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your pov
The rain continued to pour, its steady rhythm matching the heavy mood that surrounded us—upset, angry, frustrated. Violet, more than anyone, seemed consumed by it. I stayed silent, letting her lead the way, though I had no idea where we were headed. Eventually, she stopped under a weathered arch, the cold air adding to the tense atmosphere.
She slid down the wall, settling onto the wet floor. I hesitated for a moment, unsure whether I should give comfort or remain quiet. Without a word, I sat next to her.
It was overwhelming—everything we had endured, everything still ahead of us. But it was especially heavy for Violet. She had to make the weight of every decision, and stood firm in moments of doubt. But perhaps it was time for her to prioritize her own needs, own peace.
After everything, maybe it was time for my Vi to put herself first.
In a sudden motion, Violet grabbed an empty bottle and threw it aside. The bottle clattered as it hit somebody, the sound sharp.
A man appeared, sitting up startled, merely looking down at the bottle and gently moving it out the way.
"Hey, watch it." His voice calm but he was probably carrying a hint of annoyance.
"Sorry." She glances at him and then back into her lap, quietly.
"Not my first," he said, his voice low, as he stood from the pile of newspapers. He took a few steps and approached us, his presence calm.
He paused for a moment before addressing her directly, his voice soft, "You alright?" he asks.
Violet remained silent, her gaze fixed firmly on the ground now. In response, the man sighed, and slowly lowered himself onto the wet floor. He slid down against the wall, settling down next to her.
He clicked his tongue, a small sound of sympathy. After a moment of silence, he pulled his hand from his jacket, a flask appearing in his grasp. "You, uh, lose someone in the attack?" he asked, his tone gentle. Without waiting for an answer, he extended the flask toward her, an offer of comfort.
Violet hesisted, her gaze lingering on the flask before she finally reached for it. She unscrewed the cap, her movements slow, but then she took a deep breath and downed the drink. When she finished, she handed it to me without a word.
I paused, the flask resting heavy in my hands as I stared at it. My mind churning. I remembered where I was a few weeks ago, the feeling of losing myself.
I sighed, shook off the weight of my thoughts, and took the flask. I tipped it back, the warmth of alcohol spreading quickly through my chest as I drank—almost emptying it. Though I left just a small amount.
