( wanda waits just outside the bathroom for a moment until she hears him turning on the water. she held on to his thanks, feeling a pang of pain at how much he's hurt her in the past several months but feeling, too, the flourishing of an affection she's always had for him, ever since they were kids. she could never be truly angry at him for long, not really; especially when her feelings for him are complicated but certain, despite keeping them secret from him.
(she had hoped that, once leaving the orphanage herself, she could pull herself up on her feet, build the life she has managed to build, and confess to him. he didn't make it to her farewell dinner at st agnes, despite saying he would, and that's when it felt like it all started falling apart; he became more and more distanced, and wanda was left to feel like he didn't have time for her anymore.
her thought-out plans? on hold, even to this day.)
sniffling to herself, hating to be so overwhelmed by how awful she feels about this whole thing, wanda heads with certainty to the kitchen and closes the window. then, it's grabbing a tea towel to dry the water from the surfaces, and using the mop (which she had just cleaned this afternoon, ugh) to mop up the rain and blood from the floor.
the mask he used on his face? she drops into the sink. he can figure it out later.
it makes her queasy—blood always does, like this. it reminds her of pietro. it reminds her of the clothes the morgue returned to her. matt had been there to comfort her, to hold her tightly to his chest when she screamed and sobbed and threw the package away from her, in the middle of the dining hall. the nuns and father lantom complained to the morgue, but no apology she received ever made it better. with a deep breath, she dunks her mop into a bucket with bleach and water, once she's done with the kitchen floor, so that it can soak. the hallway, she cleans up with many sheets of paper towel, on her hands and knees, making sure she doesn't miss anything.
isn't it just like matt, to burst back into her life, without warning, and giving her a lot of messes to clean up?
once she's gotten everything sorted to the best of her ability, she turns to the living room and... leaves the tv on, except she lowers the volume. noise from it makes her feel like she isn't alone, and it helps distract her from all the other supplementary noise she 'hears' from her neighbors. it's only in this moment, as she sets down the tv remote, that she glances at a framed picture of herself and matt, on his farewell party.
(—she had been so upset that day, was absent for the majority of it. through the speeches and the merry-making, and the congratulations and the gifts they had all put some money in to get for him: his brand new backpack for university. she had only stepped out of her room when father lantom came looking for her, saying that matt was leaving soon.
surely, dear, you will regret not getting to say goodbye.
that's what made her rush out of her room, past the old priest, finding matt outside by the front of the orphanage, under the callery pear tree in blossom, a taxi waiting for him to drive him to his dorm in columbia. he was really leaving, and nothing would ever be the same. wanda! one of the nuns had cried out at the teen bumping into her, and that was enough for matt to turn her way, and wanda— crashed into his arms, eyes red from crying, not being able to utter a single word. it'd embarrass her thinking about it, as the days turned into weeks, months, years— but matt had only smiled and hugged her back, excited for his future, and promising her nothing would change.
the nun in charge of the camera urged them for a photograph, just as the taxi honked its horn, asking them to hurry. the callery pear tree sits beautiful behind them with its white blossoms, and wanda's tucked to matt's side, a hand rubbing at her cheek, an expression of someone who is clearly mid-crying, but matt's holding her tight to his side—a bright smile on his face.
wanda can't remember what if anything she said to him, but she had held his hand until he got into the yellow cab, until he really had to go, and with it, his warmth—)
as the memory floods her, wanda scrambles through a basket on her shelf, pushing her hand past her tchotchkes and a smattering of loose change for some sunglasses. it's as important, for matt, as clothes will be, which is why she makes it back to the bathroom and — pushes the door open a touch more, taking one step in and reaching to put the glasses just on top of the sweater on the toilet.
she glances up—despite herself—but the hot water has steamed up the doors of the shower. he's in there, and she cannot tell if he's completely okay, but he's actively moving.
that much has got to be enough for her, as she slinks back outside and waits out in the kitchen, warming up some more water for him. )
no subject
(she had hoped that, once leaving the orphanage herself, she could pull herself up on her feet, build the life she has managed to build, and confess to him. he didn't make it to her farewell dinner at st agnes, despite saying he would, and that's when it felt like it all started falling apart; he became more and more distanced, and wanda was left to feel like he didn't have time for her anymore.
her thought-out plans? on hold, even to this day.)
sniffling to herself, hating to be so overwhelmed by how awful she feels about this whole thing, wanda heads with certainty to the kitchen and closes the window. then, it's grabbing a tea towel to dry the water from the surfaces, and using the mop (which she had just cleaned this afternoon, ugh) to mop up the rain and blood from the floor.
the mask he used on his face? she drops into the sink. he can figure it out later.
it makes her queasy—blood always does, like this. it reminds her of pietro. it reminds her of the clothes the morgue returned to her. matt had been there to comfort her, to hold her tightly to his chest when she screamed and sobbed and threw the package away from her, in the middle of the dining hall. the nuns and father lantom complained to the morgue, but no apology she received ever made it better. with a deep breath, she dunks her mop into a bucket with bleach and water, once she's done with the kitchen floor, so that it can soak. the hallway, she cleans up with many sheets of paper towel, on her hands and knees, making sure she doesn't miss anything.
isn't it just like matt, to burst back into her life, without warning, and giving her a lot of messes to clean up?
once she's gotten everything sorted to the best of her ability, she turns to the living room and... leaves the tv on, except she lowers the volume. noise from it makes her feel like she isn't alone, and it helps distract her from all the other supplementary noise she 'hears' from her neighbors. it's only in this moment, as she sets down the tv remote, that she glances at a framed picture of herself and matt, on his farewell party.
(—she had been so upset that day, was absent for the majority of it. through the speeches and the merry-making, and the congratulations and the gifts they had all put some money in to get for him: his brand new backpack for university. she had only stepped out of her room when father lantom came looking for her, saying that matt was leaving soon.
surely, dear, you will regret not getting to say goodbye.
that's what made her rush out of her room, past the old priest, finding matt outside by the front of the orphanage, under the callery pear tree in blossom, a taxi waiting for him to drive him to his dorm in columbia. he was really leaving, and nothing would ever be the same. wanda! one of the nuns had cried out at the teen bumping into her, and that was enough for matt to turn her way, and wanda— crashed into his arms, eyes red from crying, not being able to utter a single word. it'd embarrass her thinking about it, as the days turned into weeks, months, years— but matt had only smiled and hugged her back, excited for his future, and promising her nothing would change.
the nun in charge of the camera urged them for a photograph, just as the taxi honked its horn, asking them to hurry. the callery pear tree sits beautiful behind them with its white blossoms, and wanda's tucked to matt's side, a hand rubbing at her cheek, an expression of someone who is clearly mid-crying, but matt's holding her tight to his side—a bright smile on his face.
wanda can't remember what if anything she said to him, but she had held his hand until he got into the yellow cab, until he really had to go, and with it, his warmth—)
as the memory floods her, wanda scrambles through a basket on her shelf, pushing her hand past her tchotchkes and a smattering of loose change for some sunglasses. it's as important, for matt, as clothes will be, which is why she makes it back to the bathroom and — pushes the door open a touch more, taking one step in and reaching to put the glasses just on top of the sweater on the toilet.
she glances up—despite herself—but the hot water has steamed up the doors of the shower. he's in there, and she cannot tell if he's completely okay, but he's actively moving.
that much has got to be enough for her, as she slinks back outside and waits out in the kitchen, warming up some more water for him. )