Sometimes he dreamt of Mama in the sea, floating alone in a tiny, beat-up boat that looked as though a single sour look would make it fall apart. There was no motor as far as he could tell, or anything else in the boat that she could use to steer it; she was at the mercy of the wind and the tides, every time.
As for Viktor, he would always find himself on the shore, not too far from their house. He would be six, sixteen, twenty-six, anything else in between. Sometimes barefoot, sometimes not; sometimes in uniform, sometimes not. Sometimes draped in a flimsy hotel blanket, from his latest horrible lapse in judgment; sometimes, wearing spatters of blood on his clothes and hands.
But one thing was always the same: he would be standing on the beach, as he was now. And he would always know, as he knew full well now, that she’d left him once before.
No matter how much the sea churned that night, he could always hear her voice, inexplicably clear as a bell.
She would always be floating the same distance away, her hands cupped over her lips. Viktor jumped into the sea without thinking, as he always did, the frigid water shocking him to his bones, but not enough to paralyze him. He swam and swam, until his limbs ached and his lungs burned.
“Keep going! You’re almost there. Just a little bit more!”
But no matter how hard he tried - no matter how fast or how desperately he swam - he could never close the gap between himself and Mama’s boat, not even by an inch.
Yes, I’m alive, we’re alive!! ^_^;; So, so, so sorry for the radio silence! Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, happy ‘we survived what was almost WWIII’, etc. Hope we’re all staying safe and healthy and sane throughout this pandemic crisis (I feel like March 2020 has lasted 10 years…)
In any case, barring any disasters (*knock on wood*), Ch. 17 goes up around midnight-ish Eastern Time on Saturday, April 4th.
(*stares at unanswered AO3 comments* ….. :) )
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