crawling back to you...

With a final squeeze, Ava allowed her hands to fall slack on top of Auggie’s; allowing the playful amenity to laze over her grip. Was it technically real? All of this? Here he is with herself in the same state. Both with a handful of breasts in each hand. Brown eyes dropped towards his ring finger for a validation on the theories crossing her mind but instead, Ava forced herself to think nothing of it. To simply envelope her mind to the requests of the youngest Reeves. What more could she do? She had been living in such fluidity and impassivity towards tremendous life altercations that there wasn’t much else to do than go with him.

“Since you’re providing the champagne, it’s only right that I cook and no exceptions, Thatcher,” she spoke before her mind could process the fact that she was answering. Ava mentally scolded herself for two reasons, the most important being that she just said she would cook when she knew she loved Auggie’s cooking. Second, she was agreeing. He was intoxicating, as he always had been. She had realised how pungent the attachment she had to him was during her first months abroad, but it had gone away only to return like a tub of acid being dropped on her then.

“I – fine,” the less work he has to do the better. “We can always order something, since I always provide the champagne.” Auggie’s grandmother once told him a bottle of champagne was an essential to any kitchen – maybe that’s why Lennon can’t stop drinking alcohol now. They were practically raised on it, champagne to celebrate the most random of things, whiskey in your tea when you’re sick, mimosa with your eggs and bacon. It’s normal to sit around and drink mint juleps after dinner while sitting on the porch for them. It’s a very hedonistic life; they live blind to the problems of society and think everything is fine as long as champagne is involved.

He finally lets go, one last squeeze for the road with both hands and he’s tempted to give her nipples a quick tug but he’s not looking to start something he may or may not can’t finish, that wouldn’t be fair to Ava. “No new tattoos,” he answers, giving the ink already embedded in his visible skin a glance, “I’m considered really tan in New York so I’m going to need you to stop with the white jokes, they hurt.” Auggie always enjoyed Ava’s sense of humor – or maybe it wasn’t humor and just her natural… Ava Style. It’s something he missed, laughing at the arbitrary things she could come up with, her mind is quite sharp and he likes that.  

Brown eyes looked downwards, unabashedly as she peered down at her breasts. Were they really that much bigger? She had always had small breasts, or what she deemed as small breasts - both her sister and her. Their mother was the only one who would fall under the category of a woman with big jugs. With a frown and nonchalant twitch to her head, Ava threw her hair behind her shoulder and reached into her bikini top to conceal her key in the pocket built into the suit. Whatever it may be, at least they were doing an entrance in themselves. And given a firm handshake in return.

Upon his confession about the car, a gradual quirk of a smile niggled its way onto her face. Eyes squinting and chin tilting upwards, Ava lolled her head to look at Thatty with domineering eyes. “First the tits, now the questioning of the Magic School Bus from Hell? Calm thyself, white man,” she informed him after rising her hand to reinstate it. “Psh… You better be glad you’re supplying the champagne, Reeves. And you have knowledge on flamingos, because you’re striking down.”

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A laughter of relief sounded from the small girl, no restraint given into the actions coming so naturally in reaction to the vicinity Ava had with him. It was intoxicating; as if every smile – another adding effect to the one ready intact – was another dosage of venom oozing into her bones. The very way she oh so easily became wrapped around his pinky through the comfort she felt in his presence. Like every touch was normal and every conversation, no matter how idiotic or morbid it could get to, was normal. Why was it that Auggie could render her useless with the mere usage of a verbalised word? What gave him the audacity to show up in all of his glory as if it were nothing abnormal? Because, the voice in her mind said as though it were the most obvious of answers. He’s Augustus.

And it was true. He was and is her Thatcher despite the time and distance, both physically and emotionally.

The laughter subsided to a rhythmic giggle, brown eyes rolling at his statement before they playfully widened in a shocked realisation. “Last week… Oh, no, Thatty. The amnesia… It hasn’t stopped!” Ava exclaimed, hands clutching onto his back dramatically. The corners of her mouth turned downwards as her bottom teeth were displayed to reinstate the melodramatic actions she was forth going. Immediately after – a frown never being able to stay intact on Ava Crowell for more than a full minute – a smile glowed onto her lips, though it gradually subsided to a close-lipped smile at his next words.

The last time Thatcher had been in her home, the last time the two of them had shared time together, was when he had told her he had gotten married. Ava quickly averted her impulse to look at his ring finger, refusing to diminish her spirit in the way her mind had taken so long to repress the need to do so in the beginning months of her travels to center herself. Instead, she pulled the strings that controlled her shoulders and forced them upwards in an eccentric shrug and a raise to her eyebrows. “You know, I mounted that boot from the days of my crippled youth. It’s actually in the bathroom in my Maple House,” she informed him as though it were the most important of disclosures.

Auggie was always quick to state what he needed though he was never blunt when it came to emotions. Ava had noticed, over the length of time they’d known each other, he would do anything to sidewind the subject at hand until it slipped from his chained encasement. His inquiry of what they should do now that he had arrived was a prime example. Something was wrong, terribly wrong – and he came to her to fix it, as she always had done and would do. Her petite body pulled away as she cupped her breasts and jiggled them, bowing her head in gratitude. “They say thank you and would like to extend an invitation of finding a random couple to eat or surf with as I was just on my way to do.”

Boobs, of course it’s the boobs. He gives himself the quick grace period to look before clearing his throat, scratching at his chin he nods, “they need my grip of approval…” Don’t do, don’t fucking do it Auggie. Don’t you dare… he can’t remember a time where there was an angel on his shoulder talking him out of every wrong thing he’s done. He is sin personified and seeing Ava, watching her do that just kicks it up a notch. “I could go for some food right about now,” he comments, his hand dwarfs hers and he squeezes lightly – Auggie loves breast. Chicken breast, female breast, nearly A’s he can put his whole mouth on, super huge ones that sag, he doesn’t give a damn. “Is this saline or silicone?” he’s teasing, even if her growth is manufactured, it’s the one thing he isn’t going to judge about. Some greatness isn’t organic – it’s bought.

He can’t stop at one and now he’s got both, shaking them, the slightest pressure of his fingertips pressing down on the soft weights. They probably look crazy, he’s standing in front of her house – anyone can see – groping her breast like he’s TSA or some shit, does he think her tits of glory contain explosives? His cock begs to differ. “I really like Veuve Clicquot now – I have a bottle in my car, why don’t we head to the beach – I need to catch up to your level of tan and walk around? I’ll get hungry eventually.” Nothing screams more ‘normal’ to Auggie than talking a stroll on the beach with Ava, drinking champagne straight from the bottle. “Then I’ll make you something to eat, they cleaned Princess today, I got the text on my way over.” Once he wasn’t living alone he had his boat shipped back to Florida, he couldn’t continue going back and forth between Little Compton and New York – well he could have but he felt like it was useless when his ‘family’ wasn’t going with him.

Auggie couldn’t apologize before because he was happy, truly happy. But happiness is only temporary it seems, because stomach eating guilt he felt the last time he looked into Ava’s eyes is gone. He just feels foolish, foolish in thinking that a new girl, a new city could make everything seem better, different. Boy was he wrong. As weeks and months flickered by and a new routine set in, the glossy sheen of the honeymoon period dulled down and the gross domesticity settled, Auggie figured out he was so wrong, Auggie hates being wrong. He’s always enjoyed the chase; it keeps it interesting, keeps Auggie busy. Naturally people probably get sick of the cat mouse game, sick of reading signals and not getting clear answers. But it’s the unknown that keeps him afloat, his sheer curiosity, the need to be free and disengaged from anything but his own wild endeavors.

With a final squeeze, Ava allowed her hands to fall slack on top of Auggie’s; allowing the playful amenity to laze over her grip. Was it technically real? All of this? Here he is with herself in the same state. Both with a handful of breasts in each hand. Brown eyes dropped towards his ring finger for a validation on the theories crossing her mind but instead, Ava forced herself to think nothing of it. To simply envelope her mind to the requests of the youngest Reeves. What more could she do? She had been living in such fluidity and impassivity towards tremendous life altercations that there wasn’t much else to do than go with him.

“Since you’re providing the champagne, it’s only right that I cook and no exceptions, Thatcher,” she spoke before her mind could process the fact that she was answering. Ava mentally scolded herself for two reasons, the most important being that she just said she would cook when she knew she loved Auggie’s cooking. Second, she was agreeing. He was intoxicating, as he always had been. She had realised how pungent the attachment she had to him was during her first months abroad, but it had gone away only to return like a tub of acid being dropped on her then.

Often times, one doesn’t realize the various things they have been through, the time that has passed, nor the amount of people they have met when something from the past arises. They do say that nostalgia kills, and in the case of being hugged, let alone touched, by a person that had meant the entirety of someone’s life at one point, the emotions can be paralysing - which is exactly what happened to Ava. She couldn’t move, not even bring up her arms to wrap around him in the usual energetic fervor she knew she was capable of. Of how she greeted everyone with. With her face against his stomach, she began to mumble incoherently, not even sure of what she was saying herself – words spilling simply to make a noise. To function or at least do something to know that reality was, indeed, continuing on.

She knew how much he relished in his golden superiority. Every part of him sculpted by Aphrodite to be the most enticing man to walk the Earth… Or however Mikos had told her she was. Hands gained momentum as long digits crawled their way towards the contours of his inner back. The ridges of his spine going up and down along with the muscles surrounding the bones, the familiarity of it coming back as though it never left. His musk mixed with what she knew was Hana’s added smell gave something new to what she remember, not exactly him, but always with something more. Because that’s what Thatty was – never just one thing, always a million.

Fingers dug into his back, nails not intact due to her travels and not necessarily wanting to get them redone – preferring the simplistic nature to her style. Her face pulled away, smile illuminating her already glowing tan features. Face clear of makeup, chin on his stomach… Comfort. Absolute bliss. All of her travels were swiped, all the people she met. The necessity to avert her attention away from the heartbreak she knew she felt, or the happiness she felt for him over his happiness, it was all swiped. Ava let her soul smile through as she smiled up at Auggie, eyes widening slightly with the smile.

She knew he glorified his golden hue. Even in his days of light palour and bruised state, he still made it a known fact that he was the equivalent to a God on Earth, if not more. “My name is Thatcher,” Ava said in a strained, deep tone. “I’m a bronze Bernini, greeting the world in my refined glory.” A laughter, rumbling from deep inside like a machine gun gaining momentum, gradually made its way out as she squeezed her arms to encase his body as best as her thin arms would allow. “I pop in with no hair and deep voice after… “ she stopped, thinking – though she knew exactly how long it had been. “Seven months?”

“Hmm?” The faintest of murmurs reach his ears but it’s undecipherable, unless it’s something of importance, he won’t ask for a clarification. She’s always been a unique one. Auggie once admitted to himself that he broke all the rules for Ava, he can break them again. Why else would he show up? She’s the time capsule for his livelihood, the historian of the best of memories. He doesn’t have to ask her how great it feels to have her close like this again, whatever relief, the warmth not supplied by the sun, he knows she’s feeling it at the same time he is.

He squeezes her shoulders slightly, this is real, she’s human, and this isn’t a dream. Auggie knew he felt something akin to a wayward boat, stubborn in nature he couldn’t keep enough pride to admit Ava is and always will be his anchor, his lighthouse – annoyingly bright colored lightbulbs and encouragement, he can do it, this isn’t a hurdle. Is she going to speak again? Not that he hates the silence, they don’t need words, it’s taken him some time, time sitting on the plane drinking whiskey ginger and looking through old pictures, but the idea that Ava is a permanent piece of yarn woven in Auggie is something he can live with. Something he should have never neglected.  

He can’t help but smile back, it’s genuine, the lifting and curl of his mouth, he can’t let go of her, he doesn’t want to let go of her. He missed that, he missed this, the Florida air and Florida sky. He missed knowing where he was and the familiarity. He’s been lost for so long, wandering aimlessly, merely existing in a shell put on out of habit; maybe he can live now.

And it was true. He was and is her Thatcher despite the time and distance, both physically and emotionally.

The laughter subsided to a rhythmic giggle, brown eyes rolling at his statement before they playfully widened in a shocked realisation. "Last week... Oh, no, Thatty. The amnesia... It hasn't stopped!" Ava exclaimed, hands clutching onto his back dramatically. The corners of her mouth turned downwards as her bottom teeth were displayed to reinstate the melodramatic actions she was forth going. Immediately after -- a frown never being able to stay intact on Ava Crowell for more than a full minute -- a smile glowed onto her lips, though it gradually subsided to a close-lipped smile at his next words.

The last time Thatcher had been in her home, the last time the two of them had shared time together, was when he had told her he had gotten married. Ava quickly averted her impulse to look at his ring finger, refusing to diminish her spirit in the way her mind had taken so long to repress the need to do so in the beginning months of her travels to center herself. Instead, she pulled the strings that controlled her shoulders and forced them upwards in an eccentric shrug and a raise to her eyebrows. "You know, I mounted that boot from the days of my crippled youth. It's actually in the bathroom in my Maple House," she informed him as though it were the most important of disclosures.

It’s safe to say living that way, that false sense of contentment and tranquility – Hana doesn’t even know his past – it festered like a wound and he ripped the scab off because it itched too much. Her name was Victoria and she eyes the wedding band on his ring finger (the physical one, he actually bought one) like it’s cheap and gets on her knees at his command. But it wasn’t enough; he wasn’t soothing his irritated visage. Thus came the calls to Elliot, he had men in the city of course, stupid golfer slash drug cartel spearhead. Veins alive, body acclimating to its previous state – it still wasn’t enough.

Hence the impromptu visit to Florida – his old stomping grounds should really knock his old self back into place, that missing piece that needs slide in perfectly like a jigsaw puzzle. Miami never changes in the obvious ways, its subtle how the city shifts with the times, but it remains the same city he called home at the core; Auggie’s never been more grateful for that.  

He doesn’t know anyone in New York City. He has faint acquaintances and he knows the delivery guy but no one he could really claim to know – no Lennon and Phoenix, no Dallas and Lilly. Certainly none of those Sierra’s or Erin’s. He didn’t have anyone he could talk to that had a glimpse of his past in their memory and maybe that’s why he had to get out of there. Rhode Island is a completely different story.  

Of course she was heading out – everyone is on the move somewhere except Auggie and he hates this feeling of being stagnant. “uh –“ he places his hands on her shoulders and chuckles awkwardly, stepping back himself so he can get a good look at her, she’s stunning, as usual. Leveling his eyes on hers he isn’t conscious to his pout, verdant eyes flickering to his skin and back to her, eyes set in a narrow and he drops his arms. “I’m not white, I’m far from fair, and this is olive. Bronze if you ask certain people but anyways… greetings Crowell…” fuck it, he’s going to hug the girl. Mashing her face back into his stomach his arms encase her narrow shoulders and holds her here tight.

She knew how much he relished in his golden superiority. Every part of him sculpted by Aphrodite to be the most enticing man to walk the Earth… Or however Mikos had told her she was. Hands gained momentum as long digits crawled their way towards the contours of his inner back. The ridges of his spine going up and down along with the muscles surrounding the bones, the familiarity of it coming back as though it never left. His musk mixed with what she knew was Hana’s added smell gave something new to what she remember, not exactly him, but always with something more. Because that’s what Thatty was -- never just one thing, always a million.

Fingers dug into his back, nails not intact due to her travels and not necessarily wanting to get them redone -- preferring the simplistic nature to her style. Her face pulled away, smile illuminating her already glowing tan features. Face clear of makeup, chin on his stomach… Comfort. Absolute bliss. All of her travels were swiped, all the people she met. The necessity to avert her attention away from the heartbreak she knew she felt, or the happiness she felt for him over his happiness, it was all swiped. Ava let her soul smile through as she smiled up at Auggie, eyes widening slightly with the smile.

“I’m happy.”

“She’s the one.”

“I’m so at peace with myself and my demons.”

All lies, utter bullshit. Not even Auggie can escape the idealistic notion that falling love and forging a life with another human can make you a superior being. He’s Auggie Reeves, dammit – the fucker was born superior. He let himself grow yielding and pliant and everything he told himself he would never do.

Sober mind – sober thoughts.

Except the thoughts weren’t real, they were manufactured propaganda he let himself comprehend to get everyone off his back, it’s been a game since day one, when did Auggie lose his dice and place on the playing field? When did he believe that he’s honestly someone that does things the normal way? The one percent isn’t normal. Swathed in opulence and a chemical imbalance encompassing his mind, he didn’t think his life would end up here. Auggie is bored, Auggie is miserable. It was never a lie:  Augustus Thatcher Reeves is full blown human now, with genuine emotions and feelings, he cares about people. Auggie does care about people, he cares about the people closest to him on a basic scale but he will always care about himself the most. That’s why his hands don’t shake anymore and he never sleeps, the aches are gone, the residual ache that racked his body something of a sick memory. It’s safe to say he threw the wagon out of the equation.

Taking these familiar steps to a familiar door isn’t unnerving, there’s a sick comfort knowing she’ll always be somewhere within reach, maybe he has to take plane or drive a car but she’ll always be at the end. That’s loyalty on an infinite level. Auggie didn’t kiss Hana on the cheek before he left, nor did he pack a bag – he’ll figure it out when he needs to. The only thing on his mind is Ava, every time he reflects on the last time he saw her he wants to vomit. It wasn’t him, it wasn’t him and he’s never shown her a façade, he wants to apologize, he wants clarity, he wants to rip the ink off of his ring finger and tell her it was just a joke – a sick joke that he’ll never pull on her again. She’s always been understanding, broad minded, they can laugh it off and pretend it never happened.

The sense of delayed shock was strong in her mind to the point where it took him nearly finishing his speech before Ava realised that her forehead was hurting from the deeply etched scowl corrupting the skin. She had involuntarily inched her way off of Auggie’s shoulder, feeling cold on the place that was just warm. Her hands were hanging awkwardly in the air, reminding her of someone who had burned their hands and it hurt to do anything other than just have them there. Despite the scowl on her face, Ava’s eyes were wide open. Both in disbelief and the greatest repudiation. Her mind was rejecting what he was telling her because it wasn’t true, not with Thatcher. It was a prank before the grand scheme he had plotted. However something inside Ava told her that Auggie wasn’t lying. That he was being serious.

Once his hands clasped together, Ava recoiled at the sight of them slightly. She hadn’t looked at his face, nor did she want to, because despite people saying that Augustus Thatcher was a monotone sort of person when it came to emotions, she knew they were there. She could tell apart the slight differences when they came and left. He was, after all, one of her favourite people and Ava was an avid member of the People Watching Club. Ava knew that if she looked at his face, the ramblings he’d just ensued would be true. So, instead, her own trembling hands -- which she hadn’t noticed were quaking -- lowered and moved to grab a hold of his hands, cupping them before numbly grabbing for his left hand to inspect the fresh tattoo. Her touch was gentle, but it was due to fear that she’d break if she pressed her full touch to him.