12 | DAMN
Cry A River. Build A Damn. Get Over it.

Ivan's POV

I have basketball practice all the way till noon today. It's a Saturday and the season's in full swing. We had a few games this week, we won all of them. But recently, our opponents' score is nearing ours at a rather steady rate. We aren't playing as well as we used to. Coach Merton blames it on our lack of teamwork. I blame it on Vinny and his followers.

Asshole Hope hasn't done anything asshole-y yet. Like, he hasn't brought another girl home since the day I gave him that lecture about treating women right.

But: He hasn't done anything to prove he isn't the asshole I think he is. And it hasn't even been twenty four hours since I gave him that speech. Bringing a girl into the house this soon would just be another level of asshole-ness that I don't really associate with him anymore.

Nah, he's still an asshole.

Coach Lincoln and Coach Merton leave us at twelve thirty in the afternoon. It isn't very sunny today but we're still gleaming with sweat because of all the practice.

All the boys go to the communal shower in the locker room to shower and change. I stay out, pretending I still have the stamina to play a bit more. I take lazy shots around the hoop and play Around The World on my own.

Half an hour later, when everyone's gone, I go to the locker room to get showered myself. No one asks me why I like to go after everyone leaves anymore. They all assume I want more practice so I'm staying back to get better than them.

In truth, however, the last thing I want them to see is my scarred torso and the hard on that might occasionally arise due to their naked bodies gleaming with sweat and water.

Yeah, whatever.

After the shower and carefully jogging my way out of school so that Coach Merton won't find me, I get on my bike and cycle my way to the auto repair store in which I work. Lately, Coach Merton's been talking to me about teamwork, asking me if everything's alright like he knows it isn't. I usually listen to him, and occasionally respond. But not today. I'm not in the mood.

I grab a bite at a Subway before I start my shift so that my stomach will stop growling. For breakfast, I stuffed four whole scrambled eggs into my system, knowing I'll need it for practice. But recently, my appetite's only been growing.

At work, I start replacing flat tires and chipped windscreens for proper ones. I do this everyday. We have a brutally crashed car to fix. Our job is to fix the key engine parts and replace them.

My shift ends at six in the evening, but I decide to stay longer for more pay. Working in the store itself is like a workout. Ever since I started staying at Hope's place, I can see my muscles grow. I've always had the physical exercise it takes to grow them, but never the right amount of food and nutrition.

Emelia makes sure that both her son and I are following the diet our coaches have given us. It's the same diet, just different words to express it.

I've been eating so much that my arms now have a lean coat of muscle beneath the skin. I've even started growing taller, which I'm thankful for. Donovan will have to stop calling me 'Shawty' because at this rate, I'll be taller than him within a month, and taller than a redwood tree in three months.

Once I'm done with my extra hours at work, I kick off the kickstand of my cycle and drive back to the Hope household. I'm so tired, so hungry that for once, I can't wait to get back to their house. Emelia feeds me like my stomach is a bottomless well. She's not entirely wrong though. Ever since I started growing this much, I've never been able to get enough food in me.

As I cycle through the woods, I feel my phone vibrating against my thigh. I slip it out of my pocket, one hand still on the bike handle. It's Asshole Hope. This is the first time he's ever called me. Assuming he's calling me for one of his asshole reasons, I pay no mind.

Almost immediately, the phone starts vibrating again. I ignore it. I've barely started and this asshole's called me twice. Great.

I keep pedaling. My eyes are trained on the road, but I'm barely focusing. My feet know their way to Hope's place. I've gone through this road that many times. Not something I'd like to get used to but still.

My phone vibrates again. Grunting, I park my bike against a tree and accept the call.

I bring the phone to my ear. "Are you crazy! You're calling me like you're in some frickin' emergency, and I know you," I practically shout. "What happened now? Some girl bailed on you?"

"Ivan." His voice is calmer than I expect it to be.

"So a girl did bail on you?" I try to add some humor in my voice - don't know why. I don't like hearing him being serious.

"Ivan," he repeats. So steady, his voice is almost soothing. Almost.

I exhale. "What?" My voice isn't laced with annoyance anymore. But I'm so tired, I'm sure he can hear it.

"Where are you?" he asks. That's odd. Everything about this conversation is odd. He's speaking like he's holding back a river, and if he doesn't hold it back it'll flood all over and I'll drown. Since when did Asshole Hope start caring about me?

"The woods, why?"

"Have you reached The Clearing yet?" The Clearing - our code name for the clearing in the woods in which our makeshift basketball court exists. I've been playing there almost everyday. Hope with me sometimes. But a lot of the time, he prefers leaving me by myself.

"No," I respond, growing increasingly suspicious.

"Okay," he says more to himself than to me. "Meet me there, alright?"

The river he's holding back is massive. I can feel it from across the phone. And I still feel he's holding it back for me. Why would he do that?

"Hope," I state. "What's wrong?"

"Nothin-"

"Don't tell me it's nothing." I'm being impatient. We've switched sides now. He's usually the one who blows up while I'm the quieter one. Now, however, I'm hot-headed and he's being polite. "It's obviously not nothing, Hope. Just tell me."

"I- I'll tell you at The C-Clearing." And now he's stuttering. Something's obviously wrong.

"Why not right now?"

"I just can't, okay? Come to The Clearing, you'll see me there. I'm on my way." He hangs up.

My eyebrows are scrunched as I pedal my way to The Clearing. I'm pedaling harder and faster than before and I can't stop thinking about what Hope wants to talk to me about.

I reach The Clearing and immediately spot Hope's red convertible parked at one end of it. Hope is leaning against his car, hands crossed against his chest, eyes focussed on the rock in front of him.

My bike skids to a stop. I park my bike at the opposite end of where his red convertible is. Hope turns his head in my direction, like he only just realized I'm here.

He's wearing his team's letterman jacket and I'm wearing mine. The sun has set and we're at a basketball court. At this moment, we seem more like enemies than we've ever been. Hope in his red letterman and me in my purple one, representing a baseless rivalry that's stood the test of time. And yet.

What kind of person holds back an entire river for their enemy?

We walk towards each other and stop at the center of the court, an entire yard between us. We've stood like this before. The beginning of every match, waiting for the referee to toss the ball for the jump ball. We used to wear expressions of pure hatred, vengeance and determination when we'd stand there. But there's none of that right now.

I'm waiting for him to say something. Or even wordlessly communicate. But he's staring at the ground between my feet, avoiding eye contact. Avoiding everything.

"Hope," I break our silence. It's unbearable.

He looks up at me and then backs down. There's so much he has to say but won't.

"What happened?" I ask in a low voice.

I'm thinking of all the possible scenarios that could lead us to what's coming up. Are the Hopes chucking me out of the house? Because of my growing appetite? Or because the Wildcat-Falcon rivalry is too much to bear even for the kindest human beings on earth (aka Emelia and Richard)?

Or did my father turn up randomly, like the drunk and woozy and absolute wreck he is? Or did he come sober? Because that would be even worse. Does he want me back? Is that why Not-so-asshole Hope is here? It can't be.

"Hope," I say, my question still hanging in the air.

He looks up at me, looks everywhere at my face except my eyes. He inhales like he has a bomb and he's going to drop it this second. Like he's the final barrier of a river that's too strong to contain. "Elena Anastasia Petrova. That's your mom, isn't it?"

That's when it hits me. The bomb has been dropped. The river's let loose. This is it.

But the bomb hasn't exploded yet, and neither has the river drowned me. There's still time. I still need confirmation.

I feel like I might drop dead any time now. But I respond as casually as I can. "Yes. Yes, she is. Did anything...?"

Of course something happened. And I don't even want to think about it. But if she's already outlived the doctor's predictions by a week. Is she still alive?

Hope looks up at the sky which is full of stars and a crescent moon and yet I feel like the light in my life is being removed by a force I cannot see or feel or do anything about.

I'm helpless now. Hopeless.

"I can't-" he chokes on himself. "You're not supposed to hear it from me."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, someone you trust is supposed to break the news to you. Someone who means a lot to you. It's big, okay? And I'm not - I'm not worthy enough to tell you." His eyes are damp. My eyes are not.

I take a step forward. "You mean something to me."

"Really?" He's looking straight into my eyes.

"Really." Our voices are getting softer and softer. And so are our hearts.

We stare at each other. It's been so long since I looked at his face properly. He is handsome. Beautiful. Soft, even. I look away, ruining the moment. We're back to being rivals and enemies and everything except what we were just a second ago.

What were we just a second ago?

"Tell me what happened," I plead. "Don't do this to me."

"You don't understand! You'll break, Ivan." He doesn't look at me when he says that. He's staring at my shoes.

"Just open your mouth and tell--"

"You know what happened, don't you? Why do you want me to spell it out for you, Ivan?" I've never seen him this vulnerable. He sounds so sad, I can't bear it. "Why are you doing this to me?" His eyes are greener than before. The sad grays and the strong greens - swirling and swirling until it becomes a sad sorry hurricane.

"Because I need to hear it. From anyone. From you. I still don't know, Hope. And I'm not believing anything until-until..." My voice trails off.

He takes a step forward, so there's barely an inch between our feet, and holds each of my wrists with each of his hands.

"I'll tell you." He closes his eyes, tightens his grip around my wrists. This is when the bomb blasts, when the river floods the whole town and drowns everyone.

I brace myself.

He inhales. "I got a call from the hospital. They had bad news." There's a long pause before he says anything else. He breaks eye contact. He opens his mouth to say something but ends up shaking his head instead. "I- I can't do this."

"Hope." I shake off one of his hands from my wrist and place my palm behind Hope's neck, tilting it upwards so that his eyes meet mine. "Bad news. I am bad news. I really wouldn't mind hearing some."

He looks at me like I'm broken pottery - fragile and breakable. "She passed away."

I exhale as he does. "Okay."

I stare at his Adam's Apple which is bobbing as he swallows hard. I digest the news. At first, there's nothing. She's gone. Plain and simple. She's gone.

She's gone.

I won't be able to see her again. She's gone. The bomb's blasted. The river's out, drowning me. I can't breathe, there's no oxygen. But I'm underwater, there's enough oxygen for me to breathe. But I don't have gills. I cannot breathe.

My mother. Mama. Mamushka. All that's left of her is flesh and bone. No words, no emotions, no memories. No heart beats. She's gone.

My knees feel wobbly. My legs can't bear my body anymore. Gravity's taking a toll on me. I'm about to collapse, succumb to gravity, to the world, to everything, when I feel a hand around my back, steadying me as I stand.

Hope.

I don't cry as he hugs me tightly. Don't cry when he rubs my back, trying to calm me down. Don't cry when he asks me if I want to go to the hospital and see her. I shake my head. "Take me home," I say.

I don't cry throughout the drive. Don't cry when he makes my airbed and helps me lie down beside Prince. Don't cry when Hope returns from the shower and takes his place on the bed and asks me how I'm feeling. Don't cry when he turns off the light and I'm on my own again.

Don't cry for hours through the night until finally, I can't hold it anymore. Starts with one tear trickling down my cheek, and then one more. And then tears keep coming out, much faster now. I can't count them.

I cry and cry some more. Thinking about all that time I'd spent with Mama, these tears making everything bittersweet. Then I think about my father. How he told me crying only makes people weak. Helpless.

He's not wrong. That's how I feel right now. Hopeless.

I try to stop my tears, will my eyes to build a dam that will stop the inflow of tears and emotions, but I only cry some more. I wipe my cheeks but they get damp again. Pinch the skin between my index and thumb, blink a couple hundred times a minute. But it only gets worse.

I take deep breaths but all of them are shallow and hitched. I don't know how long I've spent in this darkness, and all of a sudden there's a light. Bright and blinding.

Hope's awake, turned on the bedside lamp with a click. He's sitting on the bed, staring at me. He gets up and walks over to me, taking his place on the airbed. He's sitting cross-legged in front of me.

"C'mere," he whispers. I lean forward and he wraps one hand around my back and another around my neck as he envelopes me in a hug I didn't know I needed.

"I'm sorry," I sniff. "I'm such a mess."

"Ivan." He extends his arms so that there's a gap between us. "You can cry all you want. There's nothing wrong in showing how you feel. Your mother just passed away, Ivan, why are you apologizing?" There's concern and sympathy in his voice. His forehead is creased and the green of his eyes is the only color in this world which isn't black and white.

I feel my shoulders loosen. I crash back at him, this time letting my tears flow as he holds my back. He doesn't stroke my back or tell me things will be alright. He just lets me cry. I didn't know he'd be this understanding.

I open my mouth against his shoulder. Saliva, snot, tears, sweat. They're all on his t-shirt and they all belong to me. He doesn't seem to mind, though. He just holds me close, and then closer.

I stop crying after a while, my damp face pressed against his chest.

"Wanna sleep?" he offers when my breathing has normalized, gesturing to his bed.

"I'm not sleeping on the same sheets you had that girl on," I mutter.

"We did nothing!" he protests. "Absolutely nothing."

"Then why were her clothes on the floor?"

"Only her dress was," he explains. "She still had her--"

"Not nothing for me, boy." I don't want the details.

He chuckles. "Guess I'll have to change those sheets real soon."

I stare at him as he lies down on one side of the airbed, covering his legs with the duvet.

I don't move.

"What?" he asks in confusion, staring back at me. "You said you didn't want to sleep on the bed."

Inhaling, I lie down beside him, Prince the cat sleeping soundly between both of us. As soon as my back hits the air mattress, Hope brings the blanket up his shoulders and then takes one end of it and covers me with it as well.

"But you don't like sleeping on air mattresses," I say. "Sebastian said you can't sleep here."

He doesn't respond, his hand still on my shoulder. "Sleep well, yeah?"

I nod and turn so that I'm sleeping on my side, my back towards him, his hand still on my shoulder. I wish he'd wrap me in his embrace so that I'd feel his chest against my back. I wish I could feel him breathing and sync my breath with his. I wish he'd call my name just once more and I wish I'd fall asleep with him.

I just close my eyes and do absolutely nothing. 

xxx

A/N

I know it's a sad chapter but...

Today's a great day! Panic! at the Disco released a new song, The 1975 are teasing their 5th studio album and... JOHNNY DEPP WON THE DEFAMATION TRIAL!! About time, huh?

I know the DeppvHeard trial was massive and it taught us not to blindly believe all women. But that doesn't mean all women are lying. And it doesn't mean that all mental illnesses lead to violence. Amber Heard is not how all women with mental illnesses behave. Please keep that in mind and be kind to everyone.

Also, it's officially pride month 🏳️‍🌈 and I'm going to be updating every alternate day from now on!

Thank you for reading!