Truthfully, Beatrice is still trying to make sense of how there could be no shame in what her own Bible tells her is a sin. She thinks people tend to pick and choose the parts they want to believe and follow, but where does it end? What is the threshold? How can she justify one part over another?
She likes to think her religion would be peaceful, and so she would follow the parts that cause the least harm, but she also knows she's committed sins in the name of the Order. Of God. She's killed and stolen and caused harm, in His great name, so where does her sinning end? Does it ever?
"You seem conflicted, my child," Reverend Thomas tells her, and she wonders, really, what this man is even doing out here. She supposes even men of God go on holiday, sometimes.
Ava is sitting right beside her, hand gently resting on her leg. She squeezes once, in silent support. It's everything Beatrice has ever wanted, just having her there.
"Did you believe?" Beatrice asks him in return. "What Adriel was saying."
He considers the question. "No."
"No?"
"But I believe what he showed me," he says. "Not that he was the Second Coming, but that he was something not of our world. I follow my own religion, but I know of others, and I believe the word that there will never be another Prophet among us."
"What do you believe he was, then?"
"A sign that there is something bigger," he says. "A sign that something bigger is coming. Maybe we're closer to Judgment Day than I initially thought."
"Didn't think it would be in your lifetime, hmm?"
"I'm half hoping I'll kick the bucket before then," he jokes, laughing heartily. "But there is a feeling that some end is coming, is there not?"
Anyone else might have dismissed his thoughts, but Beatrice just nods and says, "We should probably live life to its fullest, then."
He ducks his head in agreement, and the entire conversation sits on Beatrice's brain for a while. Even as they sit through what they call a braai, essentially cooking on an open flame, getting a good char on the meat and chicken. All of it paired with a maize flour that's cooked into a hard porridge they call pap. And then some kind of gravy they call chakalaka, which is a word Ava absolutely loves to say.
"And this is boerewors," one of the self-proclaimed braai masters tells them. "It's basically a kind of South African sausage. Super traditional." He hands Ava another bottle of Heineken, and then leaves them to it.
"I don't think I like beer," Ava tells her after a moment, "But I totally love what's on my plate right now."
There's also some potato salad and coleslaw, their plates piled high, sharing in a meal in a way that reminds Beatrice of Cat's Cradle. Of what was once her family.
It sets an odd sense of melancholy off in her gut, and she's aware she fades a little as the night goes on, their group offering all sorts of impossible stories. Someone even brings out a packet of marshmallows to roast on sticks in the fire, but Beatrice turns in early, leaving Ava to enjoy herself with a gentle kiss to her temple.
Beatrice fully expects to be long asleep when Ava returns to their small cabin, but she follows mere minutes later, joining Beatrice where she's settled in an armchair to do some late reading. She basically drops herself in Beatrice's lap, eyes a little red from all the smoke.
"Did you know you're my favourite person in this world?" Ava asks her, hands on Beatrice's chest. "Like, literally no other soul comes close to meaning what you do to me. It's a literal no-brainier, zero competition, why even bother?"
"I don't know where you're going with this."
"I just - I always want to be near you," she says. "I always want to be able to see you. Shit, Bea, I always want to be touching you. It's just - it's me, and I realise that isn't - you aren't - "
"Ava."
"Would you tell me if you needed some space?" Ava asks. "Because I can totally give it to you, you know? You just have to tell me."
"Excuse me?"
"Is it too much?"
"What? No." She shakes her head. "Ava, it's not you. It's never you. Touch me whenever and as much as you want. Truly. I will never tire of that."
"Then what's wrong?" Ava asks, and she sounds a little lost.
"I - " she starts and stops. Breathes deeply. "Don't get me wrong, because I love being here with you. It's literally my impossible dream come true, but sometimes I miss the way things were, before the world decided to implode. I miss the OCS, just that camaraderie and our time together. Training just because, not for any specific purpose. Listening to Camila play her music, trying to keep Mary from shooting everyone in her path. I don't know why, but I miss it sometimes."
"They're your family."
"So are you."
Ava smiles softly, running a hand over Beatrice's hair, carefully taking it out of its strict bun. "I'm the family that constantly wants to jump your bones," she says, and Beatrice laughs, shaking her head to free her hair even further. "I can't even get over how hot you are. It's not even fair."
"You're terrible."
"I like it when you wear your hair down," Ava says. "You just - you look so much freer. Happier, younger. You look - "
"What?"
Ava shakes her head, fingers threading through Beatrice's loose hair. "Would you ever dye it?" she asks. "Maybe do a blue. Or a pink. Wait, what about a rainbow?"
"You've lost the plot now."
"I bring such delicious spice to your life, don't I?"
"Well, yes, I've always known you'd be a handful," Beatrice tells her, smiling softly. "I had no idea what wonderful chaos you would bring to my life."
Ava just curls deeper into Beatrice, ducking her head under her chin, fingers of her other hand playing with the seam of Beatrice's shirt. "You knew that from the start, hmm?"
"I had a feeling."
"And now?" Ava asks. "Am I still a handful?"
Beatrice kisses the top of her head. "Yes," she murmurs, "But you're mine."
Part 19
Start from the beginning
