Chapter Text
--- Shane's Point of View ---
July 2017 – Ottowa {The Cottage}
I woke up way before Ilya the sun was coming into the room – the intensity of it giving me a slight headache, reaching over I pressed the remote to lower the blinds darkening the room.
I turned over and looked at him sleeping beside me – he was on his stomach and he looked basically angelic, smiling to myself I got out of bed, putting on his shirt and stretched, making my way to the kitchen, I wanted to make him breakfast in bed. He had done quite a few things to pleasure me last night and I wanted to reward him with something other than sex.
Rubbing the back of my head I saw Ilya’s phone on the counter and I picked it up, he had told me his password – since he confessed his love to me we have stopped keeping secrets, playfully I decided to take some naughty pictures of myself with his phone, thinking that he was going to find them at some point, like a surprise.
Curiously I opened up his picture album and scrolled down, I felt my finger stop and hover over a folder, you could see a small clip of the single picture in that folder.
I felt my whole body start to run cold, like someone had put ice in my veins intravenously, the chill that was starting to go through my body was alarming and gave me an instant upset stomach, the world around me seemed to tilt on it’s axis slightly but stilled after a second when I took a deep breath in and a shuttering breath came out.
I clicked on it and enlarged the picture – yeah, I wasn’t hallucinating – I really was hoping I would be, after a moment I pulled up information on it… it was taken in 2014.
I scrutinized the picture, it was HER… how, how the fuck did he know her? I felt myself starting to get dizzy again I could feel a full-on panic attack was starting to creep up to the surface and I backed up against the refrigerator and looked out over the water and at the sunrise.
Why the hell did he have a picture of HER? What the fuck?
I closed my eyes leaning my head back harder than I meant to causing a pulse of pain, the memory came unwanted as I had suppressed it down so much over the years, I should have forgotten it.
Montreal - Summer 2011
I was running along a pathway by the water, ignoring the text messages from Ilya, I stopped as soon as my sides started to hurt and I simply glanced over to my right.
There was a worn-down dock that looked on the brink of collapse, I strained up seeing what seemed to be girl sitting on it.
She seemed to have her legs drawn up against her chest with her arms wrapped around them and she was simply unmoving.
I wasn’t sure what stopped me from going on with my run, taking out my headphones I cleared my throat loudly, she didn’t move.
I made a few hesitant steps forward.
“Uh…hey…sorry.” I stammered, slowly she turned her head around and looked at me. I felt my breath hitch.
It wasn’t that she was beautiful, I mean, she wasn’t unattractive but there was this look in her eyes, her expression soft but clearly not giving anything away.
She said nothing, she tilted her head slightly to the side still silent, a patient expression on her face.
“Are you alright?”
“Yes.”
She didn’t say it rudely, just a very calm and neutral tone as she answered my question. Her seemingly cool indifference made me think of Ilya.
“You really shouldn’t be on there, it’s unsafe.” I boldly walked forward and put my foot on the edge of the dock reaching out my hand to her.
She looked back and forth from my hand to my face for a moment, and yet I didn’t move my hand, she let out a soft almost inaudible sigh and stood up fluidly, she was shorter than me, the dock creaked under her steps and she reached out and took my hand as I helped her back on the shore.
We walked to the pathway, she simply took a few steps back from me and looked at me directly, again not saying anything, she was wearing leggings, boots and a lightweight long-sleeved shirt with a distinct gold emblem on the upper right-hand side.
Looking at it closer it was a type of bird – an eagle I would guess, with an anchor, a gun and a trident crossing one another, where had I seen that before?
“Uh, hi, I’m Shane…and you are?”
I was pulled out of my memory violently when I heard Ilya voice, sleepy with his deep Russian accent.
“Shane?”
I wanted to ask him about this, but, fucking hell, fear gripped me, I needed to get an emotional handle on this before doing anything, was I procrastinating, yes, but fuck… what the hell.
I set his phone back down clicking out of his picture files.
“Do you want pancakes or waffles?” I called back, shocked that my voice wasn’t shaking.