Rossi One: Kian's Little Sky

80. inevitable farewell

Third Person's PoV

Sky sat in the backseat of Kian’s car, her gaze fixed on the passing scenery, a blur of colors and shapes that mirrored the turmoil inside her. The doctors had deemed her well enough to leave the hospital, but the wounds that mattered most were far from healed. A day had passed since her heart-wrenching conversation with Kian, yet the pain felt as fresh as if it were just moments ago.

Kian drove in silence, his focus on the road ahead, but his mind was undoubtedly on the fragile figure in the rearview mirror. He had positioned her in the backseat to give her space, to make her comfortable, though he knew no physical distance could bridge the emotional gap between them.

They were on their way to Sky’s apartment, where she would gather her belongings and the remnants of a life that now felt alien to her. Today, she would board a flight back to Canada, back to what was once home. But the thought of returning to a place where her mother’s embrace would no longer be a source of comfort was a nightmare that clawed at her soul.

A sob broke from Sky’s lips, a sound that cut through the silence of the car like a knife. Kian’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles turning white. He couldn’t bear to see her in such pain, to know that he was a part of the reason for her tears.

Kian exhaled a soft sigh, his attention divided between the road and the rearview mirror, where he could catch glimpses of Sky. He drove with uncharacteristic caution, the speedometer needle hovering below his usual pace. He wanted to spare her any additional discomfort, to offer her this last journey through Italy as a gentle farewell to the country that had been her refuge for four years.

As the car glided slowly along the scenic route, Kian wondered if Sky would ever return to Italy, or if the pain of recent events would forever taint her memories of this place. He pondered whether fate had cruelly decided that her time here was over, pulling her back to a home that would never feel the same without her mother’s presence.

Sky, lost in her thoughts, barely noticed the change in speed. Her mind was filled with the echo of her mother’s voice, a sound she feared would fade with time. The reality that she would never hear that voice again, never feel the comforting embrace that had always been her sanctuary, was a truth too painful to bear. Her sob was a quiet testament to the heartache that no words could soothe and no distance could lessen.

Sky’s voice was a hushed whisper, barely audible over the hum of the car’s engine. “I wish this w-was just a dream,” she murmured, her words laced with a longing for escape from the cruel reality that enveloped her. “Kian, you’re just a dream because it hurts too m-much. I want to w-wake up now.”

Kian bit his lip, the muscles in his jaw working as he fought back his own emotions. He glanced at her through the rearview mirror, his eyes filled with a sorrow that seemed to stretch to the very depths of his soul. “I’m so sorry, baby,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “If I could only take your pain… I’m so sorry I am the reason she is gone. I will forever regret all my actions, baby. I love you.”

The words hung in the air, a confession of his deepest regrets and an admission of his undying love. But for Sky, they were a reminder of all that had been lost, a love that, while not diminished, had been irrevocably altered by tragedy and circumstance.

Sky clutched the blanket that Kian had draped over her, a feeble barrier against the chill that seemed to seep into her very bones. The car’s air conditioning was a faint hum in the background, but the cold she felt went deeper than the mere physical discomfort—it was as if the numbness in her heart had spread, enveloping her in an icy embrace.

Perhaps it was the numbness, a defense against the relentless pain, or maybe it was the fragmentation of her heart, shattered into a million irretrievable pieces. Or perhaps it was the overwhelming desire to forget—to escape the relentless tide of memories and regrets that threatened to drown her.

The car came to a gentle stop, but Sky was so lost in her own world of grief that she didn’t realize they had arrived. Kian got out and opened the door for her, his face a mask of concern and tenderness. He reached out to help her, but she instinctively recoiled, the urge to push him away almost overwhelming.

Yet, her body betrayed her, devoid of strength, and she found herself unable to resist as Kian carefully lifted her from the car. He carried her inside her apartment in a bridal style, his warmth seeping through her cold skin. It was a sensation that stirred memories of better times, and despite everything, it felt good—comforting, even.

Sky allowed herself to bask in the warmth for those few moments, knowing deep down that this would be the last time. The intimacy of his touch, the closeness of his presence—it was a final goodbye to what they once had, a silent acknowledgment of the end of their shared journey.

Kian gently set Sky on her feet at the door of her apartment, his movements careful and deliberate. He reached into the bag slung over his shoulder, searching for her keys with a quiet urgency. Finding them, he unlocked the door and guided her inside, his hands barely leaving her as if she were something precious that might break at the slightest jolt.

Once inside, he lifted her again, carrying her to the small couch that had been a cozy haven for her in this foreign land. It was then that Kian’s eyes fell upon the luggage sitting forlornly by her bedroom door. A sad smile touched his lips as he realized she had already packed, prepared for a journey that fate had cruelly interrupted.

Sky nodded in response to his unspoken question, her voice a hollow echo of her former self. “I was supposed to go b-back to Canada two days after m-my bus accident,” she said, the words heavy with regret. “If I had made it there in time, maybe… m-maybe my mom would still be alive.”

Hearing her words, Kian felt as if the ground beneath him had given way. His strength faltered, and he whispered, almost to himself, “What have I done?” The weight of his decisions, the consequences of his actions, bore down on him with a crushing force. In that moment, he was confronted with the painful reality that his choices may have altered the course of Sky’s life—and her mother’s—in ways he could never have imagined.

Kian steadied himself, fighting to keep his composure despite the tremble in his knees. He moved to Sky’s small kitchen, each step measured and heavy. Silently, he gathered the ingredients for hot chocolate, the familiar routine a temporary distraction from the pain that hung in the air.

As he prepared the drink, his movements were automatic, but his mind was far away, lost in a sea of regret and sorrow. When the hot chocolate was ready, he poured it into a mug, the steam rising like a ghost of warmth in the cold apartment.

He returned to where Sky lay motionless on the couch, her eyes staring blankly at some unseen point. Gently, Kian took her hand and placed the mug in her grasp. “I know it’s not like how Karl makes it,” he said softly, “but I hope you’ll love it.”

Then, with a heavy heart, Kian turned towards the luggage by her bedroom door. He reached for it, his hands brushing against the fabric, each item within a reminder of the life Sky was leaving behind. As he lifted the luggage, a silent vow formed in his heart—to do whatever he could to ease her journey, even if it meant letting her go.

Dragging the luggage to where Sky sat, Kian watched her sip the hot chocolate, her eyes reflecting a deep sadness and longing that he knew mirrored his own. He offered her a sad smile, one filled with the pain of their shared heartache, and took a seat on the floor in front of her.

“Sky,” Kian began, his voice barely above a whisper, “I love you so much, and I’m so sorry for everything.” His eyes never left hers, conveying the sincerity of his words.

“You can rest first,” he continued, his voice gentle. “At five pm, I’ll take you to your flight. I’ll just cook some lunch, baby.” The term of endearment slipped out, a habit from a time when their lives were intertwined with love and hope.

Kian stood up slowly, his movements heavy with the weight of the moment. He moved towards the kitchen to prepare a meal, one last act of care before the inevitable farewell. Sky remained on the couch, the warmth from the hot chocolate a small comfort against the cold reality of her impending departure.

***
Mary Joye.