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𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐓𝐖𝐎

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NEW YORK CITY, USA. THREE MONTHS, BCE

G. CLEMENT: Hello? Can you hear me now?

C. VERNON: Yeah, sorry. Connection's spotty here. I'm ok now though.

G. CLEMENT: Are you sitting on a rock?

C. VERNON: [pauses] Yes.

G. CLEMENT: Right, that's ok. Not a problem at all. I just hope you're somewhat comfortable.

C. VERNON: I'm very used to it now.

G. CLEMENT: Ah-ha. Well, let's get right into it. After our last session, how were you feeling?

C. VERNON: I was ... I was fine, yes. Thank you for asking.

G. CLEMENT: And I'm glad to hear in your last email that you've continued with the writing, that it's progressed further. You've been keeping a diary too, haven't you? To write down the things that trigger you and make you feel like relapsing or restricting.

C. VERNON: Most days.

G. CLEMENT: How have you found that?

C. VERNON: Inconvenient, but I get it. I think I'm more so looking forward to the group sessions when I get back to New York.

G. CLEMENT: Do you have a date in mind yet?

C. VERNON: [pauses] No. Sorry.

G. CLEMENT: That's ok, baby steps. Jumping in the deep end now could affect your progression ... Which is great, by the way.

C. VERNON: Thanks. There's not much else to do out here except work on myself. Didn't think I'd ever be thanking a car accident.

G. CLEMENT: Life works in mysterious ways. But let's get to where we left off. You were talking about when you first arrived at the cottage, right?

C. VERNON: Right.

G. CLEMENT: And obviously that was quite jarring, being amongst your mother's private life. I gather that may have stirred some more feelings in the time since.

C. VERNON: Maybe ... Not really. Aside from the first night, when I found her journal and the letters, I've ... Been ignoring a lot of it. I mean, not that there's a lot. She didn't keep too much personal stuff here. It's more alien. Like I'm living in a stranger's house.

G. CLEMENT: It sounds like in some ways you are.

C. VERNON: [pauses] Mm.

G. CLEMENT: Can I ask what it was like to be her daughter?

C. VERNON: Ok, getting right to it I guess. [deep inhale] ... I don't know. I wouldn't know.

G. CLEMENT: Why do you say you don't know?

C. VERNON: I just wouldn't know. I mean ... I'm not sure what to say. She was a figure, I guess. A figure in my life.

G. CLEMENT: Your language is very distant.

C. VERNON: I don't know what else you'd expect my language to be.

G. CLEMENT: Well, when I think of my mother, it's ... I can name things, specific concrete things about how I was raised and who she was. The person who she was to me. When you talk about Reagan, it's very removed. She almost doesn't sound like ...

C. VERNON: Like a mother? [laughs] I mean maybe you've cracked the case.

G. CLEMENT: Well yes. She doesn't sound like you considered her to be a mother. I know a lot of people who are angry at their parents. Yet they don't have a problem saying who their parents were-

C. VERNON: I never said I was angry at my mother.

G. CLEMENT: Well then enlighten me to how you do feel towards her.

C. VERNON: [scoffs] I didn- I don't know what I should say. Reagan Vernon was a philanthropist. She was a widow. She married again. She very much liked her holiday homes in Sardinia and Malta.

G. CLEMENT: That's biographical. But who was she to you?

C. VERNON: [elongated pause] I don't think I was much to her ... Does anyone really like their parents? Do you?

G. CLEMENT: I like my parents. I think they're flawed people but I don't think I wouldn't have made the same decisions they did if I had been in their shoes with the tools they had at hand.

C. VERNON: Well ... [nervous laughter] That's what I'm struggling with, maybe.

G. CLEMENT: You disagree with her decisions?

C. VERNON: No. No, I think I would have done the same things as her. If I was her. If I had raised myself.

G. CLEMENT: What would those things be?

C. VERNON: [pause] Um ... Pushed. And then gave up. And then left. [sharp inhale] I just couldn't imagine ... I just don't think I would have been worth the effort is maybe, uh, what I'm saying.

G. CLEMENT: What do you think was so bad about yourself that you weren't worth love? [elongated pause] Do you need a minute?

C. VERNON: Um, no it's ok. It's fine. It's whatever. I'm ... [nervous laughter] Um, wow ... [coughs] I, hmm, um ... Well ... Huh. I don't know how to answer that. It's ... I guess I hadn't thought about it that way. Not in so many words. I don't think I can answer that, really. Like ... Yeah I don't know what the answer would be.

G. CLEMENT: Can you not answer that because there is only one right answer? Because there truly is nothing a child can do that necessitates not deserving love.

C. VERNON: Hmm ... Maybe. Maybe. I'm ... I guess I struggle.

G. CLEMENT: Struggle. How so?

C. VERNON: Because nothing ... Sorry. [sniffles] Um, because nothing bad happened. I didn't get hit or, you know, worse. Like, I can admit I was lucky. In a lot of ways. I have never wanted for anything. And even my father, he died before I could remember. So I didn't have to grieve that, did I? So ... So I, um, I struggle with feeling ang- Or, I struggle with not feeling right. About her. I struggle with that.

G. CLEMENT: I'd like to circle back to your father, soon, if that's ok but ... Hmm, how do I say this? Nothing can have happened and something can have happened, Cordelia. We all deserve to know we're loved, if nothing else.

C. VERNON: Maybe you're right. I don't know. I hadn't considered that.

G. CLEMENT: How does it make you feel? To think that about yourself? That you deserve love.

C. VERNON: Uncomfortable.

G. CLEMENT: I understand.

C. VERNON: Mm.

G. CLEMENT: If it's ok, I'd like to ask about your father.

C. VERNON: Hmm ... Uh, yes. But I really don't know what there is I could say about him. Like, at all, really.

G. CLEMENT: Was he ever mentioned to you? Did you know much about him?

C. VERNON: It was like someone leaving a door open and letting in a draft if he was mentioned. Cold air. I don't have much else to say.

G. CLEMENT: And Frank Vernon? Your step-father.

C. VERNON: Ah, hmm. Yes.

G. CLEMENT: [laughs] A lot to say? Or not much at all?

C. VERNON: Well ... Hmm, I don't know. I used to hate him. And for no other reason than he was just, well, he was around. He didn't pester me. He was just there. I found it unsettling.

G. CLEMENT: Because ...

C. VERNON: I'm not implying anything. No, I guess I was ... I ... [laughs] I didn't trust him because he ... He kept pretending to care. It annoyed me. And he was always around. Even when I went to stay with Shiv. He was there too.

G. CLEMENT: That was a difference then. A difference from your mother.

C. VERNON: Yeah. I guess we were both in the same boat too. When she started, uh, just going away for long periods of time.

G. CLEMENT: Would ... Hmm, I want to be kind in this.

C. VERNON: It's ok. Don't be kind.

G. CLEMENT: Hah, it's ... I think you need some kindness, if you don't mind my saying. But, well, do you think you're resentful of affection? Of care?

C. VERNON: [coughs] Maybe?

G. CLEMENT: How does it make you feel when someone lets you know they care for you? When you're held or when you feel reassured, physically or otherwise?

C. VERNON: I suppose I don't believe it. It makes my skin crawl.

G. CLEMENT: And when your step-father was around, did you feel that discomfort?

C. VERNON: Yeah, I did.

G. CLEMENT: Ok. I think that is a reasonable reaction for someone with experiences like yours. I want to ask though, was there ever a time you felt affection that didn't make you feel that way?

C. VERNON: I had a boyfriend for a while.

G. CLEMENT: And he made you feel cared for?

C. VERNON: In his way.

G. CLEMENT: What was his way?

C. VERNON: You might not like the answer. I mean, I don't ... I don't think I like the answer.

G. CLEMENT: We can circle back. But really, truly. I want you to think.

C. VERNON: [elongated pause] I suppose, um, in retrospect Shiv showed me she cared.

G. CLEMENT: Retrospect? What made you reconsider her past actions?

C. VERNON: She explained them.

G. CLEMENT: But at the time ...?

C. VERNON: No, I guess at the time I found ... I found the way she acted confusing. But I didn't want to upset her. I just wanted her to like me.

G. CLEMENT: So during your youth, you felt no true, unconditional affection?

C. VERNON: Well, no, I'm ... [laughs] You only record because, like ... It's no- You're not going to use this for something, are you?

G. CLEMENT: I am bound by patient-client confidentiality.

C. VERNON: Hmm ... Ok.

G. CLEMENT: Would you prefer not to an-

C. VERNON: No it's fine. I can answer. [inhales] Well ... I think ... I ... I guess I felt something like that. From Roman. But I could be wrong, I think.

G. CLEMENT: What makes you believe you could be wrong?

C. VERNON: You want me to admit it's because I think I'm unlovable, right? Is that what's happening?

G. CLEMENT: I-

C. VERNON: I just don't know ... I don't know what use it is to dwell on the past. I know nothing about it will change. I know I did the wrong thing with him. I did wrong by him. I should have stayed. I know that. I think about it often, too often. It's fucking irritating. Every time I try to turn my brain off it's just him, the look on his face, the words he said, my guilt. All of it. [sharp inhale] I just, I don't think there's any point in rehashing it. It's driving me insane not talking about it, so actually talking about it is only going to make things worse. So no, I jus- I'm not going to. Not him. Not no-

Roman closed his phone, silencing the recording.

On the couch across from him, Olivia's eyes were the size of dinner plates. She watched with an open mouth as he tossed the phone halfway across the room, where it landed with a harsh slap against the hardwood flooring. From the sound of the impact, Olivia was certain it had cracked. It was not the first phone she had watched Roman Roy break and she doubted it would be the last.

Olivia was worried. She had been since Italy, when the calls had come in and ignited a firestorm in the confines of the villa. The siblings had been cut off. Cora had been evacuated to a hospital after being fished from a car wreck. The events had been relayed by Greg, who had punctuated his giddy excitement with a sombre plaintive. "I'm going to be rolling in it! But I hope Cora's alright."

She had thought she would be out of a job, but time proved the opposite. In fact, Roman had insisted the moment of The Hundred's conception that Olivia be brought on board as his assistant. Olivia had spent every moment since jet-setting across the globe to wrestle investors for the Roy sibling's new media company, from Beijing to Auckland to Los Angeles. A world tour, and markedly easier than handling the not-so secret addiction of a spiralling CEO.

Doubtlessly Olivia was grateful for the opportunity. Her family holidays had been spent in Cancun, once in London, something she made a point mentioning of in her burgeoning romance with Mack. The two had bonded at the wedding over witnessing Greg's antics. Now working side by side, the tension between them could be cut by a knife. Life was good. Very good.

But it was not good for Roman, even if both of his siblings seemed unwilling to acknowledge the obvious fact of the matter.

"Oops. Must've slipped." Roman muttered with a shrug.

Olivia stirred to rise but Roman waved her down. He shook his head sharply, his eyes resting on his legs. One lay crossed against the other, his hands folded against his knee. Pensively he cracked his knuckles, bone moving against the surface of his skin.

Beside Olivia on the couch, Gillian Clement shifted uncomfortably. Olivia had somehow managed to forget she was even there during the listening session. She jumped as the blonde cleared her throat.

"This seems like a ... good time to bring this up." Gillian muttered through pursed lips.

The first time Olivia had heard about Gillian had been on Cora's birthday, but she had lacked the necessary context to fully comprehend Roman when he had brought up the fact he was talking to the shrink. At first she had seen this as a good sign, it sounded like Roman was dealing with his problems, but quickly she realised the opposite. Roman was not speaking to Gillian for sessions of his own, no, he was paying her to provide recordings of Cora's.

Olivia hadn't known what to expect when she'd realised their brief stop in New York would also include an impromptu meeting with the psychiatrist. In her experience therapists were kind-eyed women who spoke in soft tones. In contrast, Gillian Clement had struck her more like a high-powered lawyer.

Gillian stood imposingly tall even without the heels that adorned her feet, a golden mane of straightened hair brushing down length of her back. She wore a pressed suit with a ruffled white blouse, and her makeup was a bronze smokey look that contrasted with the bright blue of her hooded eyes. She strolled into Roman's penthouse not with a sense of familiarity but a confidence that made her movements easy and unhindered by hesitation. Olivia had found her intimidating, to say the least.

"To bring what up?" Roman asked, his eyes flickering upwards. With his head tilted at an angle, the motion served to elongate his irritation. Gillian hummed beneath her breath.

"When you initially spoke to me about Cordelia," Gillian paused at the sight of Roman flinching. She continued at a more measured pace. "You expressed that you were coming from a place of care. You mentioned to me that Cordelia had been resistant to treatment in the past and has a habit of lying. You said it would be beneficial to have some form of mediation between us, to provide further context for her actions with the aim of helping her."

"I know what I said." Roman muttered, shrugging stiffly. "I don't need a play by play. What's your point?"

Gillian swallowed, sucking in her lips. Olivia knew this wasn't going to be pretty.

"Well, I accepted that as explanation for the unorthod-"

"My money is what you accepted." He said, quickly cutting her off. Roman straightened upwards on the grey chaise, planting both feet on the ground. "Suddenly developed some morals?"

"My concern is-" Gillian started again, but Roman wasn't having it. He leaned forwards, shaking his head. Purple shadows bled from the corners of his eyes, looping down against the prominent bulge of his under eye.

"If you wanted to give me a lecture on ethics, you probably should've done that a couple months ago, don't you think?"

"Roman."

Gillian's voice sliced the air, which had grown tense with the weight of the exchange. Olivia gripped at the soft couch beneath her. God, she loved her salary but sometimes she wondered if anything was worth this cost.

"Gillian." He replied in taunt. Gillian let loose a huffed sigh.

"This is exactly why I cannot continue with this agreement." Her voice was clipped, it was clear that her concern had been wiped clean. Her tone now was purely business. "From everything I have heard so far, it seems like Cordelia is fully committed to her own betterment. You saw the transcript. She's made good strides. You on the other hand ... You are not. This is not healthy for you, and all I wanted was that. A healthy outcome. For everyone."

"How can you be so sure she isn't lying?" Roman said, spitting the words out in his haste. Olivia raised her eyebrows reflexively.

Despite her loyalty to Roman, she couldn't help internally siding with the woman. Hell, Olivia had seen first hand that the recordings were a crutch. He spent all of the plane rides between destinations listening and re-listening to them, the speaker of his phone pressed to his ear. This, though, had not been her first hint at something being awry. No, that had come when he'd asked her to use the Find My iPhone app. Cora's Macbook had been used recently in Milan. That was how the first phone had been broken.

Gillian's lips pulled into a thin line. The pair each other down as Olivia weighed the pros and cons of interjecting. She chose, at least for the moment, to remain silent but couldn't stop herself from bouncing her knees up and down.

"From what you just heard, does it sound like she's lying?" Gillian probed.

"Yes." He answered instantly.

"Roman ..." Olivia muttered before she could stop herself. The look in his eyes made her deeply regret opening her mouth but with fists clenched, she powered forward. "She sounds healthy. She sounds ... not like herself. Or, I dunno, not like her old self?"

"That's exactly my point. That isn't her. She's making shit up. She can't be ..." He trailed off but it didn't take a genius to autocomplete his words. She can't be this fine without me. Because even despite the sadness that Roman had resonated post-Tuscany, he hadn't been hostile. Not until Cora had started therapy.

A sympathetic sigh left Gillian's lips. Olivia could tell the conversation was finished for her, perhaps it had been before she had even arrived. With a shrug, she rose. Gillian folded her arms across her chest as she looked down at Roman. He had gone back to avoiding everyone's gaze, eyes buried at his feet. Gillian's expression was one of pity.

"If anything changes, I'll be sure to let you know. But as it stands, I cannot be a part of this business with you anymore. I'll see myself out."

She was already leaving, the click of her heels sharp. Before she disappeared down the hallway, she paused, turning back over her shoulder.

"Roman, you know my office is always-"

"Your services won't be needed." He replied, not meeting her eye. "See ya."

Gillian rolled her eyes. For a brief moment, she made eye contact with Olivia. The edges of her lips softened as she gave the girl a polite nod. Olivia nodded back, giving the blonde a limp wave of goodbye. And with that, Gillian left.

Roman suddenly slapped the palms of his hands against his thighs, causing Olivia to startle. His demeanour had shifted. Something had him wired, the energy in the room changing from tense to something akin to manic. Olivia felt the coil of anxiety unravel into fear. Uh oh.

"Let's go for a drive. I really miss the traffic here." Roman said, standing quickly. He gestured for Olivia to rise.

"A-are you being sarcastic? Will I get fired for saying no?" She stuttered, smoothing out her brown plaid skirt as she slowly lifted herself from the couch. She felt heavy, like someone had strapped wearable weights to her limbs.

"Of course not." Roman replied. Olivia did not doubt her saving grace was that Cora had had a habit of losing her devices during her days at Waystar. "But you also can't say no."

"Uh huh." Olivia muttered as she followed after him. He took quick strides, there was almost a skip in his step. She stopped to pick up his phone from the ground as he called the elevator. "Just ... Where are we driving to?"

Roman did not spare her a glance as she handed the phone, its screen surprisingly intact. "Uh, that's top secret. Think of it as an adventure."

"Oh ... Yeah, awesome. Love adventures!"

Not even Olivia could interject the lie with believable enthusiasm. Thankfully Roman did not particularly care. He had other priorities.

After traveling to the basement level, Olivia and Roman emerged into the bright light of day. Olivia propped her elbow against the car windowsill. The rushed drive from the tarmac earlier had left little time to linger and so she found herself rolling down the window to let air stream into the air. Her mousy brown hair drifted in the breeze, parting at her face as she peeked out at the street beyond. She found herself wondering if she would have time to stop by Mack's apartment before their early morning flight to Beijing.

"Where are we going?" She prompted. Roman had muttered the destination in passing to the driver. She had tried her best to eavesdrop but Olivia was not particularly skilled subtlety.

"The set of American Psycho." Roman replied with far too much confidence. Olivia swung around to gawk at him. "What? Not a Bateman fan?"

"I couldn't make it through that movie, it was awful. I didn't understand all of that business card stuff let alone ..." She shuddered as she recalled the film. "Are we actually going there?"

"Somewhere reminiscent." He said with a shrug. "Why? You want to walk back to your hotel from here? Because I can go it alone."

"No, no it's fine! Really it's fine." Olivia bit her lip. "I think you need the company."

"I don't need anything." He muttered. His lips formed a sulky pout. "Except for you to remember to refill my prescription."

"Oh yeah! Sorry about that. I guess I'll get right on it after this I guess." Olivia nodded, blushing. She had completely forgotten in the blur of the last few days. It was yet another thing to add to her never-shrinking to do list.

They hit gridlock as soon as they reached Madison Square Park. Olivia grew steadily car sick with the intermittent jerking of the car. Her complaints remained behind closed lips. She was nervous for whatever it was they were headed towards. The meeting with Gillian had not had the sobering effect on him one might have expected. She got the sense that far from dissuading Roman of his actions, it may have served to spur him into a different phase of whatever cycle of grief he was currently going through.

Her confirmation came ten minutes later, when the car turned a corner. Roman sat forward in his seat, fidgeting in his lap. Suddenly he slapped the palm of his hand on the back of the front seat, summoning the driver's attention.

"Here. Drop us here and circle the block." He commanded.

Olivia's eyes widened, her jaw dropping. Without another word, Roman yanked off his seatbelt and threw open the car door. Before she could think, Olivia was following him, lightly jogging after Roman as he weaved the gap between an SUV and a hatchback.

"Wait! Hold on!" Olivia squealed, her heart racing. Roman had made it to the pavement, striding quickly. She managed to gain on him, puffing from the effort. Moments later he halted in place. The suddenness caught her off guard and Olivia ran into his back with a squeak. She reeled from him, a stream of apologetics stifled when Roman raised his hand.

She sidestepped him to follow his gaze. Up ahead at the entrance of an apartment building, two movers were struggling to carry a white piano down the short flight of stairs from the entrance. Before Olivia could prompt him, Roman set off again, this time at a more measured pace. She fell in line beside him, the realisation dawning swiftly upon her.

"Is that ..." her words trailed off.

She didn't need to finish, she had spotted the look on his face. Roman's brows were pushed together, his eyes sullen and lips pulled thin. They reached the front of the building quickly. Roman took the stairs two at a time, gaze locked on the passing piano. Olivia's stomach clenched.

They found a man standing in the centre of the lobby with a clipboard in hand. The navy brim of his cap matched the jumpsuit of his uniform, pulled low above a pair of brooding eyes. As he spotted the pair, the man tensed, his gaze zoning in on Roman. Though he could not have known the purpose of their presence, he appeared a good judge of character.

"Hold up. What business do you have here? The building's cordoned off. No fans allowed." There was a gravitas to the man's tone. Olivia spied his name on the sewn badge. Wrigley.

"I need to get up to the apartment." Roman responded. "There's something from the owner's things I need."

"I'm not getting sued just because you want something to sell online." Wrigley said with a snort, sizing Roman up. "Just beat it before I think about calling the cops."

"I'm not wasting my time with this." Roman started towards the open elevator. Wrigley grabbed the arm of his sleeve, stopping him in his tracks. Olivia let out a muted squeal, her eyes widening.

"We can't just let you go through someone's stuff." Wrigley replied gruffly, shoving Roman back. Roman did not reacting and nor did he seem to hear him. He had reached into his pocket and was pulling out his wallet.

"I'm willing to buy your entire life right now, on the spot, if you just let me in." He snapped, pulling out a wad of cash. Olivia's eyes widened. Sometimes she forgot how comically wealthy the Roys were. After all, who still carried cash anymore?

The mover seemed to think the same thing. He recoiled from the bills for a moment, taken aback, before he recovered. His dark brows set in a hard line. He swiped the money from Roman, stuffing it with his beefy fist into his pocket.

"Fine. Whatever. But five minutes. Better not find you rifling around the panty drawer either."

"Oh, he won't be doing that." Olivia assured the man with an uneasy grin before darting away.

Roman had already found himself in the elevator and had begun to jam the button to Cora's level impatiently. The doors closed and Olivia glanced around. Both of them realised then that it was chocked full of furniture and boxes from what the mover had been unloading. As the elevator surged upwards, Roman began to rifle through what he could, searching intently.

"What are you even looking for?" Olivia asked, her voice pitchy as she watched Roman's frantic movements.

"Just something. I just need to get something."

"Get what?"

"Something." He snapped. Suddenly he straightened upwards, kneading his forehead. "Sorry, whatever. It's just important. Important I find it."

Find what though? Olivia knew it was useless asking. Roman's expression was both wild and vacant at once. Unless she happened to procure this mysterious something, she doubted anything she said would be absorbed by him. She looked over her shoulder at the boxes, a feeling of melancholy sweeping her as she saw a hint of fabric peeking from between the cardboard.

"Do you think she's moving to Italy forever?" Olivia found herself asking. She had always assumed Cora would simply reappear in New York one day. Roman ran a hand through his hair, dark strands rippling.

"I don't know. I don't know with her anymore, I'm sorry." He muttered. She could see the doubt, clear as day. He had been thinking the same thing.

"They're really not gonna like this." She said under her breath. Seconds later her eyes widened as she clamped her hands against her mouth before dropping them limply to her sides. Too late, Roman had noticed.

"Who's they?"

"L-look, this is gonna sound weird, ok? Really weird. But I have this TikTok account ..."

"I know you have a TikTok account." Roman interjected. His foot tapped impatiently on the floor of the elevator. "Go on. We aren't going to be in here forever."

"Well ... I dunno, my fans really like you guys and started editing all of the footage together to audios and ... Oh my god I sound like a stalker. It's really not that weird. People do it all the time! And the videos, they're really sweet. Truly."

Roman did not look like he knew how to respond to this. There was a split second where Olivia thought she could detect anger on his face but it faded quickly. What was left was exhaustion, like she had caught him at the tail end of a marathon. She supposed in a way she had.

"I can show you some time?" She prompted. He dipped his head.

"Maybe. Some time. Not right now though." And in the silence, she could hear what had been left unsaid. I'm not ready yet.

The doors to the elevator pulled open to the hallway landing. From the nearby open door and the sound of noise filtering from within, it was obvious which was Cora's apartment. As Roman made to beeline for it, Olivia reached out to grab his hand. He froze, slowly turning to face her.

She pressed her lips together, letting out a huffed sigh. "Whatever she ends up doing, it's because it's what's best for her. You know that, right? It doesn't have to do with you, not in the way you might think it does. I don't think she wants to spite you."

Roman let the words wash over him.

Yes, deep down he knew that to be true and that was what hurt the most. It felt like the biggest kick that Olivia could have given him, yet he did not lash out. It tore him in two to think that this really might be the best for Cora. That a world where she was whole and healed was a world that she could not bare his existence in.

"Sure." Roman replied with a nod. Olivia's hand fell away. She nodded in resignation and remained rooted to the spot as he turned towards the open doorway. She would not go any further. This was, after all, a matter that seemed to demand privacy.

Cora's apartment was hollowed out. What little dressing that had existed was torn away, leaving only the pale outer shell. Roman's footsteps echoed through the hallway, pinging discordant from the surfaces around him. Inside were a few movers, barely glancing his way as he turned from the living area and down towards her bedroom.

His pace slowed the closer her drew. He could feel his heart beating rapidly in his ears, drowning out all other sound. If it were true that she was fading from him, he at least needed something to remember her by. Something real. Something solid.

There was no sigh of relief on his lips as he saw that her bedside dressers had been untouched. That did not come until he had crossed the room to find the mixtape where she had told him it was. He held the CD in his hand, looking at the cracked jewel case and the faded photograph of her within.

Through the pounding rhythm of his heartbeat he heard the opening chords of Porcelain. The memory echoed through time. The mixtape would serve to memorialise her, he knew he had to bury this. She was gone, truly gone, and he could no longer dwell in her absence.