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Ugh, I'm so jealous!! I was scrolling through all the different locations that you guys posted and man would I loveeee to visit a few of those places. One day. And I'm not ashamed to say that there were a few places where I was like ok... I have to google this because I've never heard of it! Or places where when I think of the world, I couldn't place the location AT ALL.
Example: Belarus.
Anyways... I added a few places to the bucket list of countries I want to visit... at the moment the list is: Ireland because I'm like 10% Irish, though you'd never guess that. Japan, my cousin lived there and went to Sophia University for two semesters. India, a friend of mine was telling me of this like walk that her parents went on. She said that it's something that they wanted to do just once in their life, her too. Morocco, another friend of mine was born there and there are just some breathtaking photographs that she has, I'd love to see the real place. Then, Italy and Australia. What about you guys? Anywhere you'd love to travel to?
Anyways... important chapter... Enjoy :)
Chapter 48 – The Other Side of Right is Wrong (Samson POV) Pt.1
Is it possible to be completely at ease and still have your heart racing?
Hell is that even normal?
I wouldn't know really. Yet, here I was, my heart racing as I took stared at Fatima, at the white bodysuits, and the small hunting closet Luca, Imogen and I had followed her into.
With a tight expression that goes away, turns as blank as a white piece of paper, she turns to us.
"Upstairs has an open layout, white oak wood paneling. Uhm, plumbing works too. There's two bedrooms," she mumbles out leaving the room and us behind. When she's gone, and we follow, much further back as she climbs the stairs, Imogen rests a hand on my shoulder.
"Has – am I the only one that thinks she has lived here or at least been here before?"
"Or was meant to live here," Luca murmured, pointing back to the items hung that would clearly fit Fatima now, but not when she was younger.
I'm following her with my eyes, when I leave Imogen and Luca with their guesses and follow Fatima for real. Trying to read her face but all she does is look at the different areas of the barn house, with mild interest. Just when I think maybe the two with us were wrong, she whips her head to look at something, head cocked to the side.
Staring thoughtfully, before closing her eyes as though trying, forcing herself to remember. She fails. And I know it when her shoulders seem to drop and her eyes open.
I think of the location of this place, compared to the others and the knowledge that Fatima had once been in Colorado.
Pulling up a mental image of the U.S., I add to it the places where Dmitri had left Fatima a home. There were some in Utah, Arizona, California, Montana, and on the East Coast.
