Текст книги "A Lover's Lament "
Автор книги: K. L. Grayson
Соавторы: B. T. Urruela
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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 25 страниц)
“Weight of the World” – Young Guns
COME TO FIND OUT THE shots were fired by a bunch of frightened IPs in response to the explosion. This led the checkpoint down the road to assume the other one was being overrun. Sure, why not fire blindly toward another checkpoint based solely on assumption? Dumb fuckers.
After helping the IPs load the dead and wounded onto new trucks that arrived, we eventually made our way back to base. The whole mess took the lives of fourteen Iraqi Police and one dedicated suicide bomber. It stole six hours of our day. As we quietly cruised the road back to base, I couldn’t help but wonder which of those made me more upset. I’m a little ashamed of that.
After reaching base and debriefing from our mission—and getting my ass chewed out by Dixon for taking matters into my own hands—my squad and I took up our usual spots on lawn chairs around a fire pit in the center of the three tents our company stays in. It’s not so much a fire pit as it is a giant ashtray¸ since protocol dictates that we can’t have fires at night.
A smattering of blue chemical lights cast a glow around us. The moon dominates the night sky, shining flawlessly with the absence of pollution. We have canteens full of oversweetened Kool-Aid and a carton of cigarettes between us. We won’t smoke them all, but after missions we wish we could forget, we certainly give it a valiant effort. The Army owns almost every hour of every day we spend in this place, but this time … this is ours.
About two canteens deep, my squad’s conversation turns to ‘sickest anal stories,’ but I tune them out. I’m lost in the moment. I’m lost in that shining freckled orb in the sky. I’m wondering who else could be looking at it too … at that very moment. With my legs outstretched and hands behind my head, I nearly forget I’m even in a combat zone. I lose myself in thought as the conversation flickers around me. I shut my eyes and drift far, far away.
I'm reading Cormac McCarthy on a Hawaiian beach. The story is about a man and a boy on a journey in a desolate wasteland. The ocean is as blue as I've ever seen it, and so clear I can spot dolphins playfully jousting in the distance. A beautiful girl sits beside me. A romance novel is cradled in one of her hands, while the other rests against my chiseled abs. I love her touch. Her frequent glances and heartbreaking smile make my body numb. She tells me she loves me. Twirling a strand of her hair between two fingers, she bites the edge of her lip, then she tells me I’m her everything. This is perfection. This is my oasis. This is—
“Time to go, brother. Going to be an early morning.” A swift kick from Navas is the sobering thud that jolts my eyes open, and immediately my heart sinks back into its resting place. I groan and rise to meet him. He’s right. Five a.m. will be here in no time.
After a quick field shower, which pretty much consists of baby wipes and bottled water, I make my way to my bunk. In the tent where we sleep, our cots are lined up one beside the other with equipment strewn about. Posters of half-naked women are duct taped against the tent’s walls, and a stale, dingy aroma sits heavy in the air. It’s not much, but it’s our home for now.
When I reach my cot, there’s a letter positioned on my pillow. I turn to Navas, who has entered behind me, and ask, “We get mail?”
“Yeah, man. The radio dispatcher just dropped them off. Who the fuck is writing you anyway?”
“I’m assuming just some random person from that pen pal shit,” I say, thinking back to the program I reluctantly signed up for a few months back. I’m not even sure why I did, since I haven’t bothered to read any of the letters that have come to me, but it’s hard seeing these guys get letters and packages from home. And don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for them, but I’m envious too, and I fucking hate envy. It’s such an ugly shade on anybody. So I do my best to hide it.
I pick up the envelope, and just as I’m about to toss it with the others, I notice the name and address. My heart lodges at the base of my throat.
Katie Devora
1224 N. Main St.
Rock River, TN, 62442
“Holy fucking shit!” I exclaim, drawing Navas’s attention.
“What’s up, man?” he asks, but I ignore him.
Katie has been on my mind a lot over the years, and even more so after spending some time in this hellhole. But I never thought I’d hear from her again … not after the way I left her. And how did she even find me? A dull ache stabs at my chest, and I blow out a slow, labored breath.
I feel an immediate urge to open the letter, a force too powerful to deny. Katie fucking Devora! Slipping a thumb into the nook of the envelope, I slide it open quickly and pull the letter out. Almost immediately, I’m hit with the smell of perfume … Katie’s perfume. The smell is faint, not like she sprayed it on but as if it were simply passed from hand to paper.
For better or worse, my nose has become quite sensitive to the smell of women in just these first few months of deployment. We often stop at the main operating base located on the Green Zone to drop off detainees, and many of the female soldiers stationed there wear some sort of scent. We animals could smell them from a mile away.
But Katie’s perfume brings an onslaught of memories that make my legs go weak and causes me to stumble back. I take a seat on my cot to compose myself. I don’t unfold the letter right away, instead choosing to let the soft floral essence float around my nasal cavity for a bit. I close my eyes and breathe it in slowly, letting the fragrance remind me of my biggest regret. My only regret, actually, and one I’ve never quite gotten over.
From the second I saw her, I knew I was a goner … and that was in the first fucking grade. Two pigtails swung freely from either side of her head, and when she turned around and locked her large brown eyes onto mine, I just knew I had to steal her pencil. I wanted her chasing me, because if she chased me, it meant she liked me. The second she dove onto my back and brought me tumbling to the ground, I knew I’d met my match.
And boy, did I ever. In the years that followed, it became crystal clear that Katie would be the woman I was going to marry—a woman who would take my bullshit and throw it right back at me, a woman with a stubborn will and the kindest of hearts. And I knew, the first and only time we made love, that I was a complete goner. From that moment on, Katie Devora owned me.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I allow myself to remember that moment … the feel of her mile-long legs as they wrapped around me, pulling me into her and digging her heels into my back if I tried to move away. I see her perfect, tear-dropped tits waiting for my eager mouth.
My dick throbs in my uniform bottoms, and I look down at it as if it’s grown a face. What the fuck is wrong with me? Ignoring the feeling, I unfold the letter and begin to read.
Dear Devin,
I’m not sure the best way to start this letter, but considering our past, I feel the only way is with complete honesty. So … here goes.
I’m not writing you because I want to; I’m writing you because I need to … well, at least that’s what my therapist says. She wanted me to connect with a soldier, so she sent me a potential pen pal list. And although I vaguely remember someone telling me in passing that you had joined the military, I think I’d blocked it out. So you can probably imagine my surprise when I saw your name. Seriously, what were the chances?
I’ve been having a hard time lately, and connecting with a soldier is supposed to help me heal. At first I thought seeing your name was some sort of sign, a tiny ray of hope from the man upstairs. Because if anyone knew how much you helped me before, it would be Him. But now that I’m actually sitting down and writing this, it’s doing nothing but bringing back all of the insecurities and anger that I was left with nearly a decade ago.
You left me. Without a single word. I’m pissed at you for that, and honestly, I’m not sure I’ll ever be anything but mad at you. You made a decision to leave me with no way to reach you or find you. You left me at home to drown in my own heartache, and that’s what I did. I didn’t even get the chance to say goodbye … just like with my dad.
You probably haven’t heard, but my dad was killed in a car accident. I was with him, and his death has completely destroyed me. In fact, according to my therapist, I’m not grieving the loss of him very well. She seems to think that writing you—or any soldier, for that matter—might help me let go of some of my hurt and anger. But I can see now that reaching out to you probably wasn’t the best idea.
Anyway, I think Dr. Perry has a screw loose and has absolutely no idea what she’s talking about. However, I am desperate to find closure and move on, because the woman I’ve become is not the woman I want to be. You would probably still recognize me if you saw me, but the carefree, happy girl you once knew … she’s gone … buried right alongside her dad in a cold, dark grave.
Despite what you’re probably thinking right about now, I’m not a completely angry, closed-off bitch. Writing you just seems to have pulled that out of me. Honestly though, I don’t care what you think, and I can’t bring myself to give a shit about anything, really.
I’m getting off track, and that’s the exact opposite of what this letter is supposed to do, so I’m going to do what’s best for me right now. I’m going to tell you what happened, but for my own sanity I’m going to pretend that Devin Ulysses Clay is a complete stranger … shouldn’t be too hard, I guess, considering I haven’t heard a word from you in years. So here goes nothing.
Six weeks ago, my dad and I were on our way to dinner when a car in the opposite lane crossed the center divide and slammed into us head-on. I woke up two days later in the hospital to find out that my father had died on impact, and the man responsible for his death was a soldier home on leave.
Sergeant Clay, my dad was my best friend—my biggest supporter—and now he’s gone. And instead of grieving his loss and remembering all of the great things about him, I’m consumed with anger and resentment toward the young man who so carelessly stole my father’s life. He was a soldier, for Christ’s sake. Aren’t soldiers supposed to be strong, upstanding men? Aren’t they supposed to be trained in the art of discipline and control? Or has the military gone to shit and now they’re producing nothing but careless, uncontrollable monsters who think it’s okay to get behind the wheel drunk?
Who does that anyway, driving drunk? It makes me angry, and I hate this anger that has somehow taken over every aspect of my life. But I can’t seem to move past it. It controls me in ways that I can’t even explain. It’s an entity, in and of itself, growing inside of me to epic proportions. It’s the last thing I think about when I go to bed at night and the first thing I think about in the morning, and on most days it occupies every minute in between.
Bailey tells me that the first step is forgiveness, but please tell me how in the hell I’m supposed to forgive a “mistake” that destroyed my entire world? How do I move on from this? How do I erase this deep-rooted hatred that has spread from a smolder to a full-blown inferno inside my soul? Honestly, I’m not sure I can erase it, or move on, and that terrifies the ever-loving shit out of me.
My dad was a good man … a kind man. He was a hard worker and the best damn father a girl could ever ask for. He was my hero, and nothing and no one can bring him back. But it sure will be satisfying knowing that Lieutenant Drexler will rot in prison for what he took away from me and my family.
Can you even relate to what I’m going through and what I’m feeling? Of course you can’t. Because what I’m feeling is a gaping hole of emptiness in the spot where my heart should be.
I haven’t told anyone about these feelings, except my therapist. Sure, my mom and sister know I’m having a hard time, but they’re oblivious to the things that cycle over and over in my head. They don’t know that there have been days I’ve thought about what it would be like to leave this earth, and I hope they never do because I don’t want to disappoint them more than I already have.
So, do I feel better after writing this letter? I’m not so sure. If anything, at least it will appease Dr. Perry, and it’s given me the opportunity to tell you that you’re a fucking dick and I hate you for what you did. Most of all, I hate that I don’t know why you left. What changed to make you pick up and leave the way you did?
You know what? Don’t answer that. I don’t care.
Have a good life, Sergeant Clay.
Sincerely,
Katie Devora
My breathing is ragged and my heart is racing at a pace that seems inhuman. My fingers grip the letter tightly as if the longer and tighter I hold it, the kinder the words will become. Her letter absolutely gutted me, but I shouldn’t be surprised. Maybe leaving her without a word was a dick move, but she had no idea what I saw … the way she looked at Wyatt, the way she turned to him with her problems. I would never be able to compete with the likes of him. I could feel it in my bones, even before talking to her dad, that Wyatt would be her knight in shining armor. Sure, at the time I didn’t want to believe it, but I could feel it.
Katie may have loved me then—fuck, I know she did—but I had every reason to believe that my love for her wouldn’t be enough.
Without permission, my mind drifts to the last night I saw Katie. The night I promised her we’d find a way to make it work. The night I ultimately walked away, shredding both her heart and mine in the process.
“Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.” She giggles when I cup the back of her neck and bring her mouth to mine. Reluctantly, I let go, and with a smirk, she walks away, only looking back once to give me a little wave. My eyes stay fixed on her until I know she’s safe inside the house.
Katie lives out in the country, and it’s much darker out here than in town. So dark, in fact, that a light tap against my passenger-side window causes me to instantly go into panic mode. Spinning around, I pin myself against the driver’s side door. Mr. Devora’s enormous frame comes into view, but even after I realize it’s Katie’s dad and not some masked murderer, it still takes several moments to collect myself.
He throws a hand up in apology and then motions for me to get out of my car. My eyes dart to the door Katie just walked in and then back to Mr. Devora before I finally do as I’m asked and climb out. He walks around the car and puts a hand on my shoulder; I feel like if he applied any pressure at all it would rip my arm right off. The strength he’s acquired from working on a farm has never been more apparent than now as my teenage arm disappears under the grip of his hand. He flashes a bright white smile beneath a thick brown mustache that even Tom Selleck would be proud of.
“Sorry, buddy, did I scare you?” His voice comes off much softer than you’d expect from such an intimidating figure. He always has a way of instantly making me feel comfortable, though a quick change in facial expressions and I’d be back to cowering like I’m fourteen again.
Mr. Devora and I have always had a pretty good relationship. He knows how I feel about Katie, and for years I’ve helped them both around the farm. He also knows about my home life and has often made a point to act as father figure toward me. I’ve always appreciated him for that.
“No, it’s okay, I just didn’t see you. It’s dark out here in the country.” I try my best to not sound like a child, but I can’t help but think I do anyway. I guess that’s just a repercussion of knowing him since I was a toothless little boy. He’ll always be Katie’s scary dad to me.
“I just wanted to talk with you real quick. Do you have a few minutes?” My mind runs through all the things he could want to talk to me about, and I come to the same conclusion each time—he knows I just had sex with his daughter!
Chills rack my body when I remember just how many guns this man owns, and for a split second I considering jumping in my car and taking off because I’m sure that this will be the end of me. I’m going to die at the hands of Katie’s dad, and he’s gonna bury me in some secluded spot on his property, never to be heard from again. Well, fuck, it was a fun ride, I guess.
“Yeah.” My voice squeaks and I swallow hard, hoping he didn’t hear it. “That’d be fine, Mr. Devora. What’s going on?”
“Head over to the fire pit, and I’ll go grab a couple of Buds.” I clear my throat and can only manage to nod my head as I make my way to the side of the house where the fire pit sits, four chairs surrounding it, with only a few embers still smoldering. He makes his way inside and I grab a seat, my entire life running through my head. I wonder how long it’ll take my mom to notice I’m gone … and how long it’ll take her to sell all of my shit.
The back door slams shut and the soft glow of the fire casts a massive shadow as Mr. Devora approaches. In my head, I’m saying as many Hail Marys as I can, but I’m messing up half the words. I’m thinking right about now that this is going to get me a first-class flight to hell. Leave it to me to try and find religion just seconds before my life ceases to be.
I see his hand lift amongst the shadows and I squeeze my eyes shut, waiting for the bullet to pierce my skin and leave me bleeding to death in the dirt. “Well, you gonna take it, or you gonna make me drink ‘em both?”
His voice with its slight drawl forces my eyes open, and I see he’s holding a Bud Light out for me to take. I immediately relax and accept it from him. Popping the top off, I toss it back, hoping the alcohol will calm my nerves. I down about half the bottle before noticing him looking at me as if to say, ‘you better slow it down, boy.’ I’ve always loved that Katie’s dad would give me beers from time to time, and I have his old-school cowboy ways to thank for that. But he’s never been a fan of my tendency to drink them entirely too fast. Little does he know, it’s my fear of him that makes me guzzle it in the first place.
Mr. Devora pulls out a chair, plops down next to me and takes a swig of beer. “You’ve known my princess for a long time now, and you guys have gotten pretty close,” he says, matter of fact.
“Yes sir, we have.” I’m instantly taken back to just a few hours earlier when I was buried deep inside his princess, and as wonderful as it was, I’m coming to terms with the fact that I may have been jeopardizing my mortality by doing so. This man could crush me with his bare hands, and I’m just waiting for it to happen. Well, at least I’ll have had one last beer before I go.
I take another long swig and place the bottle between my thighs. “Is that what you needed to talk to me about, sir?”
“Well, kind of. I also wanted to talk to you about your future. Where you’re headed. Your plans after school.” He waits for a moment as if trying to find the right words and an acceptable way to present them to me. “I know all about your home life, Devin, and what I haven’t learned from Katie, I hear from Brenda. She and your mom used to be very good friends. Do you remember that?”
I nod my head. “Yes, I remember. Not a whole lot, but I remember our families hanging out when I was little … before everything happened.” I drop my eyes to the ground and start fumbling with the pocket of my jeans. It’s not a part of my life I’m particularly proud of.
“That’s right. Your father and I used to be pretty good friends too. After he took off, I looked after your mom the best I could. Brenda and I both did. We would stop over all the time with meals and stuff for you. Do you remember that?”
“Yes, I do.” Come on, how could I forget Brenda’s pot roast?
“You were a good kid. Incredibly resilient considering everything you went through.” The fact that he used past tense to describe me as ‘a good kid’ further convinces me that tonight will end differently than I had originally planned. “After a few months of that, when things got really bad, your mom got very angry with us. She told us to never come back. We’ve always wanted to continue helping, but we also wanted to respect her wishes.” I nod, unsure of what to say. I’m not certain where he’s going with this at all, unless he’s just allowing me to reflect on my life before he takes it. But what I do know is that I don’t need him to remind me of the choices my mom has made.
I think back to that night, seven years ago, when Mom, all messed up on Percocet and cocaine, completely lost it on the Devoras. She destroyed half of the breakables in our house as they stood shocked in the doorway with freshly made lasagna in one hand and a new book bag for me in the other. She screamed about them taking pity on her… saying that they were trying to prove they were better parents than she was. They reluctantly left me there with her as she continued destroying the rest of the house and subsequently went on a two-week bender. When she came out of it, she ordered me never to see the Devoras again. Seeing as I am head over heels in love with their daughter and always have been, that was never an option. I got pretty good at sneaking around, and my mom was usually too fucked up to know what was happening anyway.
“So, do you know what I’m trying to say?” Mr. Devora’s words tear into my thoughts, and I realize I’ve missed the last part of what he said.
“I’m sorry, sir, I don’t really.” My words are barely audible and I avoid making eye contact with him.
“What I’m saying is, I understand your situation isn’t ideal. Shit, to be perfectly honest, it sucks. You weren’t dealt the best hand in life, but I just want to make sure you never let that dictate your future. It’s easy to fall into a familiar cycle.” I cock my head and do my best to interpret his last words. In my understanding, he just said ‘don’t be a fuck-up like your mom.’ I try my absolute hardest to keep my face from showing how offended I really am, especially coming from him. “There are a lot of good schools in the area and a lot of good programs. Have you thought much about what you’d like to do next?” he asks.
I want to lie and say yes, but I don’t even know what I’d pretend to be interested in, not to mention the fact that I won’t even be here.
“No, I haven’t really figured it out just yet.” I feel foolish saying it, and I can feel his judgmental eyes lumping me in with all the other Tennessee trailer park trash, so I quickly scan my brain for something else—anything that would prove my worth to him. But inevitably, there’s nothing to say but the truth. “I’ll actually be moving to Pennsylvania in the next few days with my mom. So, I’ll have to figure something out up there.”
Mr. Devora’s mouth drops open and he cocks his head to the side as though he’s trying to decide if he heard me right. And then it happens. His brows furrow and his eyes harden, and I get the distinct feeling that this is it. I just pissed off the daddy bear.
Fuck. Diverting my eyes, I search for some way to get out of this conversation … hide under a rock, maybe? Peace Corps? Antarctica exploration? Anything to get me as far away from this man as possible.
“So you’re leaving?”
I nod, and when he stays silent, I take a chance and look up.
“It’s your mom, isn’t it?” His words throw me off because I was expecting him to be pissed at me. But judging by the tone of his voice, he’s pissed for me.
“My grandmother, actually. She isn’t doing well. They’re talking about putting her on hospice and Mom wants to be closer to her.”
“Wow.” He blows out a slow breath and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry about your grandma, and I’m sorry to hear that you’re leaving.”
“Yeah,” I grunt. “I’m not really happy about it.”
“I bet.” We both go silent, and it’s not a comfortable sort of silence. It’s more of an awkward silence where I can tell that he wants to say something, and I know that it’ll be something I don’t want to hear. “So, what does this mean for you and Katie?”
There it is. “I’m not really sure, sir. I care about your daughter—a lot—and I’m not … I don’t ...” I clear my throat, frustrated because my words don’t seem to want to come out. “I really want us to stay together. I—”
"Listen," he interrupts. “How is this going to work? How are the two of you going to make it when you’ll be living so far away?” He holds up a hand when I open my mouth to speak, and that just pisses me off. “I know you’re going to tell me that you’ll come back, and I believe that you will. But what will you do when you come back? Where will you live? Will you go to college, and if so, how will you pay for it? Where will you work?” With each word out of his mouth, my heart beats faster because I don’t have those answers. His eyes lock on something over my shoulder for a couple of seconds before landing on me. “I want to see you succeed, Devin, I really do. But I love my daughter with all of my heart, and I want the best for her.”
All those years of knowing him, all the talks we’ve had and the bonding that’s been done flies right out of the window with his last statement. In not so many words, he just told me that he doesn’t believe in me and I’m not good enough. I wish he’d just come right out and say it.
I finish off the beer and timidly pass him the empty bottle. Standing, I avert my eyes and hope to hell he will let me go so I can go lick my wounds.
“I just want what’s best for her,” he repeats, this time his voice unyielding, as though to drive home his point. I nod blankly and make my way back to my car. “Devin…”
He stops me in my tracks and I turn to face him. “No, it’s okay, I totally understand what you mean.” Turning around on my heel, I head toward my car, yank open the door and climb in, hoping to wash my hands of this entire conversation.
“Do you?” he asks skeptically as he approaches the car. Cranking the engine, I close my door and roll down the window. Each of his hands are cupped against the window frame and he’s leaning in toward me. “Devin, I think very highly of you, you know that. This—”
“No, really, I completely understand. You want your daughter to be with someone a little less like me, and a little more like Wyatt, right? Someone that comes from a thoroughbred family, someone that is destined to get into an Ivy League school and make more money in one week than I’ll make in a year.” My chest tightens because I know that I’m right. That’s exactly what Christopher Devora wants, and I can’t fucking blame him. Hell, that’s what I want for Katie.
Shifting the car into drive, I’m hoping that he’ll get the hint and remove himself from my car. Reality just slapped me in the fucking face—with a little help from Katie’s dad—and as much as I hate it, I know what I have to do.
His eyebrows furrow and he glares at me for a second before pushing away from my car. “Devin, that’s not—”
Before he even has a chance to finish, I shove my foot on the gas and speed away from the only real home I’ve ever known. Mr. Devora’s large frame slowly fades away in my rearview mirror, and when he’s no longer visible, it hits me that I’ll probably never see this place again … or the girl I love.
Never could I have provided Katie with the type of life she deserved, and that night it became clear that I would only be holding her back. She deserved someone who could give her the world … someone like Wyatt.
Fucking Wyatt.
I hadn’t even thought of that name in about a decade, and now here it is again digging itself underneath my skin. I wonder for a moment if they ended up getting together. Since the day I left her, I just always assumed that’s how it would turn out—that Wyatt would be there to pick up the pieces, and she would welcome him with open arms.
Wyatt is the one Katie’s dad wanted her to be with all along … the one that fit the perfect husband mold for his dear daughter. He may have thought highly of me, or so he said, but I could see it beneath the surface. Wyatt had the great home life, the family money, and the excellent grades. I was just the kid from the other side of the tracks with the messed-up mother.
Katie has no idea that it was her dad’s last words to me that ultimately gave me the courage to walk away from her, to leave her without notice. And she would never dream that those words are also the reason why I’m where I am today.
As awful as it sounds, I contemplate throwing her letter with the others and joining the rest of my platoon in their slumber, not even bothering to respond. But I'm torn. I want to write her back and explain what happened. I also want her forgiveness—badly. But haven’t I put her through enough already? Wouldn’t telling her the truth be counterproductive?
I could leave us out of it entirely, because despite what she may think, Katie Devora has always been—and will always be—my best friend, and there’s not a second that’s gone by I haven’t thought of her and wondered how she was doing. I want to be there for her, especially since I can read the desperation in her sentences, the pain in her words. I feel that pain, too. I know that pain. It sits heavy in my bones. Could I offer her some sort of comfort?
Maybe we are all monsters, created by war like some lab experiment gone wrong. Maybe I should tell her the man that took her father’s life deserves to be hanged, along with every drunk driver. Maybe I should tell her that I want nothing more than to kill him with my bare hands for hurting her, because even after all these years, she still means the world to me.
Maybe I should just be honest.
I remove a pad and pen from my duffel, and then I sit and stare at the paper, scanning my brain for the right words to say. I manage to write ‘Dear Katie’ before uncertainty takes hold again.
Closing my eyes, I picture the two of us on that last perfect night. Feeling her lips on mine, my skin against hers, and knowing that everything was going to be okay. And then the reality of it all settling in … Wyatt with his straight A’s and bloated trust fund, her father and his unattainable expectations, my inadequacies. Shaking my head, I push the memory away.
