Chi lar dura la vince.

He that endures overcomes.   

"Why did you want me here?" I asked, my voice strangled from the tears begging to break free.

"Why did you come? You could have just ignored my message." His husky, demanding voice inquired, every fiber of my body aware that his question was entirely rhetorical.

"And let Georgia be another one of your preys?" A dialogue formed exclusively on questions was odd even for us, but I presumed there was a finality of some sort.

He nodded, pretending he understood what I have been put through, and motioned me to close the gap between us and the grave I remembered so poignantly.

"Familiarity hits you right in the face, doesn't it?" The modulations of his voice shifted, leaving an empty spot for the devastated teenager he once was.

Incoherence would have been written all across my speech if I allowed any words to escape my lips. I remained silent. The relentless whips of the wind scourged my cheeks, as if nature itself was on my companion's side, consoling him for what I had done.

Sometimes, there was a flicker of a second when I wondered why I would ever be forgiven; an indefinite interval of time when I prayed for the puniest comprehension, the frailest explanation. I always assumed that God has received my sincerest apologies, but did He? Despite His love for sinners and prodigals sons that are yet to return, how could He forgive me when I was unable to do so myself?

"Leonore?" I flinched at the sound of my own name rolling off his tongue. I could taste his long-lasting venom regardless of him talking or not; a venom which glided so effortlessly over my open wounds that not a dozen whimpers would have sufficed as testimony of my pain.

For the first time in a few years, I took the initiative to gaze straightly at his orbs, feeling bold enough to verbalize those caged emotions I kept under secured lock. I distanced myself from the grave and walked in his direction, only stopping after the tip of my nose reached his. There was a funny, foreign feeling that tickled the pits of my belly, but whatever origins it had, it needed to be put aside. Gathering courage and enough defiance to address my affliction to my tormenter - once, my victim - was a battle in its rightful sense.

"Emmanuel..." Both our breaths caught in our throats the second his name collided with the autumnal, cold air of the cemetery. "I am hurting more than you know, more than you can possibly imagine. Just because I pretend to have everything under control, does not mean I can control my nightmares. My body, my mind, and my soul already punish me for what I had done, there is no need for you to ally your pain-inflicting strategies with theirs."

Emmanuel narrowed his eyes, feline pupils looking into my sorrow-filled ones. I noticed his Adam's apple bopping quite hectically, and his coat moving up-and-down as his breathing increased. Did he actually understand my words?

"Go on." I suppose he had not. His vocal inflexions were made of steel, or even worse - gun powder. Every time his words made contact with the air he and I shared, I would get shot. It was only a matter of time before the bullets he shot with too much ease grazed all the essence I have left.

"I remember every detail of that day, her reaction, yours, and a few days later, this very grave we had stared at. I remember every contour, shade, gesture, facial expression, and clothing item. These aspects are so lively in my head, in my memory, that not even methanal could numb them; not even cigarettes, pills, stolen mor..."

My speech halted due to menace of tears. The prospect of crying in front of him was abominable, preposterous, but I was tired, so damn tired to uphold a steady, happy-go-lucky mien. That was not me. For Heaven's sake, that has not been me ever since that day and perhaps years before.

I collapsed, my gaze falling on his polished shoes, half-covered by auburn leaves. Every limb of my body quivered, my vision blurred, and if I were to stand up, I would have fallen for sure. During the few moments before Emmanuel interfered, I bit my lower lip so harshly that I could almost hear my flesh tousing under the pressure of my teeth.

"Enough with the victim display."

It must have been a mere hallucination, for I swear I felt honey dripping from his lips. Was his tone actually mellow, as I had presumed? It could not be, could it?

"Come on." I heard a faint whisper passing swiftly in the air, and saw his hand extended towards mine. I blinked incredulously, unsure of how to act upon his gesture. Noticing that I was unresponsive, Emmanuel lowered his frame to the brass-painted ground, pillared my waist and rose me to my feet.

Eyeing my bruised lip, he brushed a thumb over my sensitive flesh, but oddly enough, I did not wince at all.

"This side suits you better... Emmanuel." I nearly choked on my own words, my gaze thankful for the unexpected altruism.

I should have sewn my mouth shut. I should have, God! In a blink, he recomposed his act and firmed his jaw. All traces of compassion departed as abruptly as they occurred.

"Get into my car. I will drive you to the dorms." He ordered, his tone adamant and bereft of inflexions.

I shivered, the same, familiar anguish setting itself in my circuits. I complied nevertheless, hopping inside the coal-black metal feline. During our ride, no words have been spoken. Not even a cough, or an accidental glance. Nothing.

As soon as we reached the dorms, however, Emmanuel's phone resounded loudly in his pocket. I could have exited the car myself, not even bothering to wave goodbye, but fascination kicked in and my buttocks refused to move from the back-seat.

"Have you chiseled the project, mate?" He asked in a voice pampered with unfeigned anticipation.

While holding the phone in his worn-out hands, I perceived all the little veins that wavered in between his carpals. Some of them were profound, almost scared to renounce their comfort, but others, more daring, turned dark-blue as they lowered on his arm.

I was a Medical student, it was required of me to notice even the slightest details of the human body, but his... oh, for the love of Virgin Mary, his features were more than to be reveled at - they were proof of God's unyielding creation.

"I need to run some errands, can someone else surveil the blackboard?" A new modulation of his voice descended my head from the clouds. "I'll find a substitute, then." He scoffed, the creases on his forehead visible from the rear-mirror.

Ending the call rather bluntly, he turned around to face me, his elbow leaning against the leathered seat.

"Off you go, Leonore."

I fidgeted with the hem of my coat, anxiously stamping my foot. Curiosity weaved throughout my entire being.

"Can I... can I babysit your project?" I stuttered, feeling like a child more than ever.

"Pardon me?" His eyebrows quirked, one perky corner of his mouth lifting.

"I have no assignments for the rest of the week, I could use some leisure time."

"And you think <<staring at obscure formulas on a piece of enamel>> is leisure time?"

"Even though I can hardly understand most mathematical notions, my jaw still hits the floor every time I gaze at them. After all, it is art I will be a chaperon for... if you allow me." I smiled dreamily, my heart constricting at the possibility of his refusal.

There was a flicker of doubt in that divinely-painted mixture of aquamarine hues. His eyes stared at me so reflectively that I could picture myself at an X-ray, analyzed and over-analyzed with as much penetration as possible. I shivered.

"Fine. Every lint and speck of dust must remain in their spots, alright?" Emmanuel held an imperative tone that aptly made me conform to whatever standards he desired - an obedience I knew was perilous.

A quarter of an hour later, we reached the room that sheltered the blackboard. It was only a matter of seconds before I realized that Emmanuel turned her room into an office.

"N-no, oh, God, no!" I pleaded, whimpers leaving my mouth with the vigour of an earthquake.

"Oh, yes. You shall stay here until my return." Emmanuel pushed me forward, turning on a few more lamps on his way to the blackboard.

"Even after her death, she inspires me." He uttered, his orbs filled with remembrance. "This was your idea, therefore you must honour it as skillfully as you can." A smirk dispersed all across his lips, soon followed by steps preparing to leave.

"B-but I did not..." My voice faltered as soon as I heard the rattling of keys. He locked me up.

I could feel her presence, despite the layering of years. Her strangled laughter, her desire to submit to society's unrealistic demands, her trembling fingers each time someone engaged into a conversation with her. I ruined those angelic features of hers, and the irreversibility of the past crawled under my skin like a serpent.

Impoverished by undying memories, I focused my attention on the chalk-written formulas. It was mostly Emmanuel's calligraphy, I could tell. Each capital letter had an elegant loop, while the others resembled the gothic script of the 15th century. Even through his peculiar handwriting, he was the epitome of unshaken identity – he could never be mistaken for someone else.

She could have been a trend-setter too, if not for your unruly mouth.

"S-stop it!" I yelled, my words colliding with the pearl-white walls.

My breath exited in a tremor I had grown accustomed to. It seemed that my own body refused to cope with my grief, betraying me for the sake of suffering.

Was it a trance I had fallen into if I could hardly acknowledge the passing of a full hour? Perhaps. What confused me even more was the sudden need of scribbling down my agony. Why would it matter if I allowed a piece of paper to guard my thoughts? There was no palpable closure in that method, and yet I did it almost unconsciously.

"What are you doing?" Emmanuel's autocratic tone startled me from behind.

"I just..." I stared at the semi-crumbled sheet, pondering on whether or not I should give it to him. "Read this, please. There are only a few words. Uhm... f-farewell." I bowed down, not daring to look at him straight in the eye.

I stormed out of the room, desperate to inhale the fresh autumnal air. Confined in a space where memories slithered flagrantly, my throat had dried out, my knees wobbled, and my heart... well, it was not even a heart anymore. I could barely recognize it.

It was entirely my fault, but was I so sinful that redemption was impossible to achieve? Before I could answer, or pretend I knew the answer, I collapsed on the concrete, my eyelids steadily closing.