Yesterday's Enemy [AoT]

SEVENTY-TWO

'Love is but a bold choice.'

-An extract from the book 'Evolutions' written by philosopher Adette Briggs.

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SEVENTY-TWO

Wall Maria, South Region, Port Noaks, Hyde Residence

Lorelai didn't stop to think. She knew that if she spared even a moment to second guess herself, this decision would slip through her fingers.

Before long, she was bursting into the watermill house, Romero stumbling in cluelessly after her. She tore into the kitchen, rummaging through drawers and cabinets for something— a pen, an envelope, paper, anything!

"Easy, slow down there, kid; what are you doing?" Romero tried to reason, catching his breath in the doorway. Lorelai had fled from that graveyard as if her ass was on fire. "What-"

"I don't know," she exclaimed, sighing in exasperation as she moved her search to the drawing room. "I guess I'm... taking back. I need a pen."

"You're calling off the wedding?" he called after her in disbelief.

"Yes! No... I don't know. I need to find Levi."

"That grumpy runt? How does he figure into this?"

"He doesn't; I just-" Lorelai was tearing open every drawer and cabinet in the house, marching around with an energy Romero hadn't seen in her since childhood. "I need a pen!" she exclaimed once more; only then did he realise just what was happening.

"Oh shit," he blurted out. "You need a pen!" Romero was hurriedly hobbling up the stairs with as much urgency as his old bones were capable of. From there, he tore into his reading room and acquired the prized writing instrument. "I've got it, kid!" he called down.

"Come on then; chuck it!"

"Alright, alright, hold your horses." Romero made it to the third step before Lorelai had snatched it from his hand. And, with a crumpled bit of paper that might have been the grocery list, she was soon sat down scribbling away like a schoolchild at the kitchen table.

Romero caught his breath as he staggered back into the kitchen. "Larken above, you're gonna be the death of me." He had just slumped into the seat opposite her before, "I need a whiskey," and he was searching through the cupboards once more.

Lorelai paid him little mind. She couldn't stop. She couldn't think. And if she caught even one more glimpse of a laughing child in rainwear, she might scream. No. No, she was doing this. Holy shit, she was actually doing this.

"Now," said Romero, pouring his drink. "Why don't ya' fill me in on-"

"No time." Done writing, she folded the grocery list into a makeshift envelope, scribbling an address next to 'bread, eggs, beer.' "I need you-" she pushed her letter into Romero's hand, "-to take this to the post office."

"I just sat down-"

"Believe me, old man," she was breathing heavily. "Your drink is the least of the casualties here." Lorelai snatched the glass and took a swig. "I have to go."

"Kid-"

"Wedding's off," she decided. "I can't do it. I can't. And maybe that makes me a bad person, but I don't care."

A broad smile broke out on Romero's face. "Atta girl!" he got up. "You-"

"Post office. Please."