LILIANNA'S POV
In the twenty years I have spent on this earth I don't think I've ever felt fully content. In the small things for sure; I was content with my mediocre high school career. I wasn't popular, I was occasionally bullied but wasn't deemed a nerd or targeted for a low social ranking. I suppose that very averageness of my existence in high school gave me time to push myself academically so I could sit just above average with my peers in university. But still, even in my first year of studies I wasn't feeling that whole complete and centred feeling one is meant to when feeling content with life. For a period I wondered if I had needed more friends, wondered if my lack of fulfilment was because I needed to be prettier or skinnier. Maybe the insufficient gap could be filled by a boyfriend? I tried a lot of those things. I immersed myself in college parties to meet new friends, ate healthy, wore make up every. Single. Day. And began a meaningless sexual relationship with a fraternity boy who showed me that it most certainly wasn't an emotionally inept male that I needed to fill the void. It seemed like no matter what I did I was just never quite satisfied with my life.
When my grandmother Mera first got sick I self reflected a lot about what I was doing and how I was using my time. I looked at the things that made me happy - like learning and studying history, Tiffany - who was my only closest friend I had made in my life at the time - and my grandmother. I questioned why these were the only things that stood out to me that really made me happy in life and came to the conclusion that my lack of family, lack of parents and lack of knowledge of who I was and where I came from was the result of both my interests and that ever present inability of feeling content.
How can one be content with themselves if they don't know who they are?
It's been fourteen years since my parents were murdered. Fourteen years of unknowingly struggling with my identity, where I came from and who I was as a person.
But now I know.
I know who my parents are, what they did, what kind of people they were. Seven's reevaluations of my parents secrets were shocking and hard to comprehend at first. I didn't want to believe it, my father a gangster and mother a double agent detective helping bad people get away with the awful crimes they committed. I had cried, a lot, and was sick to my stomach with the truth. But then I began reading my fathers journal. A recollection of the truth first hand, in his own words. My father had expressed a deep guilt for every one of his wrong doings. His struggle between what needed to be done, what could be done and what he wanted to do was evident in the scribblings over the pages. He was a gangster, and I reminded myself not to forget this very fact while reading over his pleads for forgiveness and wagers of family safety that were at stake. But I couldn't help the sense of understanding I felt while reading his journal. And after a few hours of reading there was definitely a sense of forgiveness I felt toward him.
He did what he did to protect the people he loved. Whether that be Ivan, Seven's father, or my mother and myself. The most heartbreaking thing was reading what he would write about my mother and me. He loved us, so fiercely and entirely that reading it kept sending me off into more hysterical crying. As questionable and scary as the life my parents lived they at least had each other's love. And I hope to be lucky enough to find such a love myself.
My father wrote briefly about Seven and only ever referred to him by his real name, Harry. Though he was once referenced as the Seventh Son, in celebration of his birth. He mentioned how happy Harry's parents were when he was born. How his father had shed a tear and shared a drink with mine the hour after his birth. The entry about a four year old Harry touching my mother's swollen pregnant belly in wonder stood out to me. My father noting Harry's cheeky dimpled smile when I had apparently kicked at his hand while inside my mother's stomach and how much he looked like his father Ivan when he smiled.
I knew, after reading about that interaction I had had with Seven before I was even born that there was some unexplainable connection between us. We had found each other again despite the odds of it all, we unknowingly made our way back to one another. That invisible line pulling me to him yet again as he sat in his car outside my apartment.
No matter what we always seem to keep finding our way back to one another. Perhaps, I wondered, if this was because he was destined to be apart of my life. Another piece to helping me feel content and complete. And I knew that this time we would be together; it was time to finally listen to the universe or whatever external force it was that kept bringing us together. I need him and I think he needs me.
Seven's soft snores escape from his parted lips as he sleeps sprawled over my bed. A pillow hugged in his arms, replacing where my body laid about a half hour ago. The dark circles under his eyes slowly fading with every hour of peaceful sleep he gathers. I could see how exhausted he was when he found me in the bar yesterday night, and even more so this morning when I woke him in his car. He had admitted to suffering from many sleepless nights these last few months and when I offered the opportunity to nap together after our bath he was hesitant but eventually accepted.
I know he's probably confused about where we now stand with one another, I also am confused. I've been sitting here at my desk, watching his beautiful face relaxed in slumber, trying to determine how exactly are we going to fit into one another's lives again.
Seven's plans of taking over the gang from his uncle Victor weigh heavily in my mind. Becoming the leader means an even greater risk of danger for him. Am I really prepared to let him become close to me again only for him to be taken away just like my parents were? The thought hurts my heart. I care about Seven so much, more then I am currently willing to admit and to have him taken away indefinitely would crush me. Am I ready to open myself up to such a heartbreak?
Or am I thinking about this all far too early. Seven only just walked back into my life yesterday, and already he has me overthinking and overanalysing everything. I'm torn, conflicted between desperately wanting to protect my own feelings this time and throwing myself head first back into things with him. I can't deny the way I feel about him. He does something to me I can't even explain myself. But the attraction is still there, the magnetic pull from me to him is still ever present. The way I had felt kissing him on that platform this morning was so intense for me and confirmed the chemistry between us is still fiery. I would have given anything for him to touch me in that moment, for both of us to take things too far and I wouldn't of cared of how public it was. I haven't been with anyone else since him, it's been a long time for me.
I wonder, has he been with anyone else these last few months? My stomach twists at the likely hood of Seven sleeping with other women in the time we've been apart. I stare at his naked back, wishing for the brief images of unknown female hands touching him to pass with my thoughts of him and someone else.
With a huff of annoyance I turn to face my desk, looking over the papers outlining my next assignments for the up coming weeks. I had sat here hoping I could use the time he was asleep to study, but I've just been sat here staring at him asleep in my bed and overthinking. I grab the yellow highlighter from the small tin of stationary I have on my desk, open up my Ancient Egypt workbook and begin marking passages related to my assignment.
Successfully distracted by my studies I don't notice the two hours passing by and don't hear Seven waking up in the bed behind me. Completing another sheet of notes, I move it to the stack I have been compiling so far and jump slightly as Seven speaks from over my shoulder.
"The preservation of mummification and ancient Egyptian culture." Seven reads my paper out loud from above me.
"Jesus!" I exclaim, hand clutching at my chest.
"You scared me." I breathe and swivel in my chair to look at him. He leans over me to continue looking over my notes, and I notice how he's dressed himself back in his jeans and black shirt after sleeping in his boxers. Though he hasn't buttoned up his shirt, instead it rests open exposing all the black ink coving his midriff. I swallow hard and tear my eyes away from the sight before he catches me staring.
"That looks bloody awful." He grimaced at the demonstration sketches in my workbook of the mummification process.
"And some cultures would say putting a corpse in a box to decompose underground with all its internal organs is just as awful a concept." I shrug.
"Yeah but... He's fucking picking out the brain with a fork thing." Seven taps at the drawing.
"Well I doubt the person is going to mind that. They're dead." I find it slightly amusing that he's clearly uncomfortable with what he's looking at, brows pulled together in concern even though they're just drawn depictions. I'm sure- no, actually I know Seven has seen much worse in person.
"This is what you learn at uni?" Seven nods down at my book before looking at me.
"Yes. Death and burial rituals are big parts of human histories." I nod.
"You like this stuff?" He asks slightly bewildered which causes a breathy laugh to tumble from my mouth.
"I find it interesting." I shrug in admittance. He looks at me in a way I can't decipher. Intrigued, possibly?
"How did you sleep?" I ask, changing the subject. The dark circles under his eyes have melted away, now replaced by a puffiness to his eyelids I remember he gets when waking up.
"Yes actually. I uh, I haven't slept that well in a very long time." His finger wipes the corner of his eye, riding the residue of sleep from it. I give him a small smile, appeased that he's got a decent sleep - possibly because of my presence. Seven returns my smile before a thought floats across his eyes and he checks the expensive gold watch on his wrist and frowns.
"I have to go." He admits and my heart falls ever so slightly at the news of his leaving.
"I have some work things to sort out." He looks at me.
"Work?" I ask with a frown before shaking my head.
"Never mind. I don't want to know." I admit and Seven gives me one single nod as if to agree that it's best I don't know. The gold of his rings is distracting as he begins to button up the black shirt, my eyes follow the gold collecting the material and pulling it together over his tanned skin, fastening each button. Such a mundane act but I'm lost in a trance watching him dress himself. Seven's fingers halt on the third button from the top, leaving it open where his gold cross necklace is visible like usual. I drag my eyes from his chest to meet his eyes already watching me, a gladdened light shines in them telling me he witnessed my engrossed attention to his actions. I look down at my notes as the embarrassing blush begins to splash at my cheeks.
I hate how I still blush at the silliest of things. We shared a bath together this morning, naked. Both of us, completely naked and yet here I am blushing like a girl in church over him doing up his top. I roll my eyes at myself as Seven begins collecting the few items he brought in with him.
Walking him out to my door I'm not sure what to do other then hold the door open for him awkwardly. We exchanged a quiet goodbye with Seven saying he'll call me at some later stage since he has my new number. I'm surprised when his lips softly press to my forehead in a sweet parting gesture before quickly leaving.
I feel his absence immediately, like warm air escaping out of an open window the room feels slightly colder without him in it. Or perhaps it's just that while he's here my blood runs a little hotter, so it is possible it could just be me dropping in temperature. Either way, I can feel myself starting to miss him. How is it possible to go for months without him, thinking and feeling ill of him for the hurt he caused me, only for it to take twenty four hours since his reentering my life to have me completely under his thumb again.
I collect up my notes, arranging them in perfect order and tucking them away into my binder before reaching for my phone. If I can forgive Seven as easily as I have done, then there's no reason why I shouldn't be forgiving someone else. It's been long enough, and she was only trying to do right by me.
I dial her number and she answers within three short rings.
"Hey, can you meet me?"
——————————————————————