Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
10
Over the past week, since her mother had suddenly appeared in the door step and Grace Shelby had been murdered, she hadn't slept. The first time that she had, she was woken after an hour in the late morning by shouts coming from outside of the house. The voice was familiar, and as her surroundings went silent for a moment, she had wondered whether it had been the last noise from a dream, or her mind playing tricks, but the voice screamed again, more urgently and Ana knew it was real.
She slipped out of bed quickly, pulling a dressing gown to over her shoulders to cover her sleep wear and headed down the stairs. At the bottom of the hallway, her mother had already made her way to the door and was hurrying to unlock and open it. Only seconds after, Tatiana was pulling her away, urging her to move so she could push out instead.
"Come on out then! Don't be scared!" John Shelby screamed just as the door was pulled open.
"What is the meaning of this?" Ekaterina snapped. "Tatiana?"
"Don't look at me." She insisted, her head twisting to look at her sister as she appeared by her side.
"Come out! Come out!" John shouted, his eyes not yet meeting the figure at the door as he stumbled about the long, paved pathway.
"Go inside. I will sort this." Anastasiya whispered, urging them both behind the door and closing it again, blocking them from view.
"John. What are you doing?"
Ana moved swiftly away from the statues by the door and down the steps. He had stopped spinning, instead choosing to charge angrily toward her, at a speed much quicker than hers. John moved with determination as he placed one foot in front of the other, only stopping mere centimetres from her, his face directly above hers.
"I'm fucking sick of it." He snapped, breaking the eye contact that they had momentarily held. "All this stupid fucking gun wars. I ain't being a mindless soldier anymore."
Ana scoffed, her hand reaching to his chest and pushing him away lightly. His eyes were red, the skin around them dark with bags that looked more like bruises. He reeked our the harsh and noticeable scent of alcohol.
"Then tell this to your brother. Not me. Not my family." She said, pointing back to her mother who stood like a scarecrow in the window.
"I did tell Tommy. But he's still 'do this John. Do that John'." He snapped, waving his hands around in the air like he was mad. "Everyone around here has lost their fucking head! Grace is dead. Who's next eh? Fucking me! It's always the thick one."
"Why are you here? Why are you telling me this?" She shouted over him, forcing him to listen.
"I want you to tell me how you knew Grace would die. Go on. Did you have something to do with it?" John said, pushing his face close to hers again.
"Why would I want Grace dead?" Ana was seething, her face breaking out in a deep flush. "Why would I help an Italian. A Changretta?"
John stepped back, having sobered you as she shouted at him, pushing her own finger back. But Ana followed his movements, keeping them close as she roared at him.
"You told me your fucking self that you don't have to explain yourself to me. I don't have to explain myself to you." She quietened as she reached the end of her exclamation. "So why are you here?"
John paused, slowing his breath until it was normal. So much for trust, she thought, as she watched him stare her down, eyes blinking in concentration. For once, Ana didn't know why John was at her home, blaming her of things she didn't do. She knew he was angry. Even more so than the night of the murder. Ana knew that John had wanted to hurt her out of grief and anger and what he thought would be revenge. But now, she wasn't sure.
"I don't know." He muttered, taking the hat from his head and holding it tightly with clenched fists. "I don't know why I'm here."
Ana breathed out. The solemn look on his face made her spill something she had thought since she first met him.
"It's because I understand." Her voice was barely above a whisper.
"You couldn't understand." He shook his head harshly.
"Give me another reason as to why you're here then." But John remained silent, not being able to. "See?"
He slumped away, not wanting to accept it. He wouldn't meet her eye, no matter how much she moved to state at him pointedly. John turned snapping his head her way and advancing once more.
"Insane. Fucking insane." He screamed, pointing accusingly.
Ana scowled. He had the nerve to call her that again.
"We all are, John. That's how you survive a life like ours. That's how I understand." She stepped closer to him, her breathy voice falling like harsh kisses on his neck. "I want you to say it again."
"What?" He said, stepping back in question.
"Say it again." She repeated, this time leaning closer to him so her lips brushed against his ear as she whispered. "Tell me I'm insane."
"You're fucking crazy."
His heart beat was racing again- she could feel it against her hand that rested on his chest. It made her smile. John knee she was right.
"Wrong word." She tutted.
"You really are fucking insane." His voice was harsh but the meaning behind his words were lost.
"I want you to get used to the word John. It fits you just as much as it fits me." Ana said, before leaving him outside, his anger slowly dissolving as he watched her leave.
