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“The woman on the phone, what was she like?”
“...Controlling, selfish, delusional.”
If there was something Eve loved, it was to lie.
Okay, maybe that was a bit of exaggeration. All of those things had fit Villanelle to an extent, it wasn’t exactly a lie- more like a half truth.
Villanelle wasn’t fully like that though. Outwardly, she was funny, impulsive... but she could also be cold and unreadable.
She was so many things, a pool of words that seem to float around and ripple out forever.
The woman, head to toe in floral print and colorful jewelry, pouted. Fernanda was feeling for Eve, who she knew only as Nicole in Eve’s attempt to do some digging.
It was working, she was buttering Fernanda up- the alcohol also helped in her attempt to bring this woman's walls down; to get her to let Eve in, let her know Helene through someone else- someone who had their heart broken by her.
All Eve needed to do was feign sympathy.
“You gotta cut her out, Nicole. She only gets to play games if you agree to play them,” Fernanda follows the declaration with a small hiccup.
If Villanelle were any other person, Fernada would’ve hit the nail on the head- cutting someone out was a logical option when it came to toxic relationships.
But she wasn’t someone else; she was Villanelle.
Sure, Villanelle had played games that Eve had agreed to but within these past few months, something had shifted- changed.
Eve was sure of her geyser of feelings for the blonde, constantly shimmering below the surface, and if her life was a biography for the whole world to read, everyone else would know it too.
Who else would keep up a years-long chase, destroy every relationship they had, just for an assassin who’s case they were assigned to? From when Eve had first heard about her, her kills, she was hooked. She had analyzed every frame, every detail. She imagined her as faceless- nameless- but, still present as ever, you’d know her when you’d see her.
But those were just fantasies, this was real life.
Who even thought about these things? Certainly not someone who wasn’t obsessed. Not someone who didn’t think about their target’s delicate features, their catlike eyes, wide and alert, their high cheekbones, and definitely not their full li-
“It was so cruel because she knew that my husband had just left,” Fernanda’s words slice their way through the train of thought.
“Oh!” Eve blinks back into reality and refocuses on the subject at hand, “you were married?”
“Five years.”
“Oh.”
“He was rich, big box rich,” Fernanda chuckles with the low laugh of a purring cat. She didn’t seem like Helene’s type- but then again, Helene was unknowable. Possibly just another woman to string along for the thrill.
Eve needed to probe deeper.
“What did he do? Was he like, in finance?” Eve sat up and stared at her with wide eyes- interested, yes, she needed to act interested, and clueless. She flashed a wide grin, the official ‘Tallulah Shark’ grin, the grin Yusuf had caught her practicing in the mirror and teased her about.
“Oh, you know what?” Fernanda paused, and then smiled, as if she was telling a simple story and was just now getting to the part where the character’s view shifts permanently.
Finally, “I have no idea. I was never allowed to ask.”
“Ah-”
“But! I found out why.”
“Why?”
Fernanda chuckled low and loose again, she was quickly getting tipsy. She took another swig of her drink before continuing, “I find these letters, from this woman. He's clearly been shacking up with her every time he's out of town.”
Eve scoffs, thinking of Gemma for a quick second, but then quickly banishes it because that will bring thoughts of Niko.
“So, you know what? I confronted him. And he walked out. Never came back.”
“So, you haven't talked to him since and you don't know where he is?”
“Mm-hm.”
“Well, where could he be?” Eve, blinks, genuinely eager to hear now, not just for digging purposes
Fernanda fully laughs, a loud cackle from her chest that’s accompanied by a wide grin, “I don't know! And that's why I'm here.”
Niko enters her thoughts again without permission- she hasn't talked to him since the hospital: why would she? He wanted nothing to do with her. Eve’s last bit of normalcy, last cling of life that wasn’t Villanelle, was sick of her. He was in Poland no doubt, and his voice had probably recovered as best as it could- pitchfork to the throat be damned.
A heavy feeling settles in Eve’s chest, starting to pulling the edges of her facade as Nicole, but thankfully Fernanda continues, “I have nothing left in Cuba.”
“God, and then you met Helene,” a full hearted attempt at regaining her thoughts, to try and take control of the situation.
Control. What she needs is control.
She always needs control: of environments, of people, her feelings, always pushing people away... pushing Villanelle away. The one person who understands her the most in the entire world, she pushed away in favour of control. Even when Villanelle accepted her darkest impulses, encouraged them even, Eve still refuses to let go.
“Ah! And then Poof!” Ferndanda exclaims, waving her hands in the air, “she vanishes, does the same as him.”
Fernanda slips back in her seat with another hiccup.
"Mmm..” Eve is hardly listening now, still in her own head. She barely notices when Fernanda takes a bite of her pastry she’d ordered earlier and gags.
“I think this is out of date.”
Eve snaps back again, a quick question of how Fernanda hadn’t noticed she was zoned out coming to mind- it could easily be the wine, “oh, you know, we should get you some water…”
“I need the bathroom,” Fernanda slurs, “sorry,” and then excuses herself, almost tripping over her chair.
“Oh...um- let me know if you need anything!” Eve calls after her, now alone in the booth.
Eve suddenly remembers why she’s here, and quietly shuffles through Fernanda’s purse. She checks for peering eyes and snaps a photo of her ID.
As she’s going to put it back, she notices a newspaper article of a young woman and an older man. Curious, Eve picks it up.
The headline is as clear as day with bold lettering taking up a quarter of the page
VICAR AND DAUGHTER BRUTALLY MURDERED WITH TENT POLE
It’s not the headline that leaves her feeling like the air in her lungs has suddenly traveled up and found a home in her throat- no, it’s the face
Dark honey blond hair, full lips- delicate features.
Eve decides to settle on focusing on her eyes: dark, empty, yet wide and alert.
She nearly panics, but only nearly. It’s followed by a wash of calm.
It isn't her problem. Isn't her circus- isn’t her monkeys.
Villanelle probably did this because she can’t stay steady, it’s in her nature to kill, always has been and always will be. The Christian thing was bullshit, the baptism was bullshit.
The whole idea of change was bullshit.
Right?
She shakes her head- not Eve’s circus, not Eve’s monkeys.
When she exits the pub before Fernanda gets back, having everything she needed from her, the calm is overwhelmingly quiet.
Her mind is quiet.
She’d never admit it, but for once she wishes it was full. The piercing silence becomes too much and she stops walking. Eve forces her mind to travel back to... back to where?
The bus.
Back to the seat, the damp and cold air. The gray and cloudy day; back to ‘Hi, Eve.’
The slaps, hits... the kiss- back to the bruises, all rewinding in her mind. A supercut of moments that are stitched together in a quilt of ruining- a quilt of love.
How long has she been walking for- where is she going? Back to the hotel? To Yusuf? Back to distractions? To normalcy?
To her?
Back to the stuffed bear.
All royal in pink, fuzzy and girly- a red, flashing heart. A beating heart. Her heart. Eve’s heart is beating, she can hear its bloody roar in her ears.
She can’t control it.
Admit it, Eve.
It rings like a bell in her mind- a remembering of sorts. Eve goes further, not that she could stop it anyway: she goes to Rome, to the blood splattered on her face, on her clothes. The weight of a thousand pounds of the world in her hand in the shape of an axe.
Back to the dull yet sharp pain of the bullet in the back- back to Bill, her friend, her best friend...
Why can’t she remember his voice?
Bill, bleeding out from what looked like a hundred cuts on the dance floor. The knife to his chest might as well have been from her hand. He walked into her trap, unknowingly for both of them.
She’s been living like this forever, guilt eating at her- forever
Her hair is dark blonde, maybe honey? It was tied back. She was slim, about 25, 26. She had very delicate features..her eyes are sort of cat-like. Wide, but alert. Her lips are full, she has a long neck, high cheekbones. Her skin is smooth and bright..she had a lost look in her eye, that was both direct and also chilling. She’s totally focused, yet almost entirely inaccessible.
Experiencing forever- she can’t stop.
She never could.
In spite of the ghosts behind her, beckoning her, and in spite of herself, Eve keeps walking.
You wish I was here.
Eve can’t stop walking.