𝓕𝓲𝓿𝓮

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𝑽𝑰𝑺𝑰𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑯𝑶𝑼𝑹𝑺
"𝓦𝓲𝓼𝓱 𝓲 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓰𝓸 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓷𝓸𝔀, 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓼𝓵𝓸𝔀 𝓭𝓸𝔀𝓷."
°✯•.🧵°❀.•𖦹°.•

"ALRIGHT, YOU'RE FLIGHT is at one, so just try to make the most of it

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"ALRIGHT, YOU'RE FLIGHT is at one, so just try to make the most of it. Your mother really wanted to see you." James insisted, checking his watch as they made it to Lucy's mother's floor.

Lucy knew of her mother's insistence. She'd sent a plethora of voicemails to her father, arguing about seeing her daughter when she was out of the hospital.

Sometimes it scared the man how fierce that woman could be. So he drove up to Genova not long after Lucy's Podium.

"So you think she's better now. I mean, really?"

"I'm sure she's just fine honey." Her father didn't sound awfully confident when he knocked on the plain white door, 305 sitting in gold upon little splinters.

Elize had a bored look on her face when she opened the door to her ex-boyfriend. Though she lightened up a fair bit when she cast her eyes down to Lucy.

"Lucille." She hummed, placing a hand on her daughter's hair and brought her in for a hug, holding her loosely to give James an odd look.

He cleared his throat. "Um, hello Elize."

"James."

"We can't stay long, but you wanted Lucy for the evening."

Elize's eyes widened a minute before she looked to the side and shook her head. James knew she fought all her problems internally. But it brought a crease to his brow. How did she forget something concerning Lucille?

"Okay- well come in." She didn't wait for them, smiling at Lucy briefly before walking further into her apartment.

James offered to buy dinner before even really stepping a foot past the open door. Leaving Lucy with a kiss on her hair and her mother was a nod and a hesitant smile.

Her mother muttered something incoherent as she walked to the small kitchen, scratching out a note on a small list on her fridge.

Lucy stood awkwardly beside the now-closed door. It had only been a year, but Lucy had grown so foreign to her childhood home.

"Come sit sweaty." Her mother sang, taking up her space on the low carpeted sofa. She lays scarves and throws across the dark orange cushions.

A little star-covered pillow sat just below. Lucy sat there since she was around seven years old, her mother doing up her hair countless times in different styles for school, till eventually the little track stationed two miles away, where she'd meet her father.

"So how did the race go?" She asked as if Lucy was still living in the room upstairs. Like she hasn't missed a year of her daughter's life. It might have been selfish with how fragile her mother looked in the hospital months before, but how did she get to be so normal about this?

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