A Beautiful Fate

by Unknown

  “I wouldn’t know, Ava; my friend quit speaking to me once you were born.”

  “Who are you?”

  Margaux looked at me with icy black eyes. “Shut up, Ava,” was all she said.

  I had the feeling that if I didn’t stop questioning her I might not live long enough to see London. I kept quiet for the rest of that agonizing flight.

  We arrived at Heathrow in the middle of the night. Margaux had arranged for a car, two cars actually. She handed me an envelope and said that the keys to the flat were in it along with the address. The driver knew where the flat was and he would make sure that I got there safely. She announced that she would be staying at The Dorchester for a few days to get some work done at her London shop and then would be flying back to L.A. She also told me that my physical therapist would be at the flat at seven in the morning and my tutor would be starting Monday at nine a.m. She then shut the door and tapped on the roof. The driver sped off.

  My flat was located in Camden Town, and even though we arrived there in the middle of the night, the streets seemed busy. I saw a lot of leather jackets, tattoos and interesting hairstyles. The driver pulled up to a brick building on a corner. He carried my luggage to the vestibule, put it on the lift, tipped his hat and left. The building appeared to be ancient and abandoned. A few windows were broken and partially boarded over. Graffiti had been spray painted on the elevator doors. Clearly, I was the only tenant. My flat was on the third floor. I cursed the driver for not seeing my luggage all the way in, but I managed the job with just one good arm anyway.

  I was relieved when I got inside my actual space. It was much nicer than the building had led me to believe. The flat was open and airy. On the left, the living room had what appeared to be a working stone fireplace in decent condition; next to that was a big oval window that looked down over the street below. A window seat had been built into the bottom sill and a quick sit down proved the cushion fluffy and comfortable. To the right, the living room opened up into a decent size kitchen. Straight ahead, a short hall led to two bedrooms and a bath.

  I walked straight back to the far bedroom, wrapped myself in a blanket and for the first time since I had found Lauren in the forest, let go and sobbed uncontrollably. My body shook violently as my tears flowed, causing pain to radiate through my ribs and shoulder. My heart hurt and I was consumed with anger and bitterness. I hated myself for having lied to Ari and for having left Dana Point. I wanted to throw things and break stuff. I wanted to scream, hit, and kick. I was bursting with rage and I was too tired to sleep. I lay there for hours in a strange city, in a strange flat, on a strange bed wrapped in someone else’s blanket, and soaked myself with my own tears. I waited for daylight.

  My sobs and cries were interrupted when Nora, the physical therapist, arrived at seven a.m., just as Margaux had said she would. She was dressed in workout clothes and had her hair pulled back in a low ponytail. She had a nice smile and a very pretty face. Her accent was classically British and she was very definitely in a talking mood.

  Despite my somewhat surly attitude, Nora remained professional. She kept up a light conversation and didn’t ask about my injuries. She was scheduled to work with me for an hour each day, and left promptly at eight a.m. I hadn’t been friendly, but I was sorry to see her go. Her departure left me with twenty-three more empty hours to fill.

  My therapy hurt like hell. I painfully made my way back to the back bedroom. I wrapped myself back up in the blanket and, since I was already in pain, I allowed myself to think of Ari and wallow in self-pity.

  At some point, sleep came and I found myself in the hall with my scissors. I did what I had to do. I showed no mercy, as there was no longer any kindness in my heart. I then escaped into a new nightmare that featured the deaths of everyone I loved. I awoke sometime in the late afternoon.

  Margaux had had the kitchen stocked before I arrived. I made a kettle of tea and some toast then sat in the window seat, where I stayed until Nora found me the next day. We went through the workout together and when she left, I fell asleep. Once again, I walked the halls playing catch up for all of the weeks that I had missed when I had found solitude with Ari.

  Ari. Ari. Ari. I missed him so much.

  I was alone all weekend. I spent most of my time either in bed or in my window seat, staring out into the depressing, gray London sky. Hate and anger were constant emotions. My grandfather and mother had been taken from me. Then I had lost Mia. And now, Ari and Rory, Aggie, Lauren, Andy, all of the people I loved, had been ripped from my grasp.

  On Monday, my tutor, James, arrived an hour after Nora had gone. I was already miserable from the workout and was in no mood to deal with this ostentatious twit. He was a complete jerk and a total idiot. It became perfectly clear to me that I was much smarter than he would ever be. He began lecturing about a book that I had already read and knew well. I asked him a simple question, testing his knowledge. James fumbled for a moment then made up an answer that I recognized as false. At the end of the hour, I saw him to the door and told him that his services would no longer be needed.

  I sent a text to Margaux: “I have fired James. Send a replacement tomorrow or I am leaving.”

  The next day a new jerk, this one named Thomas, showed up at my door. He lasted only twenty minutes. I punched him square in the chin after he ran his fingers through my hair and whispered something creepy in my ear. I sent Margaux another text: “Another loser. I am packing my bags if you have not found someone suitable tomorrow by nine.” These were empty threats of course; I had nowhere else to go.

  After grabbing some ice for my knuckles, I went back to bed. I took a fist full of my hair and pulled hard, needing a pain I could control. I shoved my face into my pillow and screamed long after my voice ran out. I stayed like that for hours as the rage inside me grew and grew. I hated that I was here. I hated that I had killed two people and that they had tried to kill me. I hated the fact that my heart hurt and the only one who could make it feel any better was the one person for which I could not be.

  When Nora arrived, I could tell that she was growing increasingly uncomfortable around me. Her fight or flight instincts were kicking in and she was a flight type person. We went through my stretches and small shoulder workouts in near silence. I noticed she shivered whenever she had to come close to me, and I saw the goose bumps on her arm.

  As she started to pack up for the day, I had the feeling that I may not ever see her again. “Um, Nora,” I said softly, “I know that I may come off as a scary person, but if you give me a little bit of time, I think you will find that I am actually really nice.”

  She smiled at me and nodded. “Sure, Ava. Sorry I am little distracted today, that’s all. It looks like your wound needs to be cleaned... and that bandage should be changed. Would you like me to help you?”

  Nora was ignoring her impulse to run from danger. I will never understand how some people are capable of putting their fears aside – out of kindness I suppose. She was afraid to hurt my feelings or challenge my pride. I let out a breath of relief and graciously accepted her help.

  Nora slowly peeled the old wrappings off my shoulder. She sucked in a breath when she saw my wounds, knowing straight away that I had been shot. She never asked for the story or the gory details as most people would, and I respected her for that.

  By the time Nora left, I was exhausted; I had not slept in over twenty-four hours. I was perched up in my giant oval window when, at nine o’clock, I heard a knock at my door.

  “It’s open,” I replied in a very hoarse voice. I heard the door creak open but didn’t bother to turn around.

  “Uh, Hello?” I heard a guy with a French accent say, “I’m August Jolie, your in-home professor. You must be… Avie?”

  I turned around to face him for the first time. He was tall, skinny, but still muscular, with short-cropped blonde hair (aside from one thick, jagged chunk that ran down the middle of his head and flopped down into his eyes. A bright green streak ran through
the middle of it.) He had on black skinny jeans, a gray zip-up hooded sweatshirt and black lace-up boots.

  “Listen,” I snapped. “My name is Ava, not Avie, not Baby, and not any other stupid pet name you may feel inclined to give me. You are here for academic purposes only. You will not touch me or ask me anything personal. If at any point I feel that you cannot provide the type of education I require, then you will be let go with no explanation. Is that clear?”

  “Yeah, sure, Ava, whatever,” he said with a snotty tsk as he brushed his hair from his eye with a pinkie finger.

  I motioned for him to come in and he closed the door behind him. Painfully, I made my way to the couch and took a seat. August took a seat in the chair across from me and brushed the green strand of hair once more out of his eyes. He opened up a messenger bag and began to pull out book after book.

  “So this is how this is going to work,” August started. “I will meet you here five days a week from nine until two. You will have assigned readings,” he pointed to the stack of books, “and each afternoon we will discuss your findings. Thursdays, I have set aside for offsite class where we will be attending various museums and interesting architectural structures in the city. I expect to have all discussions on Thursdays en Français. You will be tested each Friday. Your exams will also be en Français and I expect your answers to be as well. Is that clear?”

  I noted a slight bit of attitude as he framed his expectation that my work be done in French – we were, after all, in England – and an infinitesimal smirk came to my face. I nodded, confirming that I had understood what he expected of me.

  “Splendide,” he said as he clapped his hands and rubbed them together. He handed me a book...well, he tried to hand me a book but I refused to extend my hand so after a slight hesitation, he ended up placing it next to me on the couch. He then began a lecture about the Thirty Years War.

  The lecture went on for an hour and during that time; August never consulted a book or notes. He recited names and dates as if he had been present for the war himself. At one point, he got up and, still talking, put on the tea. When he finished for the day, August assigned my reading – the first four chapters of each book he had brought over – then stood up and, at exactly 2 p.m., opened the front door and left for the day.

  I spent my evening reading and was I thankful for the work; it took my mind off the heartache. Eventually, I made my way under my blankets. That night, I dreamed of Ari. We were caught in an embrace and he twirled a strand of my hair around his fingers. When I woke, my cheeks were wet and my eyes were swollen.

  Nora came in at her appointed time. We did a quick workout for my shoulder. The exercises still hurt like hell, and I had to squeeze my eyes shut to keep the tears away. My shoulder started to bleed and ooze but Nora assured me that I would start to see improvement in the next couple of weeks. I tried to swallow my angst and put on a nice face.

  “Ava, I don’t want to offend you, but the workouts would be easier if you took your medication,” Nora said with concern in her voice.

  The doctors had given me a script for painkillers and anti-anxiety medicine before I left the hospital, but I had taken the scribbled note Dr. Phillips handed me, crumpled it up, and thrown it in the garbage can. He saw no humor in my actions whatsoever, wrote out another one, and gave it to Margaux, then left without another word.

  “You are probably right, Nora, but pain is something I can deal with; it is the only thing that is real. Pain is a comfort to me right now.”

  She quickly changed the subject and started to open up about herself. She told me about her boyfriend, her family and how she was thinking about training for a marathon but did not know how to get started.

  “Well, I can help you if you’d like,” I said. “I mean, when I can get back out there that is. I run…quite a bit actually. I have done the Chicago Marathon a few times and I used to train with…well with a friend back home.”

  “Really?!” Nora asked excitedly. “I mean, that would be super.”

  “Yeah sure, as long as you can get my shoulder to work again, I’d be happy to have someone to run with.”

  When she left, I felt a little bit better so I began to pick up the flat. I washed a week’s work of coffee cups that were in the sink and picked up all of my stray belongings that I had strewn about the floors and furniture. I took the first shower since I had left the hospital and put on the first fresh pair of clothes.

  Ari had actually packed my belongings for me, and that thought alone made me sad. In the corner of my suitcase, folded up under a stack of my jeans, was a gray hooded sweatshirt. It was his. He knew I loved it since I was always grabbing it out of his closet to lounge in. I pulled it out and held it to me. Breathing him in, it was the single most delightful thing I had done since the last time we kissed. I hugged the sweatshirt to me and then got up and shoved it into the closet. I could not allow myself to be weak any longer. I went back to my luggage and opted for a pair of jeans and a loose fitting sweater that wouldn’t hurt to put on. As soon as I was dressed and ready, the only thing I felt like doing was crawling back in bed. I didn’t want to face the day. I took to my perch in my window with a cup of plantation mint tea and began to close my eyes.

  Shortly after, I heard the door creak open. I turned and August came in. I rolled my eyes at him and then turned back around and continued gazing, half-asleep, out the window.

  “Salut Ava, C’est aujourd’hui le jeudi et il faut parler en francais.”

  I turned back to him, giving him my best ‘I hate you face’ and I put my pointer finger up to my eye.

  “Mon oeil,” I said in a nasty tone.

  August apparently thought I was being facetious and threw his head back and laughed. I moved over to my spot on the couch and August began asking me questions in French about what I had read the night before. I grudgingly answered him with the shortest replies I could muster. He didn’t give up and continued down his list. Once we finally wrapped that up, he stood up and announced that we would be going to see Damien Hirst’s work at the Saatchi Gallery.

  The trip was my first time to leave the flat since I had arrived. London was cold and the sun was nowhere in sight. I am sure, under different circumstances, I would have enjoyed being here and would have been more receptive, but the fact that the whole look, feel and smell of the city were the very opposite of what I had experienced in California only made me even more homesick.

  We walked around and viewed several pieces of art that included dead animals in formaldehyde. The sight of the animals suspended sideways or upside down in various containers, with open but unseeing dead eyes staring at nothing was weird but morbidly interesting. I didn’t admit to August though that discussing art with him was almost fun.

  I had learned during the course of the week that, despite August’s somewhat punk-rock look, he was pretty intelligent. On our walk through the gallery, he told me, en francais bien sur, that he had been traveling all across the world with his parents since he was little. They were both bio engineers and their work took them to all the corners of the globe. On his own for the first time, August had recently moved to London, but as I could already tell, he was originally from Paris.

  He was a Parisian through and through. He spoke fast and with flare. He was arrogant and a bit supercilious. August could speak six languages more or less fluently, and even though he didn’t tell me so, I was fairly confident that he had a photographic memory. He clearly had a daring personality and my nasty and abrasive attitude had not daunted him a bit. I think, rather, that he viewed me as a challenge, something like an engaging science experiment.

  As the weeks began to pass, I fell into a routine. I sobbed and cried each night and woke up to blood-shot, puffy, red eyes. My diet consisted of dry toast and tea. My days were filled with arguments with August; he was unrelenting with his stupid homework. All I needed to do was graduate. That was it. Margaux had sent August a copy of my school transcripts. He took one look at my marks and decided
to take it upon himself to see me graduate at the top of my class.

  Nora kept to our schedule, and my shoulder started to heal, just as she had promised. We began to run outside, despite the cold, and I started to get her ready for the Virgin London Marathon slated for the coming spring. I had not talked to Ari since that dark day in the hospital. Occasionally, I got a text or two from Emily, but that was all. She told me Ari had moved out of the dorms, back home, and that he refused to talk about me to anyone. I didn’t know how to interpret this news, but I knew how it made me feel, and I sat and cried in my little window seat.

  I slept as little as humanly possible, not to avoid my nightmares, but because my bed was cold and lonely. Ari and I had had a hard time staying away from each other from the very beginning of our relationship. In London, during my first night away from California, and Ari, I proved to myself that I am pathetic and weak. I couldn’t even find comfort in the fact that we were sleeping under the same sky. My nights were his days. If I looked at the moon, there was no hope that he was looking at it too. I woke up most nights to my arms and legs rooting through the sheets looking for him. It was beyond depressing.

  Despite our constant bickering, August was actually beginning to grow on me. He had a very dry sense of humor and we both shared the same view – that sarcasm should be treated as an art form. I began to warm up to him slightly and in return, he started to lighten up around me, pushing our friendship a little bit further each day. I think that maybe he had planned to do so all along.

  Valentine’s Day approached. I sent texts to Nora and August, letting them know that I was not feeling well and they should just take a day off. Nora texted me back right away, wishing me well, and August texted back ‘eye roll’ for his only response.

  I am not a Valentine’s Day type of person by any means. I have never been a romantic at heart, but the weight of missing Ari was bearing down on me so hard that I felt like my chest might cave in. Thirty-nine days had passed since Ari and I had last spoken, and I was thinking any semblance of composure I might have was about to crack...