[READ Have Vengeance FIRST]
"Long time no see."
"Fuck you."
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After three years, Alyona finds herself back in New York after fleeing from the memories it left behind. With the killer of her best friend still not brought to justice, Alyona w...
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•°. *࿐
THE BLAZER ON my arm is itchy, the tie around my neck was tight until I loosened it - and these damn shoes are probably going to give me blisters. But other than that, I suppose some free food and wine is nice.
Not much has happened since I ate pizza in a park with Viria. We haven't really seen each other after - but this time it's because of her duties and not because she's ignoring me. Which is progress.
Apparently Yara has a very important meeting concerning politics and whatnot. She's holding a soiree in honour of...well herself - and she wants every one of her most important members or whatever to attend.
Which means here I am. Someone apparently important. In fancy clothes. That I absolutely hate.
I'm also alone, in the back, a glass of champagne in hand - watching everything in the great hall Yara rented unfold. Many old people...sorry, many old men with young women on their arms take up the room.
I can see Yara mingling in the back, Victor happily by her side. It's weird, I think. That they're my bosses. I was told by doctors my memory would start coming back if I surrounded myself with people in my old life.
So far, I barely remember anything.
Other than Viria.
I don't remember her per se - I mean, like she said, we've never met before this - but I do remember her presence. Maybe that's why I like her so much, maybe not. Either way, I find myself only truly acting like me (whoever me might be) when I'm around her.
Yara on the other hand? When I'm around her I feel nothing. Same with Victor. In fact, watching them mingle and put on fake smiles to all these profiters and their escorts stirs something uncanny in my stomach. I don't like it.
"Really don't like it here, huh?" I flinch when the voice comes up next to me.
Viria peers up at me over her own champagne glass as she stands comfortably close.
"I just don't remember going to any of this shit." I mumble, looking at her dress longer than I should. It's nice and red. Her hair goes really pretty with it. A little too pretty. Too pretty that it's unfair.
She pauses for a moment before facing forward, "I'm guessing none of your memories are kicking in?"
"Nope." I sigh.
"Shame."
"Do you think I was different? I mean knowing you, you probably researched me when you learned I'd be working with you - what was I like Sherlock?" I ask.
She huffs out an amused sort of sound before taking a sip of her champagne and setting the glass on a passing waiter's tray.
"You were quiet...supposedly. Apparently or whatever. Rare smiles, little interest in those around you except maybe a few - and you were a hard worker." She says. "Maybe too much of a hard worker. Like your job mattered more than anything else. Or anyone else."
