that the kindest choice for both of them? He never wanted this. All Damian had ever wanted was to love and be loved, and be happy with the person that he had loved for his whole life, but he couldn't keep having his world shattered and rebuilt time and time again. It was exhausting, and stressful, and he knew that he was at the end of his rope with it all, and that at this rate it was only a matter of time before he would snap completely.
Damian stared at his feet, and kept his hands in his pockets as he walked alongside Yor to leave the gymnasium.
"What if I can't forgive her?" said Damian quietly, afraid to look her in the eyes. "What do I do then?"
Yor tightened her hold on the strap of her gym bag, the only betrayal of her inner emotions. There was a short silence as she considered her words, and the steadying of her breath told Damian that she was choosing them very carefully.
"That part is up to you," she said quietly, but firmly. "No-one can make that decision for you."
Of course, the situation had changed since his last training session with Yor, and Damian stared at the ceiling, wondering if he should have gone to visit Anya after all. Even an idiot like him knew that if Ewen, Emile, Becky and Bill had all managed to go, and Damian was the only one who stayed behind, it looked bad on him, but he just couldn't. There was so much that he still needed to fix, so much that he still needed to say to her in private. He couldn't very well let his first talk with Anya be in front of everyone. The pressure on him would be far too overwhelming. Maybe it was better that he didn't go with everyone else - the atmosphere would have been far too awkward.
And another thing - did Anya even want to see him?
Did she feel relief that she didn't have to see him? After how horribly he had treated her, Damian wouldn't have been surprised if she never wanted to speak to him again. At the same time, she had saved him, and that had to count for something, right?
What ifā¦ What if his absence hurt her, instead? What if she felt disappointed in him?
But then he remembered his flashback, the scene that he had witnessed while Anya was bleeding out in front of him, and the guilt crushed him all over again because he hadn't even had the chance to tell her yet that she was his replacement. She didn't know. She had no idea that everything was really his fault.
And what if he had gone to visit her with the others, and he wasn't able to keep his thoughts in check, and she had to witness it through his eyes, while everyone else was there? He couldn't do that to herā¦
No. It was better to see her alone, without anyone else there. Then at least he could tell her about the flashback. If he didn't do it soon, then she would just find out anyway, and Damian wouldn't be able to forgive himself if she saw his thoughts about it in a way that neither of them could control.
Damian sighed, and forced himself to get up from his bed. He looked around the room, seeing for the first time the mess that it was in, from all his clothes and notes strewn everywhere.
Without schoolwork and studying to keep himself busy, Damian's body itched to move, to do something, otherwise he feared that he would be devoured by his own thoughts and anxieties. Maybe he should do something to keep himself busy, at least until everyone else got backā¦
Actually, there was a thought - the school was closing. Emile and Ewen had probably already finished packing, ready to leave, and what had he done?
Damian started by collecting some of the discarded clothes from the floor, not entirely aware of what he had picked up or what they were, but he supposed that he needed to start with something. Maybe if he packed away his underwear first, then his shirts, then trousersā¦
With a packing plan forming in his mind, Damian also turned to the TV set that had been wheeled into his room. He had borrowed it from the common room on and off during the two weeks where he was suspended, occasionally using it to play the martial arts videos that Yor had given him for Christmas, and practise his moves in the meantime. It was another thing to keep his mind occupied, and his physical abilities sharp, while he had to stay in his room for the duration of his suspension.
He removed the latest video from the player and returned it to its sleeve, placing it just next to the TV while he searched for the rest of the set.
Had he even unpacked since he last left the Forgers? Damian couldn't remember, so he grabbed his overnight bag, and rummaged through it, noticing clothes that he had not yet unpacked all jumbled together. Damian wondered if he should replace the clothes, but after sniffing them briefly, he concluded that they seemed fine to use. Maybe if he just made some room so that he could pack a little moreā¦
As he rummaged blindly, the edge of something sharp hit his hand, and he winced, pulling out a hard object.
A video. And along the side, the inscription: Test Subject 007 - AC1168.
The video from her childhood. The one that showed what happened.
Damian stilled, and a chill crawled over his skin..
He had forgotten about that. Anya had asked him to destroy it months ago, and he hadn't done it yet, because while he stayed at the Forgers, he didn't want to bring the video out into Anya's sight. He had left his overnight bag at their house, and didn't return to get it back until Christmas, but he couldn't bring it out while she was still there.
Damian had never asked Anya about her experience in the lab, but the video raised the flashback in his mind once again: Bring me a replacement. A girl, this time.
He couldn't get those words out of his head, because it meant that whatever they had done to him, they had started doing to her. The thought that she had taken his place as an experiment was so strange, and at that moment, Damian realised that he had never really stopped to think about what that actually meant.
It was just a fact at this point that Damian had started as a test subject too, but for whatever reason, he had been a failure, and the experiment was stopped early, so that Anya could be used instead.
So, if she was a test subject first, and she took his placeā¦
What did they do to him?
What did they do to her?
The curiosity was overwhelming, and before he knew it, Damian had unsheathed the video from its cover, and inserted it into the video player.
A black and white picture came up on the screen, with a fuzzy, grainy quality to it that had him squinting to try to see the image clearer. Even the audio was somewhat muffled, and it was unclear to Damian whether the video was meant to be a CCTV tape, showing the barest bones of the events in the lab, or if it was an actual recording of the procedure or experiment as a whole.
Pixelated figures in white lab coats wandered in and out of the screen, surrounding a single bed. Damian felt sick seeing such a small child tied to what looked like a hospital bed, but what he knew to be an operating table.
A shiver ran down his spine, raising goosebumps along the back of his neck.
It was so hard to recognise her as Anya. She was too small, and he was so used to seeing her bouncing and animated, that her sedated and deflated expression was almost unrecognisable. Actually, the more he looked, the more it felt as though there was real bile rising up in his stomach, and he thought he might genuinely be sick.
"Begin Phase One," said a muffled voice, and what happened next was something that Damian would forever wish that he would be able to wipe from his mind.
He saw it. He saw everything.
First, all the blood drained from his face.
Then, he covered his mouth with his hand, his breath barely tangible on his skin with how hard he held it.
Damian didn't close his eyes, didn't turn away, even though he wanted to, because he knew that he couldn't. He needed to know. He needed to know what they had done to him, to her, to all of them - but he had never imagined the extent of it.
It was impossible to say how long he was there, watching it. He wanted to press stop, to eject the tape and pretend never to have seen it, but a voice inside told him that this was far too important.
At some point, Damian closed both of his hands over his elbows, hugging his arms close to his chest in an effort to stop his whole body from shaking, because there was no way that any human being on earth could have approved these experiments, nevermind actually performed themā¦
But, he knew, someone did approve them. And as he had just seen, someone did perform them. And someone did invest in them.
Damian wanted to be sick, all over again. This couldn't have been real. All of it looked like a complete nightmare.
And then it hit him:
This is what Anya went through.
This was what they tried to put him through, but they didn't - because she was there, because his father had ordered it to stop, and had become his replacement, and then they put her through that.
It was supposed to be him, but somehow, she had protected him from that without either of them knowing, without ever knowing about each other, and then she came to Eden, and she kept protecting him. She had been protecting him the whole time, even now, even when he didn't want her to, even when he didn't ask her to, because she had just been doing it for so long that it was just second nature to her.
And what had he been doing?
Ignoring her. Blaming her.
Did he really have time to be treating her like that when she had protected him for so long?
How could he have forgotten?
It was always Anya. Always was, and always would be.
He couldn't sit there for a moment longer, because there was still so much more that they had to do. They hadn't even talked yet, or fixed things, or done any of the things that they wanted to together, and there he was, just sitting and watching and not doing a fucking thing, because what was he still doing at the boarding house when everyone else had gone to see Anya without him?
Damian clicked the TV off, and picked up his phone.
By the time that Damian had arrived at Berlint General Hospital, he had had plenty of time to try to get his racing heart under control, but it was all a fruitless effort, because suddenly the car had pulled up to the entrance, and then he was at the visitor's reception, and his anxiety had kicked into gear to tell him to turn back.
Hugh had followed him in, alongside Paul, the additional bodyguard that Mr Handel had insisted on hiring, and they stayed behind him as Damian walked up to the front desk.
"Is Anya Forger taking visitors just now?"
The receptionist typed at the keyboard, and returned Damian's gaze.
"I'm afraid visiting hours for friends are over," he said, deadpan. "You'll have to come back tomorrow."
Damian wilted. "Is there really nothing that you can-"
At that moment a woman walked in behind the receptionist wearing a labcoat, and holding a clipboard, and when her eyes landed on Damian, she started.
"Wait a minute," she said, peering at him quizzically. "Don't I recognise you?"
Beads of sweat prickled on Damian's forehead. "Uhā¦"
"Oh!" she snapped her fingers. "That's right! You visited Miss Forger before, right? Aren't you her boyfriend? Damian, right?"
If anything, that only made Damian feel even more confused.
"It's alright Brian, you can let him in," she patted the receptionist on the shoulder. "He should be on the 'family' list."
"Oh," said Damian, momentarily lost for words, as Brian the receptionist clarified her words.
"I do apologise," he said sincerely, and motioned for Damian to go ahead. "She should be down in Room 207."
"Right," said Damian, and followed the way that they had indicated.
If it weren't for the fact that he had been to visit Anya in that exact same room before, he would have easily gotten lost. The signage in the hospital was confusing at best, the hodgepodge arrangement of buildings a leftover from the number of extensions it had received over the centuries, but he soon found himself outside of the correct door, and the gaze of Paul and Hugh on his back had started to unnerve him.
"Could you, er," he cleared his throat. "Both wait outside? Make sure no one enters?"
"Yes, Lord Desmond," said Paul formally, at the same time that Hugh merely nodded, and Damian stiffened.
"Just 'sir' is fine," he said, his smile forced and taut, and he knocked on the door before he could lose his nerve. "Anya? Can I come in?"
On the walk to her room, Damian had tried to tamp down his bubbling anxiety: what if she didn't want to see him? What if Becky and the others were still there, and he couldn't speak to her in private?
But somehow, it was worse that there was no sound behind the door, so he steeled himself, and turned the handle.
"Anya?"
Damian tentatively opened the door, wary of what could be on the other side, but when he saw her sleeping form, the sense of relief that washed over him could have brought him to his knees.
The last time he saw her, she was bleeding in his arms, growing colder and quieter at a terrifying rate, after she had leapt off the auditorium balcony, pushed him to the ground, and saved his life. The last time he saw her, Damian watched her eyes flutter closed and he honestly believed that she was going to die. The last time he saw her, he had begged her not to go. He wondered if she heard him at all. If any of his words reached her, and pulled her back towards him.
One step, then another. He was barely in control of himself, as if he was being pulled towards her by some invisible, magnetic force.
The air had stilled, somehow deathly quiet, in which the only sound louder than the beeping machines, showing Anya's steady heart rate, was the sound of Damian's own heart beating alongside hers. With every breath, his own rhythm slowed and steadied, until it was interwoven with hers with increasing synchronicity. Only that sound connected them, while everything else fell away.
Her pink hair spread around her on the pillow, and Damian was filled with the strong and sudden urge to run his fingers through it. His hands twitched knowing that it would be so easy to reach for her, as was his natural instinct. His arms ached to hold her, like he had imagined for nearly all of his life, and his body wanted nothing more than to be near to her, as he was always meant to be.
Being close to her was the most natural feeling in the world, and yet, the gap between them was so wide, that Damian didn't know how to bridge it. Thinking about his earlier conversations with Emile and Yor helped, but they didn't provide the exact answers that he was looking for, and he knew that he would have to navigate this particular storm alone.
Damian's eyes travelled over her, noting the cannula in her hand, and the IV bag that it was connected to. A cursory read of the bag's label showed that there were a lot of painkillers, and Damian wondered if the boys and Becky had seen Anya when she was asleep, too. Did they even get a chance to talk before he arrivedā¦?
Anya shifted in her sleep, and the blanket that covered the top half of her body slipped down, revealing the top of her hospital gown and collarbone, where the edge of her bandage peeked through, and the sight of it turned Damian to stone.
He couldn't avert his eyes. Underneath that bandage, was the bullet wound that had nearly killed her. The bullet that was meant for him.
The room tilted, and Damian quickly grabbed at the bed railing to steady himself.
It should have been me.
The thought made him feel sick.
In his effort to steady himself, he must have shaken the bed or grabbed it too hard, because then when he looked up again, emerald eyes stared at him, wide open, and his heart stopped in his chest.
"I think I'm hallucinating," said Anya quietly, staring at him. "I can see Damian."
Oh, that tugged at his heart.
Damian glanced at the IV bag, wondering how much of the painkillers had been in her system and he took the last few steps closer to her side.
"I'm really here, Anya," Damian responded, just as quietly. Even though she was 'awake', he didn't want to startle her. Not when she was like this.
With her eyes wide open, Anya's eyes looked more glossy than they ever had before, magnified by her unshed tears.
"Damian really came to see me?" She blinked, and a tear dislodged, falling onto the hospital sheet below. "Does he still hate me?"
"I never hated you, Anya," Damian said, feeling both strangely calm, and at the same time, noticing that his heart wanted to jump out of his chest from how hard it was beating.
"But I am still angry with you," he admitted, but it felt too heavy inside him. He had been carrying it with him for far too long, to the point that he questioned if it was even true anymore. This kind of anger wasā¦ it wasn't like anything he had felt before. It hurt. It clawed at his heart and pulled him underwater, stopping his breath.
Maybeā¦ Maybe it was never anger. Maybe the anger was just a mask for the gaping wound inside of him.
"Damian is never going to forgive me," she cried softly. "I don't know what to do. All I want isā¦"
Anya drew her brows together, confused, and Damian wondered if perhaps she had lost track of her own sentence.
He waited a few seconds to see if she would pick it back up again, but when she didn't, he lowered his head, ashamed.
"I watched the video," he confessed. Even if she wouldn't be able to hear or understand him today, he couldn't keep it inside him any longer.
And even more quietly: "I saw what they did to you."
At that, Anya faced forward, her eyes welling up with fresh tears that rolled away as she stared into the distance.
"I don't understandā¦ when it all got so confusingā¦" she swallowed. "I was an experimentā¦ I was owned by Damian's papa and then my papa had to get close to him to find out his big plan, but all I knew was that Damian was the key to world peace."
Damian had managed to follow the first part of her sentence, understanding just how confusing all of it really was, but he couldn't help but feel puzzled by Anya's words. What did she mean by the key to world peace? He didn't know, but it warmed him inside. Did she think he was that important?
"But Anya can't tell anyone that," she continued. "Operation Strix was so hard. I'm so glad it's over now. It took twelve years and now it's over."
The ache in his heart deepened. So he was all part of something called Operation Strix?
"Soā¦ I guess you don't have to pretend to be friends with me anymore," Damian sighed.
At that, Anya started to cry in earnest, and the suddenness of it made Damian sit bolt upright.
"I don't want to be friends with Damian!" she wailed, momentarily knocking the breath from his chest, before she added:
"I want us to get married and live forever in a castle on the moon, and have ten children, and so many cats and dogs and rabbits and maybe a horse -"
Damian couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out of him, followed by a wash of relief.
"Ten is too many," he chuckled. "Maybe three."
She looked aghast.
"Three?!"
"Or five."
"Five?!"
"Or just," he reached out, holding his palm to her cheek, and he wanted to cry when she leaned into it. "As many as you want."
His thumb swiped underneath her eyes, wiping away the largest of her tears, and the whole time, she kept her gaze on him, unwavering, unblinking.
"Do you promise?"
Damian nodded, his throat tightening with so many emotions that he couldn't name. "Yeah. Promise."
He shifted his hand so that he pushed her hair away from her eyes. Somehow, it was easy to touch her like this, because she wasn't completely aware, but at the same time, Damian would have preferred for her to be properly awake. Then at least he would know if they were okay. If they had really fixed things.
In any case, seeing her again, being able to touch her like he used to, rekindled something that Damian had not felt in far too long..
There was so much to say, so much that they both needed to hear from the other, but somehow it all got stuck near his throat and he only managed to squeeze a few words out:
"I miss you," he whispered, somehow feeling like if he said any more, then he would crumble apart completely.
"You smell nice," Anya murmured, though her eyelids grew slowly heavier, her voice getting quieter.
Maybe it was habit. Maybe it was out of comfort. Maybe it was because the ache inside him was so deep, the chasm between them so wide, that Damian found himself climbing over the edge of the bed, his instinct to be close to her too strong to resist.
Anya kept her eyes on him the whole time, though they were halfway to closing, and though she didn't move or shuffle to the side, she did appear to allow Damian to lie down next to her.
He didn't pull her close, not with the shoulder injury that she had, but he settled himself as softly as he could next to her, in the minimal space between the bedrail and the edge of her body, all the while trying hard not to jostle or move her at all in case he accidentally hurt her. It felt as though a current of electricity ran in the gap between them, charging them both with static energy.
I miss you, his heart ached. I miss you I miss you I miss you.
Because although she was right there, she still felt so far away, like a dream that he couldn't quite remember. They hadn't yet fixed things, they hadn't talked properly, but they were so close. They were almost there. It was enough to allow Damian to feel as though he could hope for it.
Damian reached his hand over Anya's stomach, his hand coming to rest on her hip, and he looked up at her, questioning.
"Does this feel okay?"
Anya barely nodded, her eyes drooping heavily.
"Mmm. S'nice."
His palm stayed there as he watched her eyes pull firmly closed, and as Anya drifted into a drug-induced sleep, the heavy knot in his chest started to slowly unwind.
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I loved writing this šš They're not there yet, but they are on the way, and certainly this chapter shines a light on the hope we can have for them
I will not post an expected date for the next chapter: it is 1 month and 18 days until my wedding and I am STRESSED, so I will be prioritising everything that I have to do for that (speeches, vows, table settings, liaising with vendors, and then that's not even counting honeymoon organisation!).
Making the decision to cut back on writing for the next few weeks was so hard because I love this story and I love all of you, but I am, quite frankly, losing my shit š Even family members have been given strict instructions not to ask me ANY questions!
If I have time to write I will, and if I have time to post, I will! But certainly for the next few months it will be a sporadic posting schedule. Thank you everyone for your support, your patience, and your understanding, I hope you all know just how much this story matters to me, so rest assured I will do my best to deliver it to you when I can šš