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“We’ve lost Mary.”
That was all the message said; the only words that Beatrice could choke out as tears welled immediately. Her gaze found Ava’s, who, in the span of moments, had stood from the couch and pulled her into her arms. Three seconds ago she had been furious at Ava for her blatant disregard for others. Now, Beatrice clung to her like a life raft holding her afloat.
For weeks after Mary disappeared she – and the others – all carried hope that she would turn up again. She was just off recovering in hiding somewhere, staying safe. If none of them knew where she was, then neither would their enemies, so they prayed. Mary had more enemies than most, after all.
But now? Now she was truly lost to them all. Every last wisp of hope that she might return vanished the moment Beatrice read that second message, those three most damning words.
We’ve lost Mary. Flashed in her head like a neon sign.
They had just lost Shannon, or so it felt like, and now they had lost Mary too? It wasn’t fair. None of it was right. But that was the nature of the OCS – though some small part of her had hoped that Mary would be immune to the curse of death that seemed to befall upon all of those in the Order. She should be used to it, though, the loss and grief an unceasing and sodden mass on her shoulders, but she had yet to grow accustomed to its weight. She doubted she ever would.
Beatrice sobbed then, harder than she thought possible. The kind of sobs where she nearly doubled over, unable to breathe; the spasming of her muscles attempting in vain to expel the sorrow, grief, anger, and injustice she felt. She was silent in that movement as she caved inwards onto Ava, and then she took a heaving inhale, only to exhale it violently a moment later, dragging with it a low sort of moan. She squeezed her eyes shut as tears burned from them. She could not breathe. Mary was gone and she could not breathe.
She could not breathe yet she knew she must. Mary was gone yet Beatrice survived still with a traitorous beating heart and lungs that despite her body’s best efforts, continued to take heaving breaths. Beatrice tried once again to draw air into her lungs but she was crumbling, dizzy with the news and all it brought with.
Yes, she had kept Mary alive in the back of her mind for months, not wanting to believe she was gone. But now she knew it to be true. And another truth came to light simultaneously – it was her fault that Mary was gone. She should have done more, jumped into the fray of people and pulled her out, or simply gotten to Adriel sooner to give her time to recoup.
But none of those things were possible because Beatrice worked with a team, her family, and it would have gone much worse without the plan they had executed. Her faith had already begun to splinter over the last two months, and she had begun questioning things she had thought to be true her entire life. With this news, her faith in God fractured further yet.
Why would He have let Beatrice fail in her mission to protect those around her? Did He want to see her fall apart so completely that she never could return to the way she had been before? If so, it was working. That, along with Adriel pushing until he found the point at which she would break, then pushed a little more until she broke. That feeling consumed her every fiber, now.
Until it didn’t.
Her sense of awareness expanded, and with it, an unsteadying dizziness that sent her knees buckling. Ava, holding on so tight, refused to let her fall. Instead, Ava leaned sideways into the bed to keep them both upright for a few moments longer. She heard her shuddering breaths and felt the shaking shoulders beneath her fingertips that pressed tightly into Ava.
She felt guilt that clawed and gnawed its way through her. She felt guilt that smothered; that burned; that sliced.
Perhaps most sharply, however, she felt guilt that shattered.
It left her in pieces on the floor, desperately trying to scrape herself back together before Ava could step on her shards and shatter, too.
Beatrice? Beatrice was already broken. But no one else needed to be — not on her behalf. Not if she had any say in the matter.
Any and all of her walls fell to pieces as the knowledge sank in harder, as the last message still buzzed through her, and as she became aware, suddenly, that she was not the only one feeling undone. Ava was in her arms, tightly holding Beatrice together at the ribcage.
She, too, was sobbing from where Beatrice felt her face pressed into the nook between shoulder and neck.
She didn’t realize how tightly she was clinging to Ava, and vice versa, having now sunk to the floor with her beside the bed until, with one shuddering breath, she opened her eyes and tilted her head up. Ava lifted her head at the slight movement, and her expression of shock and grief painted a stark portrait. She was just as hurt as Beatrice – why wouldn’t she be? She watched tears streak silently down her face and focused wholly on Ava.
Pulling away only enough to readjust her arm, she wiped gently at Ava’s tears until they slowed. Neither of them spoke for a long time until Ava, sniffling, broke the relative silence.
“I kept thinking she’d just show back up, y’know?”
“Me too.”
“I can’t believe she –” Ava’s face crumpled once again with fresh tears, and then Beatrice was crying all over again, heart squeezing as the knowledge bowled her over. It took them both several minutes until they could hold any sort of proper conversation.
“We can’t sit here crying forever. We still have to get back to the Order as soon as possible."
Ava gave a tiny wry laugh, “Can’t we, though? Aren’t we allowed at least a night to absorb what we just learned? To process it before jumping into the next thing? To let us breathe before we have to face anyone else? To let the world stop spinning for one fucking second? ”
“Aren’t you the one who said we’re hiding away up here and we shouldn’t be?”
“That was until we got this news.”
Surprised by her insistence on staying, Beatrice frowned slightly. “Ava, we have to go. It’s not an option.”
“We’ll have to book a train – the next one leaving won’t be until morning anyway, right?” A sort of desperation was creeping into her voice and Beatrice was almost willing to concede just to get rid of it.
“That’s not how train schedules work.”
“Can you just – I just told you how I didn’t ask for any of this and now you’re fighting me for wanting to grieve for one goddamn second?”
Beatrice sighed despite the hitching still in her breath. Two feelings grappled within her. The nun, devoted to the church and knowing she should follow her orders without question or hesitation; and the woman, heart split in two over the loss of her sister, wanting everything to stop so that she might reel back in her thoughts and emotions.
She knew what to do in situations like this – she should do just as she did for Shannon, only stopping for a moment to say goodbye before carrying on the fight. It was what she would have done mere months ago. But then she and Ava arrived in Switzerland in an idyllic, quiet town that served a purpose of slowing her racing pulse and showing her how life might be.
They trained and studied, but they also sat on the edge of the lake and laughed together. They spent evenings watching whatever terrible reality show Ava had managed to find on the ancient, square television, and tried their hand at baking a cake from scratch. She had come to know what it was like to enjoy her life, if only for brief moments in between fulfilling her life's purpose: to protect and train the Warrior Nun for whatever was next. And if she was honest, she was enjoying getting to know Ava in a light outside of the mission.
Beatrice warred with herself for long enough to see Ava growing impatient and spoke without fully considering her words. “I want that too. I want –” She stopped herself quickly as her mind caught up with her mouth, pressing her lips together and shaking her head. She couldn’t voice what she truly felt.
“What do you want?” Ava asked softly, as if she understood the importance of saying what she was holding back.
“I want. . .I want this to be over. So things can go back to normal.”
“I don’t think things will ever go back to normal, Bea.” Ava cautioned. “Everything is changing."
“I know everything is changing. I want it to stop.” Beatrice snapped, having had enough of Ava’s pushback.
“Then let’s stop it. Just for now, please?” Ava said, shaking the hand that now threaded between hers. “It’s late, I’m tired, and sad, and I don’t even want to think about packing everything we own into two suitcases right now. So can we? Just until morning?”
Beatrice sighed again, unable to stand the desperation still tinging Ava’s tone. Her stubbornness was something Beatrice had yet to decide if she liked or not. “Okay. Just until morning.”
Ava cracked the barest of smiles and leaned in to hug her again. “Thank you.”
“Should we make some tea?” Beatrice asked, resigning herself to the fact that they would likely be awake for some time yet. She knew she herself certainly wouldn’t be able to sleep any time soon.
Two hours and two mugs each of tea later, Beatrice lay on her side, back to the wall and facing Ava as she slid under the sheets beside her. She sighed heavily, now feeling the need to make sure Ava knew how she felt about accusing her of selfishness in the face of overwhelming responsibility. “I’m sorry, Ava, if this isn’t the way you thought things would turn out.”
Ava’s brow crinkled slightly, “This?”
“Your life. Being the Halo Bearer and all this responsibility. Your circumstances changed, yet you still get little freedom of choice even being in the Order. I’m sorry we never gave you that choice.” She knew, now, what Ava meant during their earlier argument. She had gone from one institution to another – under different rules this time, but rules nonetheless. Beatrice knew what that was like to not have a choice, and guilt reared its head again as she came to the realization that Ava was no less confined than before.
Ava’s expression softened, “You already apologized earlier.”
“That was before I realized that we are both equally trapped in this life – just in different ways.” Beatrice reached towards Ava, taking the hand that lay between them and squeezing it lightly between hers in the way Ava had earlier on the couch. She attempted a smile and was relieved when Ava returned it.
“It might not be fair how I ended up here, but I think I still got a pretty good deal to be here with you than someone else.”
Beatrice’s heart leapt, and her smile softened into something more genuine. Ava’s smile widened too, but it wobbled ever so slightly. “This would be quite a bit harder without you, Ava.”
“Ditto, Bea.” Ava gave a halfhearted chuckle so quiet that Beatrice almost missed it except for the slight shrug of her shoulders. Then she yawned and let her eyes drift close. Beatrice watched her for far longer than she wanted to admit until her eyelids grew too heavy to stay open.
Beatrice woke up crying, her body reacting to the weight of grief long before she was fully conscious. As she began to stir, she felt arms wrapped around her and a body pressed the length of her own. It was familiar, yet new. Had she ever been held like this before? Ava’s warmth and comfort bled into her from behind as she rested her chin on her shoulder and murmured soft reassurances. Beatrice ignored the flare of shame that came with the inability to reign in her emotions, trying to focus instead on what Ava was saying.
“It’s okay, Beatrice. I’m right here, you’re safe. Mary is just over in that next life now with Shannon. It’ll be okay; it has to be.” Even whispering, Beatrice could hear her voice break slightly.
She tried to reply, but the burning lump in her throat refused to let words past. For several seconds she worked to compose herself enough to speak. “I knew she was gone, but I didn’t truly believe that was true until now. But. . . we cannot change what is, only what will be.” Her words directly contradicted her emotions. She had dealt with loss before, but this one felt personal. Like Mary had left her specifically.
It had taken until that morning for her to finally accept it. To finally surrender to the undertow of her grief and let it swallow her whole. Neither of them moved for several minutes until Beatrice finally felt her tears slow and her staccato breathing even out. Ava’s arms relaxed around her as if preparing for her to get up and leave her warm embrace. But she didn’t want to; she wasn’t quite ready to face the day ahead of her yet despite her insistence last night that they leave immediately.
Their closeness didn’t really sink in until Beatrice rolled over and found herself face to face with Ava so closely that their noses brushed. Ava didn’t move away, and after a moment’s hesitation, Beatrice relaxed onto the pillow once again and let Ava continue to hug her. It was comforting, her arms around her. She so rarely was offered comfort like this, and Ava gave it so freely and at all times that it took her aback most of the time.
But right now, Beatrice was content to take this physical affection being offered. It had become almost second nature by now – around Ava, it seemed, she could not help herself when it came to touch. She never had been, really. From the very beginning, there was something so tactile about the way she interacted with her that stood in sharp contrast to anyone else in the convent.
Ava met her gaze, her brown eyes warm and steady and red-rimmed. They didn’t say anything, but they didn’t need to. Beatrice understood her now, and herself all the more for it. Ava would stand by her in joy and in sorrow. A pillar of strength and comfort that she could take refuge in. It was different from how she felt around the others in the convent, but she liked it nonetheless.
And as they lay there, knowing what was to come next, Beatrice considered the grief now weighing her down. It wasn’t so much the sorrow of losing Mary that she was feeling. It was more so that all of the love she had for her had nowhere to go anymore. It was aimless and drifting. Untethered.
But the thing people got wrong about grief was this: it’s not love, lost. It’s love, transformed – love, rehomed. Love, persevering. Love, spread like stardust to the others she held dear to her heart.
She had never taken her sisters for granted, per-se, but each act of love would mean more now. It would also ache more as the love that once went to Mary struggled to find a new home.
But eventually it would. And she had so much love to give, now.
So give it she would.