the great divide by noah kahan but its thirdlight and Celine
Far past the moon's ascent, when she should've been sleeping. Her phone buzzes from its place on the nightstand—the person calling, the last she'd ever expect.
It's been years since the hunter had abandoned post leaving only Celine to take care of the half-demon that she insisted would bring disaster on the honmoon. Long enough that Celine made peace with no longer hearing her voice. The moment she sees the still familiar contact flash on her screen, her stomach drops, time itself slows to a crawl. And yet she answers on the second ring.
Dread drapes itself over cold limbs, Celine hears nothing for a while besides the sound of shaking breaths.
"Do you remember the last time that we talked—You said, 'Fuck off,' and I said nothing for a while."
An unintelligible string of words tumbles out of thirds mouth, two decades of no contact amounting to this. And all Celine could do is listen to this drunken spew.
"You know I think about you all the time. And my deep misunderstanding of your life." The voice hollow, hauntingly unlike the one she remembers.
"And how bad it must have been for you back then. And how hard it was to keep it all inside."
Celine almost hangs up right there, bitterness of memories, the sting of still bleeding wounds. But she doesn't, her old friend's voice still carries the same cadence that she loved, it's cold, it's empty, but it's still her.
A half-assed laugh comes from third, "I'm finally aware of how shitty and unfair it was to stare ahead like everything was fine."
And Celine remembers, the way she narrowed her eyes at her, the infant wrapped in her hands. The blade that was raised at her, how she tightened her hold on Rumi, how all third could do was stay in that defensive stance. How she gave her the opportunity to run, Celine couldn't bring herself to hurt her, even if she stood in the way of Rumi's safety. The eyes that stared back held nothing between them, a ghost of who she once knew.
Her heart beats out of her chest, louder than the wind that howls outside.
"I hope you're scared of only ordinary shit—not your soul and what he might do with it."
The phone clicks, silence fills the room again.
