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The ancient Celts used to mourn their loved ones with wailing and shrinking.
Which is stupid. Death is a part of life.
Death is something that Villanelle is used to seeing on a regular basis, due to her lifestyle. She’s become accustomed to seeing souls sink further into themselves and the emptying eyes that come with death. It surrounds her, confining her to a cold hearted, unloved existence. She’s used to it, she’s in control of it. Every drop of blood is usually her own doing, it’s become comforting. The sweet nectar of crimson spilling from another person, watching the life drain from their eyes. She gets to control who lives or dies, and there are no unwelcome surprises. It’s something she can see, something that makes sense to her, something she can understand.
Grief however, grief is something she doesn’t see, and truly doesn’t understand. It creeps up on you when you least expect it and tears you limb from limb. She, unlike the ancient celts, has never wailed over a person's death, but then again she’s never cared about anyone before, not really, or at least she hadn’t thought she did. Even eve, she kept bottled, she’d done everything she could to escape it. Villanelle had only experienced grief one time, when her father died, but she barely remembers it. The most she remembers is the overwhelming heartache, and her mother telling her she didn’t deserve to cry. She had learned not to hurt, not to feel. That time of her life is just a blur.
Yet it still itches itself into every crevice of your mind until you can't breathe.
“Pam, she killed Konstantin.”
She feels the blood sink down and her stomach keel over, a lump forming within her throat. The phenomenon prevents the oxygen from reaching her lungs as she attempts to swallow a dry nothingness.
But she doesn’t cry, her face doesn’t distort, and she holds her posture. If she moves she knows she’ll fall.
It doesn’t feel real, it can't be real?
“But I saw him a few days ago?”
Carolyn sighs, reaching into her pocket and picking out a half crumpled note, her face that of someone tired beyond her years, battling a war she’s destined to lose. Villanelle notices the striking difference between this and the women she’d played truth or dare with just a few weeks ago. She sits the paper flat against her palm and flattens it down with the other hand, attempting to get it back to its former glory.
“He wrote me a letter, I think he knew what was coming,” she says, extending her arm to offer it to Villanelle.
She wills her body to move, and takes it. It’s filled out in english, the words crisp and neat. His handwriting stared back at her with a pitiful vengeance, and she suppressed a sob trying to wrack itself through her chest.
Carolyn,
If you're seeing this, well… you know what’s happened.
I’m sorry it had to end this way, look out for Pam, don’t blame her. I know what you're like for holding grudges.
Try and take care of Irina for me, she’s a little brat but she still needs someone, and I’ll look after our son.
I love you.
- Konstantin
She rereads it three times, just to check what she saw, just to check if she’d… missed anything. And she swallows, looking up but avoiding the gaze of both the women sitting with her.
“What about me?”
Carolyn doesn’t reply, just sends her a sympathetic look, and Villanelles' heart drops.
She still doesn’t cry.
Psychopaths don’t cry, even as a baby.
She doesn’t put up much protest when she’s dragged all the way back to their cabin, and she doesn’t put up much protest when Eve sits next to her on the bed, drawing her closer.
It's not fair that Konstantin doesn’t have to bother thinking about her, she shouldn’t either, and yet she cant shake the persistent throbbing of her head. Its not fair that she has to spare him a second thought. Its not fair that she didn’t get a stupid letter, and that she didnt get to say a stupid goodbye to him. Why should pam get to, and not her?
Fuck Konstantin, fuck all of them.
She feels pressure, grounding her. Villanelle had barely noticed the woman next to her, her mind disorientated, disassociated with reality. Soft fingers caress over the expanse of her cheek, pushing back a strand of hair that's fluttering in front of her face. It’s silent, sneaking up on her and snatching her whole.
‘Oxsana,’ Eve breathes.
And suddenly she is crying.
Suddenly, the sobs are uncontrollable and tear through her body. It swells up into her chest and down into her bones, suffocating her. Fuck konstantin for doing this to her.
Her body convulses, translucent stains shimmering in the light. She doesn’t even feel the arm snake around her body until it's the only thing holding her up. Her only defence against the ferocious waves crashing down.
She barely feels when Eve’s arms wrap around her until she is fully embraced. Villanelle melts into her, holding on for dear life, because right now, it's the only thing keeping her afloat. Her mould erupts into hers as they hold each other, and she doesn’t think she's ever been this vulnerable in front of another person.
She thought he cared about her, she thought he worried about her…
He was her only family, but he had his own family, and his own life, so she guesses he must not have cared about her as much as she thought he had.
‘It’s your fault he’s dead Oxsana! He killed himself because you couldn’t behave.’
It had been years since she’d thought about it. She’d told Anna he was a drunk, because how else was she supposed to explain where she’d gotten all the gifts from. The perfume, the jewellery? She couldn’t exactly admit to her teacher that she’d stolen them, despite how fucked up Anna’s morals were. After that she’d just told everyone else the same thing, because it was easier than admitting the truth, because it was easier to keep him locked away in a bottle and thrown to sea.
Her face buries itself into Eve's shoulder involuntarily. Eve doesn’t hesitate, clutching her like she’ll never let go. Her warmth sustains her, engulfing every unspoken word between them, and it dawns on Villanelle that she’s never had someone hold her when she cries.
What to do when the rug gets torn from under your feet, forcing you weak at the knees? She can feel the walls closing in on her. Konstantin’s gone, and now it's only a matter of time. The only person she’s got left is Eve, they’ve only got each other.
She can feel her hands on her face again, pulling her back. It’s like she can read her mind, her soul, and understand her more than she thought any human being could. She tells her it's okay, that he did love her, as she kisses away the tears, one by one. Even when more keep coming, even when she fears they’ll never stop, she’s there.
There’s not a moment that she tries to jerk away, or hide herself, which is a side to her Eve’s never seen before. She’s grateful to be held, to be cared for, because she’s never allowed herself to feel like this before… It's kind of nice. She didn’t think it was possible to feel such comfort in grief. All the pent up anger and pain just pours out of her, the emotions exploding into chaos. It just hurts, and she can’t even wrack up the courage to want to be angry, to want to kill Pam, or to even be furious with him. She’s just distraught, more than she ever thought she could be.
She’d seen it coming, but she didn’t think he’d actually just.. die. He’s never died before, and he’s come close so many times.
She misses him more than she thought she thought she would.