She meets his eyes, a hardened gaze trying to hide the shame, the pain, the betrayal. But she is exhausted, and Anatoly isn't blind as Freddie was. He wants answers, an explanation, but she needs to sleep, or at least try to. Tomorrow they will figure out logistics, figure out a plan. How do they proceed from here? Would Florence accept his offer of second? Is it too soon to ask? Would she be willing to run away with him? Anatoly had been wrestling with the idea ever since he found out he qualified for world championships. If he won, would he return to Russia, or would he deport to somewhere else? Hours pass as Anatoly remains lost in his thoughts, eventually falling asleep on the couch. He wakes with a start at a loud thump from the room Florence is in. Despite the insistence of his knocks, there is no answer. Anatoly cautiously lets himself in, but when he opens the door, Florence is nowhere to be seen. He finds her curled up behind the far side of the bed, eyes wide but unseeing. Everything taking place around her is drowned out by whatever is going on in her mind. He sits down in front of her, taking hold of her hands. She flinches violently, pulling her hands out of his.
"Florence…Florence!" Yelling wouldn't help anything, but rather than volume Anatoly increases the firmness and sharpness of his tone, and at last Florence's surroundings begin to register. She blinks, taking in Anatoly. Her brow furls in confusion as she looks around and realizes they're both seated on the floor. "I heard a thump. You didn't answer when in knocked so I let myself in, and found you here." She closes her eyes, the memory of what took place rushing in.
"I'm sorry. It was a…bad dream." She speaks to her kneecaps, not meeting Anatoly's eyes. He gently moves a strand of hair behind her shoulder. She looks so frail in the faint moonlight.
"Nah, Ren. You have no reason to apologize. You're absolutely fine." He stands and extends his hands back down to her. "Come on. Let's have a cup of tea." Her hands quiver as she places them in his. As gentle as Anatoly tries to be, he doesn't miss her wince as she slowly stands up. She blinks and squints against the bright light of the sitting area, but takes a seat on the couch as Anatoly fetches hot water from down the hall. He returns a minute later and almost drops the mugs he holds. She must've come to him right after everything last night, before her bruises had time to fully color. Her unbruised skin looks nearly translucent, and her remembers the sharp ridges of her ribs, wondering what all had happened with Freddie, and for how long. But those are questions of another time, another place, perhaps never, depending on what their future holds. He hands her one of the mugs of tea and takes a seat on the other end of the couch. They sit in silence for a few minutes, sipping their tea. At last, Florence's quiet voice breaks the silence.
"Um, the scar, on my back…I died that day. They had to restart my heart in the ambulance. I was with a foster family that…wasn't the best fit. Freddie was my only friend. He was making dinner with me one night, and Mr. Aleski found out, and he lost it. He went after Freddie with a knife, and I stepped in the way." Florence pauses, sipping at her tea. Anatoly sits in shocked and horrified silence. "My dream…it wasn't Mr. Aleski with the knife anymore. It was Freddie. I know, I know it was just a dream, but it still…rattles you, I guess. It's stupid, I know. I just…wish I could get away from all of this, all the memories…everything." Florence stares into her tea, and Anatoly takes a deep breath.
"Run away with me."