I AM A HORRIBLE WRITER HOLY SHIT. I haven't updated this story in two months now! I'm so sorry! I would've worked on it more during Christmas, but then I decided to write that winter fic that took way too long, and by then school had started again. AND SCHOOL IS KILLING ME, Y'ALL. I AM DECEASED. WRITING THIS FROM BEYOND THE GRAVE.
But, alas, I have finally finished my dear Chapter 15. It's a bit of a filler chapter, with some little cameos of some people you may be familiar with. Mostly just a chapter of Ana and fam settling in New York. Chapter 16 will be similar, but it will also show the move to college dorms and begin the proper introduction to the rest of the Hamilton squad. Woo!
Some angst at the end in the form of a nightmare, but it's fine. We're chill.
Warning(s): Google translate French & brief angst
Much Love, Krissy
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A Couple Weeks Later (August):
Perhaps New York City isn't the most pleasant smelling place, but it's the place I've always wanted to live in. The skyscrapers are bland, but the people are more vibrant, and it's loud and active. It reminds me a lot of myself. The air is nicer up here, especially around our plants. I look out toward Central Park, watching everything move slowly. It's quite nice up here. I'm broken out of my serenity by a loud knock on the window, and I look over my shoulder. John grins at my annoyed expression and waves a hand at me. I snort fondly and roll my eyes before turning and walking back to the door to go inside.
"Oui?" I ask, giving him a look as I close the door behind me. He grins and wordlessly takes my hand, leading me through our very large apartment. Or, well, my mother's very large apartment. John and I are just living under her roof until we move into the dorms. As we get closer to the kitchen, I catch a hint of something in the air. It smells...Amazing.
"Close your eyes," John says suddenly. I tilt my head and cock an eyebrow, but his grin just widens. I sigh and close my eyes, allowing him to lead me through the apartment blindly. He helps me sit on a bar stool in front of the kitchen island, and I hear shuffling as he sits on the one beside me. There's an incredible smell wafting up from in front of me, and I resist the urge to open my eyes.
"Go ahead!" John cries, as if sensing my curiosity. I open my eyes, and they widen at the spread before me. French toast and crepes with powdered sugar puffed on top, an assortment of fruits, and sides of eggs and bacon. My favorite breakfast. I haven't had it in...I can't remember how long. My coffee is even made in the way I like it best - which, despite my Frenchness, isn't the strong dark roast of France. Creamer and flakes of cinnamon. I look over at John in surprise, and find him with an enormous grin on his face.
"Did you-"
"Your mom and I made your favorite to help you feel better," he says cheerfully. I look to my right and watch my mother as she feeds sliced up grapes to Nicolette, who is settled in her highchair. She makes a small noise, but it's more of a babble. Nicolette hasn't said anything resembling a word yet, but we also hadn't had much time to work with her on it while we were packing for the move. That's not exactly Nicolette's fault. My mother glances up and smiles at me.
"Je veux que tu sois heureuse, ma chérie (I want you to be happy, my dear)," she says. I look down at the food and smile softly.
"Je sais. Merci maman. Merci, John (I know. Thank you, mama. Thank you, John)," I say, looking back up to give my gratitude. My mother smiles back at me, before suddenly checking her watch and frowning. I realize she's in her regular suit that she wears for work, and she sighs. She must have to go in today. She's been working to move her business to New York, but it's taking a lot of work and John and I are usually left home alone to take care of Nicolette. My mother kisses the top of Nicolette's head and coos at her, before rounding the highchair and kissing both mine and John's foreheads.
"I'll be back at 6:00. You two should take Nicolette out and enjoy the sun. It's not too hot today," she says, picking up her purse from the end of the island closest to John.
"Bonne journée (Have a good day)," John and I call to her in unison. She chuckles and looks over her shoulder at us.
"Vous aussi (You too)," she says. I raise my hand in a small wave, and she returns it, then leaves the kitchen. A few seconds later, the front door closes, and John, Nicolette and I are left alone. It's quiet for about three seconds, before Nicolette makes a noise and John and I giggle.
"I'll feed her," John says, moving his plate to the other side of me where he's closer to Nicolette. After a bit of shifting around, Nicolette's highchair is next to his bar stool, and we're sitting together eating and talking while he feeds Nicolette.
"She'll be two in a couple of months," I say, taking a sip of my coffee. John sighs and looks at me.
"I know. She's growing up so fucking fast-"
"John!" I cry, slapping his arm, "N'utilise pas ce langage avec ma petite sœur (Don't use that language around my little sister)!" He blinks, before slapping his hand over his mouth and looking at me with wide, surprised eyes. I snort and grin at him, before breaking into giggles and leaning over on him.
"C'est bon, mais si le premier mot qui sort de sa bouche est 'putain', on ne peut plus être amis (It's alright, but if the first word that comes out of her mouth is "fuck", we cannot be friends anymore)," I say. He whines and puts his chin on my shoulder.
"Anaaa." I laugh at his childish behavior, pushing his face off my shoulder.
"John," I whine back playfully. He pouts and stares at me with big, fake sad eyes, and I chuckle and bump his shoulder with mine.
"C'était une blague (That was a joke)," I say, grinning at him. He sighs and grins slightly, then his attention is drawn away as Nicolette whines and babbles for attention. John returns to his duty of feeding her while I enjoy my breakfast. The fact that he and my mother made all of this in an effort to make me happy warms my heart. John makes cooing noises as he feeds Nicolette, and I glance over at him as I pop a grape into my mouth. He loves my little sister like she's his family, and I can tell she adores him. His hair is longer than mine, so she'll often play with his curls when he lets it down. We've noticed she likes watching it bounce, which I find completely adorable. John finishes his breakfast and his full attention moves to Nicolette while I finish mine. I grin as I watch him hand Nicolette one of the last grapes, before collecting our plates and taking them to the sink. When I sit back down after washing them, John stands up with Nicolette's empty bowl and moves to bring it to the sink.
"John." The plastic bowl hits the floor. John turns around with wide eyes and I move to the seat closer to Nicolette to look closer at her. She's looking at John with an outreached hand, grinning at him. She giggles at his face and makes grabby hands at him.
"Did she...Don't tell me I misheard..." John walks back to her, leaning down her level. She pats his cheeks.
"John!" she says again. John looks over at me, eyes wide, before we both smile and start laughing.
"Her first word is my name!" he cries, his face full of pride as he picks up Nicolette so that he can look at her face. She grins and babbles at him, and he pulls her close to him and hugs her.
"Oui, ma petite fleur. C'est mon nom (Yes, my little flower. That's my name)," he says, sounding so proud of her. It warms my heart watching him hold her like that. If he becomes a father, he'll be a great one, and if he doesn't, he'll be the best uncle to my children.
"Mama's going to be so disappointed that she missed this," I say. John laughs and looks over at me, grinning while tears shine in his eyes. I stand up and go to him, wrapping him in a side hug.
"Tu es un softie (You are a softie), John Laurens," I mutter fondly. He chuckles and leans against me, and for a moment we simply bask in my sister's accomplishment.
Well, my mother was right. It's nice out today. The sun and breeze are both warm, but the heat is tolerable and the shade is nice. Central park has nice air, which I take a deep breath of.
"John!" Nicolette reaches up for my hand from her stroller, and I sigh.
"She's going to call everyone 'John' now," I say, glancing over at my best friend while I reach down to let Nicolette grab my hand. He chuckles and shakes his head.
"I'm sure she'll pick up your name and 'mama' soon enough," he says. I give him a look.
"She's not even two yet. Somehow I doubt 'Anastasia' will be part of her vocabulary any time soon," I say, squeezing her little fingers slightly as they grasp mine. John laughs, before gesturing toward a nearby bench as a signal of wanting to rest.
"Maybe not Anastasia, but Ana is simple enough. More so than John," he says as we sit down. I take Nicolette out of the stroller and hold her on my lap. She looks up at me with big eyes, and I tilt my head and hum.
"Nicolette?" She tilts her head, mimicking me. "Can you say 'Ana'?" I receive a blink in response. I repeat my question, and she tilts her head the other way. I sigh and lightly poke her little cheek. She giggles and John chuckles with her.
"Je ne pense pas qu'un deuxième mot se passe aujourd'hui (I don't think a second word is happening today)," I say dully. John nods.
"Probablement pas (Probably not)," he agrees. He reaches over and taps the end of Nicolette's nose, and she giggles again.
"Um...Excusez-moi (Excuse me)." We both look up in surprise, not used to speaking French to anyone other than each other and my mother. There's a man standing there. His bright red curls are pulled back into a low ponytail, exposing his pale skin, which is covered in a dusting of freckles. A round pair of glasses rest on the bridge of his nose, framing a lovely pair of blue eyes that look nearly violet in this light.
"Can we help you?" John asks, always the good samaritan. The man smiles brightly at us.
"I- Yes, you can! I'm looking for my boy- er...friend, but I'm having a little bit of trouble finding him," he says, almost bashfully. He's a couple inches shorter than John and I, which is actually quite endearing. His personality doesn't seem to fit his size. I grin at him.
"Of course. Can you describe him to us?" I ask, standing up and propping Nicolette on my hip. The man blinks at my height for a moment, before clearing his throat.
"He's really tall - taller than both of you, I think - and well built. Really long, pretty blond hair. It's in a ponytail today. Icy blue eyes, but they're really warm..." he trails off, eyes out of focus as they stare at nothing in particular. I exchange an amused look with John, before turning my gaze back on the other redhead.
"Tu as l'air complètement amoureuse de lui (You sound completely in love with him)," I say, a teasing tone in my voice. The man's face turns nearly as red as his hair, and he sputters.
"I-I don't know what you're talking about!" he says, his voice rising an octave. I chuckle and shake my head.
"Se détendre. Nous ne sommes pas ici pour porter un jugement (Relax. We aren't here to pass judgement)," I say, hoping to reassure him. I hand Nicolette back to John as I climb up on top of the bench, scanning around the area for a tall blond.
"C'est assez mignon comme tu parles rêveusement de lui (It's pretty cute how dreamily you talk about him)," John adds, putting Nicolette back in the stroller. I notice the man looking at him, and his cheeks are still tinged red.
"I guess I should've expected more acceptance in New York," he says after a moment, chuckling. John looks up as he works on buckling Nicolette into the stroller.
"Well, who are we to judge?" he says cheekily. I give him a playful sideways look, smirking slightly.
"Wait...I thought you two were-"
"Non. Gay. Bisexual," I say, pointing first at John and then at myself without looking down. He huffs out a "huh" before I finally spot a man matching the description the redhead gave us and point.
"There. I see him. Does he speak French?" I ask, glancing down at him. He nods, climbing up on the bench beside me to try and see where I'm pointing.
"I don't see-"
"Hé, garçon blond géant! Toi avec la queue de cheval! Votre petit ami a désespérément besoin de votre attention (Hey you giant blond boy! You with the ponytail! Your tiny boyfriend is in desperate need of your attention)!" I yell, causing the man next to me to jump. John starts cackling at the words that leave my mouth, and we both move to catch the blushing redhead to prevent him from falling off the bench.
"You're so loud," he mutters, looking a little dizzy from his near fall. John grins up at me and we help the other man sit down. I look up as footsteps approach.
"Pardonnez-moi, vous appeliez mon attention ... En français? (Pardon me, were you calling for my attention...In French)?" I look up, and the picture image of the redhead's description is standing in front of me. A grin appears on my lips and I hop off the bench.
"Oui. Ton adorable petit ami nous a demandé de t'aider à te trouver (Yes, I was. Your cute little boyfriend asked us to help find you)," I say, not bothering to hide any details. The tall man's face lights up with a bright red blush, and I giggle. John chuckles, and I hear the redhead groan.
"I tease, I tease. Sorry," I say, patting the tall man's arm. He coughs and rubs the back of his neck, a shy smile gracing his face.
"It's alright," he says. And, wow does he have a strong accent. It's absolutely South Carolinian, but it's way stronger than John's. John doesn't have a very strong one, and he hides it all the time. This guy takes it to an entirely new level. If it didn't remind me so much of John, I might find it attractive.
"Thank you both for helping me. You seem way too nice to be New Yorkers," the redhead says, standing up. John chuckles.
"Well, we weren't exactly born and raised here," he says. The taller guy next to me makes a gesture toward me.
"Sort of figured your French girlfriend wasn't," he says. I gag and John laughs, and the redhead giggles behind his hand. I walk over and sling my arm around John's shoulder, resting my head on his shoulder.
"You know, maybe we should look into tattooing 'hi, I'm gay' on your forehead," I say, smirking. The blond blushes again, pointing at Nicolette.
"So, not your baby?" he asks. I rest my cheek on John.
"My baby sister, maybe, but certainly not our child," I say, clarifying. He nods, looking a little awkward. I grin at him.
"It's alright. People get it confused all the time. We don't exactly come with 'I'm gay' and 'I'm bi' tattooed on our foreheads. We're best friends. He's like a brother to me." He nods in agreement, putting his arm around me. By now, the shorter guy is by his boyfriend, who looks slightly less bashful than before.
"Nice to meet some people who won't act disgusted if we hold hands," he says. I nod, agreeing. We missed the parade in June, so we haven't really met anyone we can be comfortable around other than each other and my mother. I open my mouth to say goodbye to them.
"John!" Nicolette giggles again. The four of us look down at her in surprise. What shocks me most is that she isn't reaching for John - not my John - but instead the tall blond man. I look up at him, and he looks shocked at a little shaken.
"If you tell me that your name is John, I'm taking Nicolette to buy us a lottery ticket," John says. The blond looks up and nods.
"Holy-"
"Langue (Language)!" I interrupt. It's all I can do to not be in some state of shock. Admittedly, it's the only word she knows, but she's also reaching for the only other John in the group...Unless the redhead is also named John, but that would be weird.
"I know it's the only word she knows, but that's weird, right? Her reaching for the only other John in the group?" John asks, voicing my thoughts. We're always on the same wavelength. It's honestly kind of scary. Blond John and his redhead boyfriend nod, and I hum.
"Maybe she's been in the sun for too long. We should take her home," I say. My John sighs, looking up at the sky in disappointment. It is a nice day. I feel bad for taking him away from the nice park, but I'm worried about Nicolette's apparent John finding powers.
"It was nice meeting you both, John and..." blond John looks at me, confused. I never did tell them my name.
"Anastasia," I say, grinning slightly. Blond John and his redhead boyfriend exchange a look, before both shaking their heads and looking back at us, smiling.
"Yeah. It was nice to meet you, Anastasia," he says. I nod at them.
"It was nice to meet you both too," I agree. We wave the two goodbye and part ways. It's unlikely that we'll see them again, but meeting them felt good. Like a breath of fresh air. It feels good. Like the real beginning of our fresh start.
I push my torso up, curving my back and taking a deep breath. The music from the little radio is soothing, nice and slow. My elbows bend and I push myself up onto the balls of my feet, calmly transitioning into the next pose without opening my eyes. I feel calm, relaxed. I acknowledge the stretch in my calves, but am unbothered by it. I'm poked on the back of my thigh right below my butt, and I yelp, reflexively throwing my leg out in a kick of self defense.
"I yeild! I yeild!" John cries. I fall over and look up at him. He has one hand up in surrender, while the other is holding Nicolette up. She babbles and claps at me, laughing. I scowl at John, and he gives me a nervous grin.
"Nice reflexes. There's that great lieutenant from 1778," he says, chuckling timidly. I raise an eyebrow at him and he looks away, trying to look innocent. I sigh and lift my arms, a reach for my sister. John hands her to me, and I rest her on my thigh, kissing the top of her head.
"Pauvre bébé. John a failli te faire botter (You poor baby. John almost got you kicked)," I coo at her, looking up to glare at John. Nicolette giggles, while John simply looks guilty.
"Would it make things better if I came out here and did yoga with you?" he asks, a timid attempt at an apology. I stand up, holding Nicolette against my hip, and walk up to him, keeping a straight face. He looks more and more nervous as I approach, before I smirk and pat his cheek.
"Well, since you suggested it," I say, grinning. I go inside to get Nicolette a playpen to set outside so that we can keep an eye on her. John makes noises behind me, but seems at a loss for words. I grin mischiveously, dragging a little playpen back across the floor. John is still uselessly opening and closing his mouth, looking toward me, then away, and back again. I shake my head, putting the pen next to the door. I get a few toys and make sure everything is secure before setting Nicolette down in the pen and handing her a toy. She giggles with glee and I smile slightly before standing up straight and turning to John.
"No escape now," I say, planting my hands on my hips. He raises an objecting finger, before simply trying to sprint back inside. I catch his arm and click my tongue.
"You're not getting away that easily," I say, dragging him over to my yoga mat. I stand him on the mat and take the open space next to it.
"Can we at least do simple things? And can I not get on the ground?" he asks, giving me pleading puppy eyes. I stare at him for a moment, before exhaling and caving.
"Alright, maybe I won't make you stand on your head," I say, teasing him. He breathes a sigh of relief, and I lightly punch his arm.
"Alright, pay attention. The first post we're going to do is tree."
I'm sitting on the couch with Nicolette and a book when John comes back from his shower.
"When is your mom going to be home again?" he asks. As if on cue, the front door's lock clicks, announcing my mother's arrival home.
"I'd say right now," I reply, setting my book aside and grinning at him as I stand up. I hand Nicolette off to him, knowing my mother will need some help at the door.
"Les enfants, je suis à la maison! J'ai une surprise (Kids, I'm home! I have a surprise)!" she calls. I hurry to the front door, meeting my mother's eye as she drags in a box behind her with one hand, while holding a cage in the other. A little yellow bird flutters around the cage, chirping. I grin at her and hold out my hands, carefully taking the cage from her hand. I turn as John's footsteps come to an abrupt stop. He has wide eyes and looks two seconds away from dropping Nicolette in surprise. He blinks and tightens his grip on her, swallowing.
"What is all this?" he asks. I look at my mother, who gestures to the cage in my hands.
"I wanted to get you something, and I remembered you said you wanted a bird a couple of months ago, so I thought I'd get you one," she says. He walks a little closer and looks inside the cage, completely awed.
"But...Why?" he asks, looking over at my mother again. She smiles at him and walks over, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"You're part of the family now, John. I want you to feel welcome," she says. I watch John's eyes fill up with tears before he throws himself at my mother, hugging her tightly with one arm while still holding Nicolette with the other.
"Thank you, Charlotte," he says into her shoulder. She chuckles and returns his hug, rubbing her hand up and down his back.
"Of course, dear," she says. The little bird in the cage chirps, and John pulls away from my mother to look at it.
"What kind is it?" he asks. She smiles and leans down to look inside the cage.
"He's a song canary. Very friendly little thing," she says, carefully sticking her finger in the cage. The bird flutters across the cage to nudge my mother's finger with his beak, acting affectionate. John smiles, and Nicolette coos at the bird, waving her hand at it.
"Does he have a name?" John asks. My mother straightens and looks at him, smiling at him.
"Only if you've come up with one," she says. John brightens and looks down at the cage again, humming.
"James," he says after a beat of silence. I smile at him over the cage.
"After your brother," I say. He nods and I lift the cage to be eye level with me.
"Bonjour, James. Welcome to the family."
Unsurprisingly, my mother, John, and I all move quite comfortably around each other as we work to make dinner. John pulls the steak out of the fridge, as it's been carefully marinating for about two hours now. He hands the plate over to my mother while I busy myself with washing the potatoes. I can hear things being moved and put down behind me, and hear John mumbling to himself about cooking potatoes. When I've washed all the potatoes and placed them in a bowl, I pick it up and move it over to the island. There's a cutting board in place, directly next to a cookie sheet, which we'll be able to put the potatoes on.
"Can I have a knife?" John asks, looking over his shoulder. I hear the sound of a knife being unsheathed from the knife block.
"Here you go, dear," my mother says. John grins and takes it from her, turning back around with it.
"Thanks, mom." The kitchen goes quiet for a second, and I look over at John in surprise. It's no surprise that my mother has become a sort of second mother for John, but to actually hear him refer to her as "mom"...Well, it startles me. He puts the knife down, fidgetting with his hands slightly.
"I...I mean, Charlotte. I didn't...Um...Sorry that I called you-"
"John," my mother interrupts, putting her hand on his shoulder, "you've been Anastasia's closest friend since you were both young. I would never seek to replace Eleanor, as she will always be your mother, but to me, you are the son that I never had." I keep my head turned away, letting John have his more private moment with my mother. She had asked me about buying John a bird, and I'd agreed. I remember how she'd told me what she felt, and how she was so glad that John was here with us. I don't disagree with her. John has felt like my brother since sixth grade, when we would compare drawings in my room, and I would doodle on his face to make constellations out of his freckles. As far as I'm concerned, John is family. Moreso than my father ever was.
"I...Charlotte..." John's voice is watery from the tears no doubt filling his eyes, and I smile just slightly, before reaching over for the knife he put down and placing a potato on the chopping board. John moves slightly, and in the corner of my eye, I can see my mother embracing him. There's an insistent tug on my arm.
"Get in on the love, Ana," John says, a joyful wateryness in his voice. I point to the potato with the knife and look over my shoulder at him.
"But John, the potatoes," I say dramatically. He chuckles, grinning at me and giving my arm another tug.
"The potatoes can wait," he says. I sigh and put the knife down again, turning and joining the embrace between my mother and John. My mother and John both put an arm around me, and I can't help but accept it, planting a kiss on John's temple. He squeezes a little tighter, before there's a harsh sizzling behind my mother, and she pulls out of the hug, cursing under her breath in French.
"I forgot about the steak," she mutters. John and I chuckle, grinning at each other and pulling apart. She waves a hand at us as she flips the steak over in the pan.
"Ne soyez pas paresseux, maintenant. Revenez aux pommes de terre, vous deux (Don't be lazy, now. Get back to the potatoes, you two)," she orders. I nudge John toward the spice cabinet, grinning as I turn back around to the chopping board.
"Yes, mama."
"Skylar?" I ask, reaching out toward her shoulder. She's facing away from me, staring across the field. How did we get here? Where are we? Why is she wearing her prom dress? I watch her hair and dress blow in the gentle breeze. It smells like South Carolina air.
"Sky, talk to me," I beg her, hand touching her shoulder. Her skin is usually warm, so perfectly sunkissed, but now it's...Cold. Dull and greyish in color.
"Sky?" I pull on her arm to turn her, and she turns to face me. I recoil, gasping. A gaping bullet hole lays against the left side of her head, and her eyes are dead and hollow.
"In every life, you hurt me. You leave me to suffer in the dust. You're worse than your father ever was," she says, dull and monotone. Emotionless. She looks up at me, tears rolling down her cheeks. I shake my head.
"No, I've never meant to hurt you! I love you, Skylar!" I yell at her. She scoffs, looking away, leaving the bullet hole facing me.
"If you truly loved me, you would've joined me. If you loved any of them, you would've joined them," she says, her voice steadily growing angrier. I continue to shake my head, not believing her. She's wrong. That's not what they would've wanted.
"You failed to protect them. All of them. Your friends, your family. You couldn't even save any of your children. You failed them, Anastasia. You should've gone with them. It would've been better if you'd gone with them," she growls, turning to glare at me. Blood drips down from the gash in her head, staining the fabric of her dress.
"They all would've been better off if you'd joined me in the ground." A gunshot goes off, and I'm back in our old house in South Carolina. John topples over, a gunshot wound in his chest. Another, and my mother follows him. I can't move. I can't get to them. My eyes are focused on my father, and the gun in his hand.
"Your mother would've been better off without you," he spits. The side of my head is smacked with the butt of the gun, and I crumble to the floor, still unable to move. I hear my father's loud footsteps storming out the front door, and some inner part of me knows that he's going after Nicolette. My sister. He's going to hurt my sister! I remain frozen, no matter how hard I try to get up. Move to John. Move to my mother. Do something. I watch the life drain from their eyes, John's blood pooling beneath me and soaking into my clothes, staining my skin.
"Ana..." His hand reaches for me, falling short of where mine rests against the floor. A tear rolls down his freckled cheek, and I watch him gasp out his last breath. I'm sobbing by now, feeling useless, powerless. Soft footsteps fall against the floorboards, and my eyes look up on their own. Skylar stares down at me, blood still dripping from her head.
"You'll never be anything more than a powerless little girl."
I snap myself up, gasping for air, tears stinging at my eyes. It feels like I can't breathe. John's lifeless body remains clear in my mind. The feeling of blood on my skin. I put my head in my hands, curling my knees close to my chest. I can't breathe. I need air. Please, please. I take gulps of air, still panicking. My mind is running, millions of miles a minute. I can't think. I don't know how to calm down. Only a single thought rings as clearly as the blood and death I can still feel running over me in violent waves: I need to find John. I know where he is, but that doesn't make my movements any less frantic. My feet get tangled in the sheets of the bed, and I fall, bashing my knees on the floor. The adrenaline pushes away any pain, and I yank my legs from the sheets, scurrying to my feet and across the room. John, John, John. His bedroom door is cracked open, and I unceremoniously push it open and steal into the room. He's sleeping peacefully in his bed. I watch the gentle rise and fall of his chest, knowing he's completely unaware of my panic, or the way my heart is racing. I fall against the wall, just watching, breathing. He's ok. I run my hands over my face, trying to keep a sob from leaving my mouth.
"'Na?" I look up and see that he's rolled onto his other side, where he can see me. I swallow, straightening up.
"Hey," I say softly, wiping the tears from my eyes. There's a faint rustling noise, and I look over at him. He's lifted the covers and is patting the bed next to him. I stand still for a moment, hesitant. I should just go back to bed. I know he's ok now, so I should just go back to sleep. However, my feet carry me across the room to his bed, and I crawl over to him. He pulls me to him, keeping me near his chest, before covering us both with the blanket.
"I'm ok," he mumbles wearily, draping an arm over my waist. He kisses my forehead, before I feel him relax and fall back asleep. I blink in the dark, the whirlwind in my head slowly calming. I can feel his heart beating under my palm as it lays against his chest, and I exhale. I tuck my head under his chin, letting my body relax. John is safe. Everything is alright.
AHHH. CHAPTER 15 IS DONE. WE'RE UM. *Calculates* 30% DONE WITH THE STORY! Kinda briefly explored Ana's fears in this chapter, so that's interesting? I dunno. Give me your thoughts!
We also explored the fact that I have been aging Nicolette completely wrong. She's almost two now! I don't know how the hell I thought she was only ten months old, but she's not! My math is so out of wack. My brain is tired, guys, I'm sorry. But, yeah! The baby is actually almost two years old.
Also, I'm working toward 100 followers and already have a Q&A planned for when I hit it, so if you aren't following me, hey, there's no reason not to.
Anyway, back to procrastinating on schoolwork. Au revoir!