Dmitry vanishing under such strained circumstances has left Anya feeling slightly guilty. She had told him that she had made a choice, that he had forced her hand. She doesn't regret choosing Gleb. In fact, she is certain that she would have chosen him under less dramatic circumstances. It had been her choice all along, her heart urging her in a direction she hadn't been certain of until that night of continuous nightmares, of gunfire and flames. When she had woken up that morning she had known, had felt it deep within her. Following that feeling had led right to his door, to a kiss that had been building for months, hidden by years.
Anya doesn't know if she believes in fate. She does believe that there is a higher power, that something pushes her in each direction. Both men had been a part of her life years before she had known their names, albeit in two very different ways. Now Gleb is a more permanent part of her life, a part that has both everything to do with who she was and nothing at the same time.
He never lied to her. They hurt each other, but he never lied. He never pushed for something she didn't want. The same cannot be said for Dmitry. Part of her wonders if she wished him away, banished him back to Paris, to whatever life was in front of him. That her distrust of him, the fact that he never really seemed to want to be her friend has shoved him through a door.
All she can hope is that it isn't to some violent fate.
"I know," she agrees with a sad little nod. "But I don't want to get used to it. I've spent years being forced to deal with a loss I couldn't name. I don't want to think of it happening again. Or be blamed for it."
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Anya doesn't know if she believes in fate. She does believe that there is a higher power, that something pushes her in each direction. Both men had been a part of her life years before she had known their names, albeit in two very different ways. Now Gleb is a more permanent part of her life, a part that has both everything to do with who she was and nothing at the same time.
He never lied to her. They hurt each other, but he never lied. He never pushed for something she didn't want. The same cannot be said for Dmitry. Part of her wonders if she wished him away, banished him back to Paris, to whatever life was in front of him. That her distrust of him, the fact that he never really seemed to want to be her friend has shoved him through a door.
All she can hope is that it isn't to some violent fate.
"I know," she agrees with a sad little nod. "But I don't want to get used to it. I've spent years being forced to deal with a loss I couldn't name. I don't want to think of it happening again. Or be blamed for it."