WE'RE BACK WITH THE BABIES. A little angst again, but not much. We aren't at Chapter 9 levels anymore. I don't think I'll write anything that angsty again for AnaVerse (though I warn you that these next few chapters will not lack angst by any means). This is a much shorter chapter and it has been so refreshing to write. I don't have to have twelve tabs open with notes about all these historical figures, or have my calculator open constantly to check the ages of my children to make sure I know how old they are when they DIE. Yeah, it's been nice. This is a fluffy chapter, so I hope you enjoy!
Warning: Google Translate French
Much Love, Krissy
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Senior Year (Two Weeks Before Graduation):
I look at the rain outside my window, watching as it pelts down on anyone unlucky enough to be stuck in it. I've always liked the rain. It's pretty. I sigh and stare blankly out the window. I'm still not completely recovered from the Relive. Sometimes I'll think of John and briefly think he's dead, and that usually results in tears. I think about all the friends I had, and I wonder if I'll meet them again in this life. I found John...Maybe I'll find them too? I'm suddenly pulled from my thoughts as I see a boy running through the rain, arms over his head. But it's not just a boy. It's John. I cock an eyebrow in confusion, and see he's running toward my house. Immediately, I jump up from my window perch and run from the room. I get downstairs just as he starts pounding on the door. Clearly he doesn't have his key with him. I go to the door and open it, immediately being embraced by my sopping wet best friend.
"John?" I ask, concerned. He squeezes me tighter.
"I remembered," he says into my shoulder. I relax and return his hug, ignoring that he's getting my shirt all wet. He's not crying, but he's shaking.
"Anastasia, dear, who was at the-" my mother's question is interrupted when she sees us. She quickly walks over.
"Oh, John, darling, you're soaked to the bone. We need to get you into dry clothes," she says. John slowly nods, but doesn't let me go. I run my hand up and down his back.
"Come on, mon amour. Let me take care of you," I mutter. He nods and I pull back just a little, putting an arm around his shoulders and leading him through the house.
"You should take a warm shower, alright? I'll sit right outside if you need me," I say. He nods silently and goes into the bathroom, closing the door behind him so that he can get undressed. I, on the other hand, quickly run upstairs to my room. He's stayed the night enough times that he keeps clothes here. I get him something else to wear and grab a towel from the hall closet, before going back to the bathroom where I left him. I hear the shower running, but still knock.
"Come in," he responds softly. I open the door and put his fresh clothes and the towel on the counter.
"Anastasia?" I look toward the door, and my mother is standing outside the door. She points to where John has discarded his wet clothes on the floor and I nod. I pick them up and hand them to her, and she closes the door.
"Why'd you run through the rain, love? You have a car," I say, sitting down on top of the toilet lid. I cross my legs and stare down at my nails, picking at them slightly.
"It ran out of gas a block from here," he responds softly. I sigh.
"Honey..." I trail off, unsure of how to respond. He's quiet for a moment, and I can tell he's just standing under the warm water.
"Can I use your shampoo?" he asks softly. I chuckle a little.
"If you don't mind your hair smelling like lavender and rosemary, go ahead," I say. He chuckles a little himself, and I hear the cap open.
"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask after a moment. There's a long pause, and I don't push him. I sit in silence for a few more minutes, listening for anything wrong, before the water shuts off. I pick up the towel and stand up, walking over to the shower. I close my eyes as I hold the towel inside the shower for him. He takes it, then takes my hand and holds it. I squeeze his hand and run my thumb across it. His breathing stutters, and then he lets go. I take a step back and turn my back away, eyes remaining closed. I hear him dry off and get dressed before he buries his face into the crook of my neck and wraps his arms around my waist. I run my hands slowly up and down his arms, letting him stay there for as long as he wants. Eventually, though, there's a wet spot on the back of my shirt from his hair dripping, which he mutters a soft apology for. He pulls his head away, and I turn around to look at him. He's not crying, but he looks somewhere between upset and numb. I get another towel and have him sit down before I softly towel dry his hair. He closes his eyes and hums slightly. I haven't seen him this quiet since Francis had to leave. He hasn't let himself be seen like this since Francis left. When I finish drying his hair, I take his hand and pull him up. We leave the bathroom and I lead him upstairs to my room. I pull him down and we lay on my bed, both on our sides and facing one another. I don't let go of his hand. When I squeeze his hand, he finally looks at me again.
"I felt myself die again. I felt the fear and the sadness and the regret. And I was angry...So angry I wasn't going to be able to go back to you, and my goddaughter. And I kept going to see you as a ghost, but I'd have to leave you and it hurt every single time..." his voice catches, and I shift closer to him, pressing my forehead against his.
"But that was then, and we're here now. I'm not going anywhere, honey," I say softly, giving his hand another firm squeeze. He drapes an arm over my waist and closes his eyes, pulling me closer to him.
"I love you, Ana. I don't ever want to lose you," he says softly. I tilt my head up and kiss his forehead, and he ducks his head and nestles it under my chin. I feel him relax. I can smell my shampoo in his hair, and I reach my arm over him to gently play with the ends of his curls. He sighs and melts into my hold. As I lay there, I think about how much he had to go through in his past life, only knowing the things I saw. I want to protect him from that pain. I love him so dearly, and I never want him to be hurt again. His breathing deepens, and I realize he's fallen asleep. I kiss the top of his head and close my eyes, letting myself fall asleep holding him.
I'm awakened by a sudden jolt next to me, and ragged breathing. I open my eyes, and John is sitting upright, curled into a tight ball. I immediately sit up and touch his shoulder. He flinches, but quickly turns to look at me. I gently put my hand on his shoulder again, holding his almost fearful gaze. He practically jumps on me in the next second, wrapping his arms around me. His face is once again buried into my chest. I lay back down with him, holding him and running my fingers through his hair. He exhales a shaky breath against my skin, but neither of us speak. We silently lay there, staying in each other's hold. He relaxes again over time, but I can tell he's still awake, and far from calm. I think for a moment, trying to find a way to calm him down.
"Can I count your freckles?" I ask. He lifts his head slightly to give me a confused look. He nods after a moment, and we turn onto our sides. He holds my gaze, and I smile softly at him as I push his hair back a little.
"One," I mutter, kissing his forehead. He jumps slightly and I pull my head back. He holds my gaze for a moment before smiling a little. I smile back.
"Two, three, four, five, six, seven..." I leave a kiss somewhere different each time. His cheeks, the end of his nose, his eyelid. He ends up giggling, which is one of my favorite noises.
"Feel better?" I ask. He nods and smiles, tucking me into his arms. I stay there silently for a minute, looking at him.
"C'était un cauchemar? (Was it a nightmare?)" I ask softly. He nods slightly and I squeeze him a little tighter.
"Veux-tu en parler? (Do you want to talk about it?)" I ask. He sighs against me, but doesn't move.
"You saved my life, but you died instead, and no matter how many times the dream replayed, I couldn't stop you," he mutters. He sounds like the words physically pain him to say, and it breaks my heart at a deep level. I take his hand and hold it between us, pushing my forehead against his.
"I'm right here," I say softly. He nods and pulls my hand up, kissing my knuckles.
"I know. I just needed to see you to remember that," he says. I smile a little and squeeze his hand.
"You wanna stay here tonight?" I ask. He smiles a little bit and nods again.
"Yeah, I'd like that."
John's POV (WHAT?!):
"Anastasia, please don't go. Don't leave me. Stay alive, please!" I sob, holding my best friend in my arms. She chokes, and I feel her blood soaking into my coat and breeches. A few tears roll down her face.
"Live," she whispers, putting a hand over my heart. I watch her breathe her last breath, and then she falls limp, eyes staring blankly up at the sky.
"Ana! No, no...Ana!"
I wake up in a cold sweat, my heart pounding. My eyes open to the dark room. Moonlight flickers in through the window, and I can make out the silhouette beside me. Anastasia is sleeping with her back facing me, and I scoot closer to press my forehead against her back. I can faintly feel the thump of her heart through it, and feel her breathing. I exhale with relief and close my eyes, focusing on her breathing. There's suddenly a hand around my wrist, which pulls my arm over her. My palm is pressed flat against her chest, where I can feel her heartbeat properly.
"M' right here," she mutters softly. I open my eyes and stare at the back of her head for a moment, before moving closer and squeezing her waist with my arm. I can tell this isn't just a gesture to remind me that she's alive, but also one to remind me that she's real, and this isn't a fucked up dream. I can feel the heat rolling off her in waves, and feel the rise and fall of her chest as she breathes. Anastasia is safe. Pressing my face lightly into her hair, I relax and let myself fall back asleep, fear - at least for the moment - completely absent. I can say with certainty that some universal fate has made sure she is always by my side. My best friend. My Anastasia.
Heyyyy~ I switch the point of view for once. That's a rare occasion! It will be back to Anastasia's POV next chapter, but I just wanted to give a little tidbit of John and an inner view of how he feels about Anastasia. I'll try to update more frequently now, since these chapters will not be NEARLY as big as Chapter 9. Anyway.
Thanks for reading! Play nice.