Bellona's temple

Obviously finding a job takes time, and you wouldn’t be surprised if all the resumés you have delivered today were binned and if it takes you weeks to earn a single interview; nonetheless you feel good about today, glad to have made a first step to build your future. Unhurriedly walking along the busy street surrounded by shops and restaurants, you suddenly see in front of you two of the reporters who recently spent hours on your doorstep hoping to interview you; they’re walking in your direction, striding as if on their way to torment some other innocent and fill a page of whatever periodic they work for, and your paths are going to cross in half a minute.

An inner voice that reminds you strikingly of your grandmother’s points out that you have nothing to hide or to be ashamed of, and the sooner you learn to deal with people interested, for whatever reason, in the last period of your life the better, since the list will probably be long. Even so, you quickly decide you don’t have the courage to face those two, not today at least, and so you hurry to change direction and slip into a nearby alley, hurrying along until you’re sure the reporters can no longer see you.

So much for feeling proud of yourself, and leaving everything that happened over the last three years behind. Sighing softly, you run a hand through your freshly cut hair, ready to retrace your steps and start on the way home; you glance towards the opposite exit of the alley and do a double take, more than you did on the day you found out that the most common item smuggled into the prison and sold at a premium among the inmates wasn’t drugs or alcohol or weapons, but good quality tampons, since the ones sold at the commissary were said to contain toxic metals. 

You know this place, and not just because you have lived in town all your life and you are no more than twenty minutes on foot from your home. You know this alley, uninhabited save for a tiny grocery store and an even smaller, perennially closed newsstand, because you have passed through here so many times, on your way back from work or late in the evening or whenever you had a free lunch hour, sometimes clutching a small bouquet of flowers or a chocolate box, your mood promptly improved from whatever problem or issue you were dealing with at the moment…

You don’t want to follow that path once again; you shouldn’t, you don’t have to, you mustn’t even, and yet it’s like your feet were moving of their own volition, and the rest of your body, not to mention your heart and your brain, were unable to stop them. You cross the alley, the reporters by now irremediably driven away from your thoughts, and end up in a small square which is only a few minutes away from the destination you soon find yourself in front of, without the faintest idea of what to do.

The building is not much different from yours, a little older and with a couple of floors more; you look towards a certain window on the fifth floor, closed but with a hint of electric light visible through the glass, a clear indication that the room’s occupant is at home, busy with a book or her phone or swapping out her closet or cutting her nails.

Maybe she’s changing her clothes, your traitor brain happily suggests, and in three years spent using communal showers you’ve never felt the impulse to check out any of the women, some of whom were your age and highly attractive, busy washing themselves at your sides, but right now, with her… the mere thought of a shirt taken off to expose a lacy bra, or the plush thighs left bare by a pair of lowered jeans… that is enough to leave you breathless. And yearning. 

It’s not sexual exactly - well it is, clearly, because how could it not be?, but the desire to kiss and touch and worship that skin and that body and that person goes well beyond that, it’s a sort of craving deep and visceral and intense enough to hurt; it’s painful and sensual and raw, both intrinsically pleasant and that leaves you wanting more…

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

There is exactly one person it would have been worse for you to be caught by in this moment than the one you were thinking about, and that is exactly the one who is now standing in front of you, even though you really can’t blame him since he lives in that building as well - in that very flat actually, occupying the smaller bedroom since she beat him at arm-wresting. The sort of look you’re being given would make an eventual witness think you’ve been caught lifting coins from a beggar’s plate, a hand resting on a hip while the other clutches the handles of a plastic bag from the closest minimarket.

“Hello, Buggy.”

“I’ll ask again: what the fuck are you doing here? You know she doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“You don’t know that.”

“As a matter of fact I do.” Buggy, who for you was the sort of friend of a friend one doesn’t want to become closer with but ends up doing it anyway, points out; his blue hair is gathered in pigtails that fall to his chest, his clown make-up as always on point “Shanks told me you have gotten out a while ago; I asked her what to do when you’d come begging for another chance, because I knew you would, and she told me she has no intention of seeing you.”

The smug satisfaction on Buggy’s face is something you could hate, if you didn’t know the feelings it arises from: sincere affection and preoccupation for the woman who has been his best friend and flatmate for years. In his place you would probably select the heaviest items from his grocery bag and start throwing.

“Listen, I just want to talk; would you please tell her?” you ask, desperate enough not to be embarrassed by the begging tone of your voice “I know I wronged her…”

“You two-timed her, (name); she was always faithful, she was crazy about you, and you fucked someone else as soon as you got the chance to go out of town with her being none the wiser. Do you really believe you deserve to just look at her?”

You don’t, you miserably admit in the privacy of your heart, because while Buggy doesn’t know the whole story and you’re innocent of what he’s accusing you of, you have acted badly and probably deserve neither understanding nor forgiveness. “I’ve never stopped thinking about her.” you murmur, eyes downcast; she was with you when you bought this particular pair of shoes, you realise, a detail that proves to you there’s no limit to how heartbroken and lost a person can feel “In these three years, even after we had broken up… the only thing that gave me the strength to go on, apart from Shanks’ friendship, was her, thinking about her and how happy she had made me.”

“Listen, (name)...”

“I love her, Buggy; I know I made a terrible mistake and she’s right not to want to forgive me, but… I just want to see her one last time. I want to apologise personally, and then I’ll leave her alone forever, you have my word.” 

Buggy sighs; he clearly can’t wait to get rid of you. “Listen, I’m not saying you deserved to spend your life behind bars since you’re innocent.” he admits, his tone only marginally less frosty “It’s good that they let you go. But she’s moved on, she’s started seeing other people. If you really care about her, and want to make amends, the best you can do is to leave her alone so that she can heal.”

He’s perfectly right and you know it; and yet “Please?” you ask, your voice tiny, and the man in front of you rolls his eyes, exasperated, before turning and stomping towards the building.

You wait patiently for a few minutes, well aware that if your request is denied Buggy will hardly do you the courtesy of calling from the window to tell you; for all you know you could remain here forever like a dummy while both flat tenants go about their business, and part of you doesn’t mind, because this is what you deserve, and at least you’d have the consolation of having her close, even though she’d be living her life without you behind the walls of the flat while you mourn what will never be again…

Five minutes pass. Then five more. And then a handful of seconds, until the building’s door is opened from the inside and someone steps out, unhurriedly walking towards you. 

She looks good. She looks gorgeous, actually, which is not surprising given that’s what you have thought since the first time you met, which was around twenty minutes before you decided you had to score a date with this woman or die trying, but given the circumstances her beauty breaks your heart. You remain perfectly still as she walks up to you, her unsmiling face framed by long wavy hair, her mouth painted of a different shade of pink lipstick than the one you remember she preferred three years ago but still a sight you have to quickly avert your eyes from because your self-control is already hanging by a thread as it is.

“(name).” she says after a full minute she has spent observing and weighing you up, her eyes as unforgiving as they once were full of love “What the hell do you want from me?”

You lick your lips; you bought a water bottle at a vending machine less than half an hour ago, but your mouth still feels desert-parched, for reasons that have nothing to do with thirst. “Hello, Alvida.”

The conversation goes more or less like you could have expected. Your former partner, a woman capable of being kind and supportive to the people she likes but who is also famously short-tempered and resentful towards those who have wronged her, can’t fully hide the heartbreak behind the animosity and the wall of open distaste she has hurried to rise between you. You try to apologise for cheating on her, but she’s having none of it.

“If you think that what happened with that Morgan guy means that I’m taking you back you got another thing coming.” Alvida says, arms crossed on her generous bosom - another detail you have to force yourself not to stare at, if you value your life “Because those are two completely different things, (name), and that mess has nothing to do with us.”

“I know. I know, it’s just…”

“Just what? You cheated on me. Buggy did say it was fishy, that all of a sudden you had said yes to those little business trips to meet that colleague of yours your boss wanted to send you on, but I told him it was fine, (name) would never cheat on me, she loves me and she’s not that sort of person. You really made a fool out of me, didn’t you?!” 

Alvida scoffs, even though it’s not immediately clear who she’s more angry at: you, for the cheating she considers you guilty of, or herself, for having trusted you. An attractive and self-assured woman like your former partner has always had her pick of suitors and dates, but she was picky in her relationships and rarely found someone who she valued and liked enough to deserve the effort. Even more than enraged for your slight, she’s heartbroken, a state she normally hides behind a front of sarcasm and self-confidence.

“I really fell for it, you know? I thought you were different; that you… believed in what we shared, especially after we had started discussing moving in together.” she reveals, shaking her head as if unable to believe her own naivety “Usually I’m pretty good at recognising when someone is going behind my back, but with you I fell for it hook, line, and sinker; I would have never suspected anything if you hadn’t decided to spill the beans.”

“Alvida, I…”

“Is that Barto guy the only one you cheated on me with? Or did you fuck every colleague you had while I thought you were working? I even brought you lunch during your break! How you must have laughed…”

“No, I… I never…”

You stammer, torn between the impulse of protesting your innocence, reveal the truth and spare yourself the pain of having the woman you love look at you as if she were regretting even meeting you, and the desperate need of maintaining the deception in order not to put her at risk; after all you can’t be sure Morgan’s arrest has rendered him completely harmless and that he wouldn’t make good on his promise just to punish you. You would give half - no, two thirds of your blood to return to the close, loving relationship you and Alvida once shared, but most of all you want to make sure she’s safe and sound.

“Listen, I can’t change what I did, no matter how much I wish I could.” you say in the end; Alvida snorts, but she lingers to listen to you rather than turning and walking away, which you allow yourself to consider a small victory “All I know is that in these last three years I have spent every day, every hour, thinking about you; even after we broke up, the memories of what we shared, and the thought that one day I might see you again, gave me the strength to go on. I have missed you so much…”

Your words refuse to come for a moment, and you swallow, forced to order yourself not to burst into tears and start begging for her forgiveness, two choices you are quite sure wouldn’t improve Alvida’s esteem towards you. She’s still staring at you, her folded arms betraying her complete disinclination to cede and offer words of understanding; and yet you think you can see a trace of warmth in her expressive brown eyes, those eyes you have lost yourself in so many times, those eyes that were capable of expressing warmth and kindness and tenderness, if one succeeded in the not easy task of earning their owner’s trust, respect and affection.

You had managed, and then you lost those gifts because of faults that were not yours, probably forever; and yet you can’t help pleading your case, in the hopes of a miracle. “I love you.” you say as you take a first step towards her; a hundred times you have uttered those very words, always convinced of their veracity and of the feelings they expressed, and yet it has never felt like this, as if that declaration were a line heaved from a ship into a storm-ravaged sea, the only hope for salvation from a death by drowning “I love you, Alvida. I never stopped, and I have a strong suspicion that I never will. I know what I went through has nothing to do with us, and I’m not asking you to forgive me out of pity and because of that. It’s just…”

“You cheated on me, (name).”

You didn’t. You fucking didn’t, and yet you’re suffering as if you did, which is not fair, not fair at all, dammit!

“I did. And I remember you warned me that was something you wouldn’t forgive when we decided to be together, but… but if you give me a chance, I promise you won’t regret it. I swear, on my life, I’ll earn your forgiveness and make you happy. I’ll be faithful, and loyal, and by your side as long as you’ll have me. You don’t have to give me an answer now if you’d rather not; all I ask is for you to think about it. Because you can be damn sure I’ll be thinking about you for the rest of my life.” 

You take another step forward to reduce the distance between you, and are disheartened, albeit by no means surprised, to see Alvida hurry to take one back; she sighs, a hand running through her hair, and for a moment she looks like she’s actually considering your request, that she might be willing to go against every standard she keeps herself up to and forget her most fundamental principles, and take you back.

For a moment.

“I can’t. I’m very, very sorry, (name)... but I can’t.” Alvida says; she has pressed the palms of her hands against each other, as if to stop herself from reaching towards you, which is good, because the mere contact of her fingers against your cheek could break you “I have missed you too; I tried not to, because I was angry and heartbroken and wanted to move on, but what we shared, what we lived together… I think it was too special to forget, at least in such a short time. I think I still love you, but… but I can’t forgive, much less forget, what you did. It would mean going against every rule I have set for myself when I started dating, and I don’t think I could ever trust you again; I can’t be in a relationship with a person I don’t respect.” 

It makes perfect sense, especially for the woman you have grown to know so well over the four years of your relationship; this is what you expected from Alvida, as well as probably what you would also have done in her place. This is the only correct, reasonable reaction your former partner could have had, and yet you can’t help feeling your heart shatter in a thousand tiny pieces as you are left to contemplate a future she won’t be part of.

“I see. Well, thanks for telling me in person; I can imagine it wasn’t easy.” you say, desperate to rein yourself in and not to show how much you’re falling apart inside “Congratulations for your new job, by the way; I… don’t think it would be possible for the two of us to be friends, right?”

Alvida contemplates the prospect for a moment before shrugging helplessly; the sole idea is risible. “Not after everything we shared, I’m afraid. I… I really think it would be best if we never met again; for both of us.” she confesses; and yet she lingers still, unwilling or perhaps unable to conclude what might very well be your last good-bye. “Are you alright? After prison, I mean. It can’t be easy, getting re-used to a normal life.”

You confirm that it isn’t, even though you’re making the most of your newly reacquired freedom by looking for a new job and sleeping late as often as you can. Alvida also tells you she’s sorry about your grandmother, and you thank her for the sympathy. 

That sort of small talk between you is both ridiculous and painful, which is why you decide it’s time to part. You linger in each other’s presence for a moment longer, before Alvida steps closer to slowly, cautiously kiss you on the cheek. “Take care of yourself, you hear me?” she says, before angrily rubbing her eyes in a way that irremediably smears her mascara. She sighs, and then a moment later she has grabbed you by the shoulders, shaking you with what must be the anger and helplessness she accumulated over those three years. 

“How could you?! We were happy, we had so many plans for our future, and you went and ruined everything! Fuck you, (name)! How could you give up on me? Give up on us?” she asks, her face now close enough for you to see the tears rimming her beautiful dark eyes “I trusted you! I loved you so much, and you fucked everything up! How could you cheat on me, (name)?”

I didn’t! I did not, because I never could! The impulse to scream those words is so intense that for a moment you’re almost sure you have actually done so, the confession you could never make having escaped from your lips like a torture victim’s. But you haven’t, and all you can do is remain helplessly silent as, having vented out, Alvida waits for a reaction on your part, justifiably interprets the lack of it as an admission of guilt, and breaks the contact between your bodies to take another step back, as if she physically couldn’t bear to have you close.

“I don’t want to see you ever again.” she says, her tone final and almost threatening; she turns and walks away, the flicker of the early afternoon sun washing her retreating figure in a light blinding enough to force you to avert your gaze.

*****  

Alvida is in a foul mood.

It’s not a particularly uncommon situation, like any of her friends can attest, even though the self proclaimed best among them would be ready to swear the woman has been particularly snappish in the last week - ever since, that is, she received her former partner’s visit. 

“You need to knock it off; I’m tired of seeing you mope around the flat.” Buggy protests, forced to raise his voice to be heard across the small table they are occupying; the bar has opened only recently and the drinks are decidedly of a higher-than-average level, even though the dreary attitude of his table companion does make the drink slightly less enjoyable. 

“I do not mope, clown.” 

“Listen, honeybunny…”

“And I’m not your honeybunny either; listen, I…” Alvida sighs, morosely wishing the glass her rum and coke had been served in -by a kid named Koby, who doesn’t look old enough to work in this sort of place- were large enough to hide her face behind. Or that I had ordered a pint “Yes, it’s been hard seeing (name); I’m not denying it. But you did good telling me she had come; we’ve said goodbye, and now our relationship is a closed chapter. End of the story.”

Buggy, sadly, looks as unconvinced as she feels. “Listen, it’s as you said, she fucked up, and did something she knew fully well you wouldn’t forgive. I… don’t dislike (name), she’s pretty cool for a friend of Shanks’, but what happened proved that she’s not the right person for you.” he points out as he brings the glass to his lips, a sincere preoccupation in his painted eyes Alvida is not sure she ought to feel grateful about or humiliated by “We need to find you a new squeeze, darling; a partner worthy of the name, not a one night stand or a weekend-long fuck like those you’ve been with until now. Let me spread the word you’re officially on the market; by this time on Sunday there will be so many people queuing outside the door we’ll have to schedule interviews.”

“I can find myself a date if I want to.”

 “Alright, then do it! The sooner you find someone new the sooner you can get (na)... that person out of your mind.”

Alvida reflects on the matter for a while, too focused on the prospect to care about the drink she’s imbibing without actually tasting it. Starting a new relationship after three years of sporadic dates and one night stands that leave her unsatisfied under all aspects does seem the right thing to do, provided she can find someone who is actually worth the effort, but in the depth of her heart, in that part of her she has always kept carefully protected and only shared with a select few, there’s a truth that she can neither deny nor ignore.

She’s still in love with you. She has never really doubted it, and seeing you again two days ago, talking to you and hearing you express both your own feelings and regret for what you did, made the fact even more undeniable, something Alvida has been mentally kicking herself for ever since. She knows she did the right thing, because she can neither respect nor trust a partner who has been unfaithful before and consequently a relationship with them would be pointless, no matter how intense their reciprocal feelings and desire still are. Alvida is proud of herself and of how she was able to remain level-headed enough to act in her own best interest rather than sacrificing her self-respect and dignity to the stubborn love she still feels for a partner who clearly doesn’t deserve it, but…

But I’ve been tempted, sorely so; because I still love her, no matter what she did, and she looked so terrible, so desperate and in pain, that maybe, just maybe, she’s been punished enough…

In the end it’s almost a relief when Buggy looks at his phone and points out they better go, if they want to meet their friends at the nearby movie theatre on time. Alvida stands from the table, ignoring the check the server has left there when they brought the drinks over, retrieves her bag from the chair next to hers… and it’s then, as she turns in the direction of the bar’s entrance, that her gaze falls on a green-haired, mohawk-sporting individual who has just stepped in on his own.

What the hell?!

“What’s wrong? Who’s that guy?” 

“That’s Bartolomeo. He’s the guy (name) was sleeping with while she was with me.”

“Seriously? She cheated on you with him?” Buggy, who has noticed the startled expression of his dearest friend, asks as he picks up the check “(name) has much worse taste than I thought; once again, she’s friends with Shanks, so…”

Alvida thinks vaguely that the openly incredulity in the clown’s voice should be flattering, at least for women who unlike her need external validation to give a sense to their lives, but the matter leaves her even more indifferent today than it normally would. Every ounce of willpower in her is screaming at her not to go to that guy and punch him in the face hard and repetitively enough to make him irrecognisable to his own mother, like she’d be so happy to do; it would amount to nothing, save have her banned from one of the few bars in town she actually likes. 

And make her feel a little better.

Still, the guy is part of the problem rather than an unsuspecting victim, because he was well aware that you were in a relationship. Alvida met Barto at a farewell party to celebrate his transfer to another of the firm’s offices across the country, to which she had participated in her role as your partner; you made presentations, the two of them shook hands, end of the story. Afterwards, newly single and broken-hearted, Alvida had replayed the events of that night in her mind a thousand times, trying desperately to remember a gaze or a smile or a touch that might betray what existed, or soon would, between the two of you, and she had always come frustratingly short. 

Barto was a cool guy, you had told her, but you weren’t closer than several years as colleagues had naturally brought you to be. And yet, soon after his departure, you accepted your boss’ request to act as liaison between the two offices, which led you to make short trips across the country every three or four weeks, a sort of task you had previously refused several times. “She has never wanted to do it before, and now that this colleague has been transferred all of a sudden she’s fine with going to visit his workplace once a month? I don’t want to point fingers, but are you sure (name) is not keeping something for you?” Buggy had pointed out, not unreasonably Alvida had had to admit; the distance would make it much easier for you to maintain a second relationship, especially given the timing of your decision.

Alvida had refused to believe it; what existed between you was too deep, too important to ruin it, especially after she had warned you at the beginning of your relationship that cheating was something she couldn’t and wouldn’t condone. Alvida knew you were happy with her, satisfied from both an emotional and sexual point of view; you had met each other’s family, spent the holidays together, and recently you had asked her to move in with you. All signs of a deep, committed relationship, one that both parties believed in and wanted to protect; and yet… 

And yet she was cheating on me; she cheated for a whole year and then told me, confessing the truth when I went to visit her in jail. I couldn’t believe her, I refused to believe her, and so she gave me the details, and told me things no one would want to know about their partner and another person. I screamed, and she cried, and then the wardens had to drag away both of us. Four years together down the drain.

Alvida has no idea of why Barto is back in town, whether he has been transferred back to his firm’s office in Loguetown or he simply came to visit old friends; she doesn’t care, not beyond the hope that the guy is not going to remain long, because she doubts her self-control could survive a second meeting. She makes sure to walk past Barto on her way to the door, and bumps her shoulder against his, hard enough to hurt; she’s looking for a fight and she’s well aware of it, aware enough to feel a bitter satisfaction in her heart when the green-haired man turns and “Hey!” he starts belligerently “Watch where you’re going!”

Oh, screw it; there are other bars in town. Alvida turns, quickly evaluating that she can take this guy in a fight with a hand behind her back. “You got a lot of nerve talking to me, you know.” she reacts in her most insolent tone “Do you know who I am?”

“No. Should I?”

“You really should. I am Alvida, I was (full name)’s partner three years ago.”

Barto blinks. “Oh, right; we met that day at the party. So what? The fact that I worked with your girl once gives you the right to knock into me?”

Alvida frowns; there is something in the expression of the man in front of her, nonplussed and completely at ease, that bothers her somehow, even though at first she wouldn’t be able to say why. 

“Pal, you slept with her girlfriend for a year.” Buggy, who by now has stepped next to her, unknowingly voices the thoughts Alvida hasn’t managed to translate into words “I know you weren’t friends or anything, but you should at least apologise.”

“... I did what?”

They’re in the middle of the bar, the argument having already attracted the attention of several patrons. Alvida swallows, unbothered by the unwanted attention; she feels as if she had unknowingly stepped on the edge of a precipice while out for a tranquil stroll. “You have had an affair with (name).” she starts slowly “It started while you worked together here in town, and then she started acting as liaison between the two offices so that the two of you could carry it out far enough for me not to know.”

“What the hell? I did nothing of the sort!” Barto protests.

“... eh?”

“I never slept with (name). I mean, she’s pretty and everything, but she’s not my type, not to mention she talked about her partner, you, a lot so I doubt she would have been interested. And it’s true that she came to my new office in Gartel Island once in a while, but I barely saw her then, because she had work to do with my supervisor rather than with me. Why in the world would you think we were together? And what happened to her, by the way? I heard she went to jail because she had killed someone, go figure…”

Judging from the way Barto is looking at her and Buggy, Alvida could swear she has grown a second head. “What the hell is happening here?” he asks, and since neither of his two interlocutors is able to answer he shrugs and walks away in the direction of the counter, still manned by Koby.

“What the fuck? Why would she tell you she had cheated if it weren’t true?” Buggy protests, visibly pale behind his clown make-up, and that is a question Alvida has no answer for, no matter how dearly she wishes she did. 

Fortunately, she knows there is one person able to shed light on the matter - apart from you, whom Alvida feels unable to face at the moment. Her head is spinning, her heart pounding, but at the same time she feels strangely clear-headed, like a person recovering from a long illness who is once again able to stand and move on her own. She turns in Buggy’s direction and “Where does Shanks work?” she asks “I need to talk to him.”

“He’ll be at home right now; he works remotely on Friday.” the clown promptly answers, already rummaging through his pockets for his keys; he finds the check he had shoved there a minute ago and promptly ignores it “I’ll drive you.”

*****

“Hello, granny. I came to visit, sorry it took me so long.”

The cemetery is unexpectedly deserted, which suits you just fine, since the fewer witnesses there are to what you need to do the better, even though you doubt other loved ones would be surprised to see a person talking out loud to herself as she arranges flowers in one of the simple metal vases placed in front of each headstone.

“You’ll never guess; I got a job offer today! They haven’t sent me the paperwork yet and I’m pretty sure I can get more money than what they’re offering, since after all I have several years of experience in the role and I deserve fair compensation, don’t you think? Still, the company is well-reputed and they don’t seem bothered by the fact I was in prison, so I think I’m going to like it there.”

The flowers themselves are roses rather than lilies, since the shop was sadly out of stock of your grandmother’s favourites, even though you were able to find a bunch of white ones, so that the colour at least is the desired one. Kneeling on the grass next to the pit, you pour water into the vase from the bottle you have filled at a nearby public fountain; finally, satisfied with the result of your labour, you shift to sit on the grass next to the headstone, close enough to run your fingertip along the engraved words and numbers on the surface. 

The name is her full one, which you never heard anyone use, the dates of birth and death many decades apart and yet too close together in your personal opinion. Sighing to yourself, you let your hands fall to your lap and remain silent, lulled by the quiet, melancholic silence of the cemetery, able to find if not comfort at least closure in the certainty that your grandmother never doubted your innocence and loved you to her last breath.

That doesn’t feel like enough, but it is, it must be, and one day you’ll be able to convince yourself. You remain quietly sitting by yourself for a while, thinking things there is no need to speak out loud because you know the addressee can feel them directly in your heart, and after a while you stand to caress the surface of the headstone and promise you’ll be back soon. You’ll never forgive yourself for not having been there when she needed you the most, and in time for saying farewell one last time; but part of her has always perdured by your side and it always will, and you like to think that wherever she is, she’s not alone.

At least she and your parents will be able to keep each other company now.

You take your time walking out of the cemetery, and as you step on the sidewalk you find yourself face to face with a person who has been waiting for your arrival for quite some time, judging from the comfortable position she has assumed on the bench facing the main gate, with her phone in one hand and a coffee cup taken at the nearby café in the other. 

“Hey.”

“Hi. Hope it’s not a problem if I came, Shanks told me I would find you here.” Alvida says, and you nod in response, even though the fact that she has spoken to your friend and secret keeper, a man she has never had reason to or interest in hanging out with until now, does set off an alarm in your brain “Everything alright? In… there, I mean.”

All you can do is shrug helplessly in return; the fact that it took you two weeks to gather the courage to visit your grandmother at the cemetery suggests you still haven’t gotten re-used to normality after your release from prison, and made peace with her passing even less, but it did bring you a form of closure, which is what she would have wanted for you.

“It’s good to see you.” you add as you let yourself fall on the bench next to her; quietly, you add: “I don’t need to ask what you’ve come to talk to me about, do I?”

“You certainly don’t.” 

“Listen, I…”

“For fuck’s sake, (name)...”

Alvida sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose like an elementary school teacher dealing with a particularly unruly class for the fifth consecutive period. Having put her coffee cup away, she turns to look at you, opens her mouth to speak and then she doesn’t, as if overwhelmed by the truth she has threatened out of Shanks and that the half an hour spent waiting for your arrival hasn’t been enough to come to terms with. “For fuck’s sake.” she repeats under her breath, an unexpressed sentiment you can’t help agreeing with. 

The man who killed Khladore Kuro, Morgan, is a -former- police captain; having learnt of your brawl with the man after his would-be victim had attempted to cheat your grandmother out of her life savings, it was easy for him to lay the blame on you, taking advantage of the apparent motive and then manipulating the findings of the crime lab so that your, rather than his, fingerprints would be found on the crime weapon. So you found yourself in jail for a crime you had not committed, while the real culprit even had the satisfaction of witnessing the trial from the first row, as one of the many officers present.

The message and the pictures arrived three days later, after you had already begged your lawyer for help, because you were convinced the evidence that had been presented against you had been tampered with or were wrong in some way, because you had never visited Kuro in his home, you didn’t even know the guy’s address, dammit!, and so it was absolutely impossible that your fingerprints had been found on the handle of the large kitchen knife used to stab him repeatedly and that had caused his death. At the time, while terrified about the wrongful imprisonment you had been subjected to, you still felt naively hopeful you would be let out soon, once proof of your innocence were found; you were at home with your grandmother at the time of the death, which meant no believable alibi, but come on, you wouldn’t spend the rest of your life behind bars for a crime you hadn’t committed, right?

And then you found that envelope under your pillow when you returned to your cell after breakfast, containing several pictures of your grandmother and partner, clearly taken while the subjects themselves were unawares, and a brief message that made it abundantly clear what would befall your loved ones if you didn’t stop protesting your innocence - or if you spoke about the matter to anyone. You spent an entire, sleepless night agonizing over it, soon coming to the conclusion that no matter how tightly shut you could keep your mouth, you needed to keep both women as away from you as possible, for their own safety. 

You had already begged your grandmother not to come on visitation time, no matter how terribly you missed each other, because you knew the meeting would break both your and her heart; her death two months later made the preoccupation superfluous, and part of you regretted not giving you and your beloved grandmother the chance to say goodbye one last time. With Alvida the matter was different; headstrong and determined as she was, you couldn’t stop your partner from coming to visit you every Wednesday, repeatedly asking about whether your lawyer had already appealed the trial’s verdict and even handing out flyers in the streets to keep people interested in your case. 

Either she stopped attracting attention and, in turn, putting your mysterious blackmailer’s plan in jeopardy, or you feared something terrible would happen to your partner. And since you wanted to prevent that from happening, no matter the cost for you, you took a terrible decision, a decision that would break your heart and make you feel the loneliest person left on Earth, but would keep Alvida safe. 

“I guess you chose Bartolomeo because he had moved away; since he no longer lived in town, you thought the chance of him and I running into each other was nil, and your lie would remain so.” Alvida points out after a few minutes you have spent in silence, sitting side by side, each lost in your thoughts. The cup of coffee left unattended, your former partner has lit a cigarette and is now smoking it as if she had found the innocent cylinder of paper and tobacco in bed with her wife, her gaze carefully averting yours, while you are content with looking at her out of the corner of your eye, drinking in her beauty the way a woman dying of thirst would do with a spring of clear water “A clever plan, but your friend is in town today, so I guess he came back to visit old friends or something.”

“Fuck…”

“Fuck indeed; why in the world did you tell Shanks and not me? I know he’s your best friend, (name), but didn’t you think I deserved to know the truth as well?”

“Of course you did, but I told you I had been unfaithful because I wanted to keep you away from this whole mess, and letting you in on the truth would have gotten the opposite result.” you point out softly “Morgan, even though at the time I obviously didn’t know it was him, had threatened you and my grandmother, so I was reasonably sure Shanks would be safe. I wasn’t even sure I would manage to tell him the truth; I suspected from the start someone among the wardens was keeping an eye on me, since the envelope with the pictures had been left in my cell, and I felt it wasn’t safe to speak about it, over the phone or during visitation. In the end I started carrying the envelope with me; one day Tashigi -she’s one of the wardens, remember her?, the one with the glasses- allowed us to share a hug and I slipped it in the inside pocket of his jacket. I wanted someone to know the truth, in case… in case something happened to me.”

Alvida snorts, the sound openly derisive in response to what you perhaps presumptuously considered a selfless act. “And so you decided for me, and that lying was the best option.” 

“Alvida, your life was at stake; I couldn’t discount the possibility that whoever had set me up would know you had learnt the truth, and then they would come after you.”

“And you didn’t think I would want to know all the same?” she insists, anger and heartbreak heavy in her voice; for a moment you think she’s going to grab at you again, but Alvida limits herself to throw her cigarette to the ground, shaking her head as if she couldn’t believe what you did, as if unable to come to terms with the fact you deliberately, consciously hurt her, sacrificing her happiness and your life together for the only thing that was more important than them - her safety “We had been together for four years! I loved you, and we had so many plans for the future! How could you lie to me? Did what we had mean nothing to you?”

“I lied to protect you!” you scream; three years spent looking behind your shoulders, keeping silent about truths you would have wanted to shout from the rooftops and expecting to spend the rest of your life behind bars for a crime not of your own have left their mark on you, a mark you now express with a burst of rage that you already know will leave behind no relief or consolation once it has extinguished, but only emptiness “I lied because I couldn’t take any chance with your life being at risk! Do you think it was easy for me? That I simply decided to throw away four years of my life, the most important relationship I had ever had, for the heck of it? Don’t you think it broke me, knowing that I was losing you either way because you would never forgive me if you found out what I had done? Because it did!”

For three years you have missed Alvida so intensely you would have gladly paid any price for a single embrace, but now you can’t bear having her close. You stand from the bench and turn to look at her, the intensity of your long-repressed feelings making you tremble; you have been arguing loud enough for passers-by to turn to look and you’re pretty sure someone is observing the scene from a nearby first-floor window, but you don’t give a damn - quite the opposite in fact; it feels good, for once, to have your voice heard. 

“I spent three years in jail, with the prospect of remaining there until my death. My grandmother was dead, all my friends except for Shanks had abandoned me, and I was being blackmailed! Can you imagine what my life was like in those years? Yes, I lied to you, and broke up with you, but I’ll never apologise for this, because I did it to keep you safe! We were both heartbroken, but you were free, safe, and able to start a new relationship and live a normal life, while I was behind bars! I was alone, never knowing whether the person who was blackmailing me would one day decide it was safer to silence me forever. I know it was hard for you, but do you really think you have a right to complain?!”

Your screams finally come to a close, more because you’re out of breath than because your tirade has reached its natural conclusion. You and Alvida stare at each other for a long moment, and when you see her stand you could bet your house and everything that is therein that you will see her turn and walk away, this time forever; while not unreasonable nor unfeeling, your former partner is not the sort of person who takes it kindly to people who raise their voice at her. She’ll probably regret coming to talk to you, and promise herself to forget you ever knew each other. 

You’re practically sure this is what will happen. You don’t deserve it, quite the contrary in fact, but three years can’t be forgotten in the blink of an eye, and in that span of time Alvida has lived a life you were not part of; you know you still want her as much as you once did and then some, but there would be nothing more natural if…

And then she moves.

The embrace is neither sweet nor pleasant; it’s more of a bear hug, possessive and even desperate, Alvida’s bag painfully digging into your hip while her arms clench around your shoulders, the hold made awkward by the height difference. It’s not the sort of hug you had wistfully wished your former partner would give you at the moment of your release, the sort who speaks of kept loyalty and of looking forward to pick up where you had left off; this feels more like Alvida has thrown herself at you to stop you from jumping out of a window.

And yet it’s her, and it’s you, close enough that you can fill your senses with her perfume, which unlike her lipstick colour hasn’t changed since you last smelt it, and her soft body pressed against yours that after a moment of struggling you manage to hold as well, wrapping your arms around her waist. You rest your cheek against her shoulder, and feel a manicured hand run through your hair.

A few minutes pass before either of you finds the courage to move; you hold each other tight, as if fearing something terrible might happen if you let go and maybe it might, until “I’m sorry.” Alvida mumbles against your neck “Fuck, (name), this is… this is all a nightmare…”

She has no idea, you murmur, even though you do feel a little better now that you have spilled the beans and shared the truth with her. “I could have never cheated on you; the mere idea is… I could never have, not even if my life were at stake. I loved you, and we were so happy, I… I just wanted to protect you. I told myself that knowing that you hated me was a fair price to pay to make sure you were safe.”

“And I did hate you; I was in pain for everything you were going through, but I couldn’t… I couldn’t bear to think about you with someone else. (name), why in the world did you accept that new job, going back and forth between here and the office in Gartel Island? You had always told me it wasn’t for you.”

“I know, but… well, we had started talking about going to live together, and I didn’t have much in terms of savings to pay for an apartment. I thought that the liaison job could change things, even if it meant driving across the country once or twice a month and having to deal with that idiot of the supervisor. The extra cash could come in handy, maybe we could afford a larger place, or one closer to the town centre.”

The guilt and shame on Alvida’s expression is something you never wished to see, and that makes you feel even worse; before you can beg her to stop, and not to cry over what has been and can’t be changed, you see her partially break the embrace to run her hand over her face, a tell-tale sign to help her regain control of herself.

“Listen, I don’t know if your lawyer told you, but… I had hired someone to look into your case.” she mumbles after a moment, looking everywhere except towards you “I knew you had never been at that guy’s place, and I couldn’t understand how your fingerprints had ended up on the knife that had killed him. Maybe forensics had made a mistake, but Buggy knew of this Marine captain, Morgan, who was said to have been in the same business as Kuro, dealing with blackmail and extortion… and so I asked someone to do some digging.”

You’re still holding each other tight, and busy as you are feeling and enjoying the sensation of Alvida’s body pressed against yours, it takes you a moment to grasp the meaning of her words. “You… hired a detective to look into my case?”  

“I did. Not the best in the game, because you have no idea how expensive those are, but they were able to find proof of Morgan’s guilt.”

“That was you?!”

You never knew; all you were told by your lawyer, almost three years after your last conversation, was that new evidence had been found. Kuro’s side job had earned him several enemies and the man was careful enough both to record his conversations and keep a camera hidden in his flat, just in case someone entered to - well, to do what Morgan did that night, to confront his associate about a certain sum of hustled money that hadn't been paid. The camera, hidden among the books on a shelf, had been retrieved by a couple of Kuro’s associates, Sham and Buchi, after forensics had failed to notice it during their inspection, but someone -that is, the detective hired by Alvida- managed to obtain and pass it to your lawyer. 

Your case was reopened, and the jury only needed to take a look at the video, which clearly showed an argument between the two men before Morgan stabbed Kuro with a knife he had just retrieved from the kitchen, to overturn the previous ruling and return a verdict of not guilty. Morgan clearly is not occupying the cell that once was yours, since he’s a man, but you can’t help wishing he’ll suffer as much as you did, over the several decades he’ll have to spend behind bars.

The fact that the detective found the camera three years after your arrest means that Alvida kept employing, and paying, them long after the two of you had broken up. When you point this out, your former partner mumbles that the two things were not connected anyway and the fact that she no longer wanted to be in a relationship with you didn’t mean she was happy at the prospect you would spend the rest of your life behind bars for a crime you hadn’t committed. 

A moment later your embrace is broken, but you and Alvida remain face to face, both unwilling to conclude the moment you’re sharing. “I never wanted any of this.” you say, and she nods, as aware as you are that even if you make peace with each other, those three years are gone forever, wasted and cause of so many problems you are now forced to deal with, from the lack of a job to the death of your grandmother to the neighbours who hide around the corner in order not to cross paths with you on the stairs. All issues you can deal with and find some sort of solution to, you are well aware; it’s just that you shouldn’t have to.

“Listen… are you doing anything?”

“Sorry?”

“Tonight.” Alvida specifies, and you could almost swear a blush has tinted her cheeks, if you weren’t quite sure she’s physically unable to feel embarrassment in this sort of situation “If you’re not busy, we could do something together. Dinner, a movie… like old times. You don’t have to say yes if you’d rather not…”

“No, no, it’s not that.” you hurry to answer, aware that Alvida’s sudden step back was due to the appalled expression she’s seen on your face “It’s just that… I thought…”

“What?”

“Buggy said you had moved on. That you… had someone else…”

“Oh, those.” Alvida couldn’t sound more dismissive if she were holding a banner with the word written on it, her hand waved in an equally disdainful gesture “Yeah, I had a few dates, fooled around a little, but nothing major; no one really interested me, you know? Nothing even remotely comparable to you, and to what we shared. I really tried, (name); but I think… you can’t put water in a cup that is already filled to the brink.” 

She looks away, hands in her pockets, as if that brief admission was too much to bear, but the small smile on her pink-painted lips is enough; you take a deep breath and say: “I’m not.” 

“What?”

“I’m not busy tonight, and I’d really like to have dinner and watch a movie. I’d love to in fact.” 

“Great.”