Liminal Space | A Stardew Valley FanFiction

Chapter 12

> Sam, 4:26 AM, message. When Seb fell and broke his nose? What about it?

I stared at his text as the morning creeped closer, tossing and turning on the living room couch. Sleepless hours passed until Demetrius awoke, marked by the roar of the kettle and quiet footsteps on creaking stairs. A stagnant sick feeling festered at my core— though I knew I had nothing left to give—and sent spikes of burning anxiety through my veins.

It almost pained me to tell Sam the truth—to tell him that Seb never fell, that I broke his nose and played the victim afterwards. It pained me even more that Seb let him believe that, years upon years later. I wondered if it was an ego thing or if he truly wanted to protect me, after everything.

"Good morning," I muttered to Demetrius in passing, his chin down as he sauntered to the lab.

"Good morning to you, too, Callie!" he chirped. The delight in his voice sent a sharp pain down the back of my skull.

He scurried down the stairs and I was alone again—a trend that was rather unsettling in a house full of people. My jumbled thoughts silenced briefly as I made myself a cup of tea, the teapot singing after a long rest atop the crimson burner. I watched the stream of water cascade from the pitcher to the mug, the tea bag drowning in it and producing a thick herbal-scented steam. Peppermint worked diligently to settle my stomach, followed the airy undertone of lavender, relaxing my muscles. For a brief second, I felt like I could breathe.

Nothing lasts forever.

"Morning," an evil voice mumbled behind me. His shadow moved across the kitchen and a rather disheveled version of him came into view—his dark hair tousled and his under eyes even darker. I nodded at him, my eyes glued to the counter and anxiety swelling in my chest.

"How are you?" He asked, breaking the silence again. I glanced at him, his figure leaned against the counter and his head tilted to rest on the cabinet. His eyes told a familiar story, one without animosity or hatred or a tragic ending—he looked like he actually cared. I let the feeling wash over me; a thick layer of suspicion settled on top of it.

"Fine," I muttered. "You?"

"Hungover," he chuckled lightly. I tried to fake a smile.

"Same."

I wanted to hug him so bad it hurt, to squeeze him so tightly that I could feel his ribs and his heartbeat against mine. Tell him how sorry I was, joke that his nose looked better a little crooked. Hide my reddened face when he slapped my arm in a fit of faux shock.

Instead, I let a deathly quiet creep between us.

"Look," he sighed, fiddling with a ring on his right pointer. "I—I'm sorry about last night."

"Which part?"

"God, I really am an ass, aren't I?" He took a deep breath. "All of it, really. For screaming at you, for fighting with Sam. For Abigail and I's—well—indecency. I've been thinking about how everything went down, and I'm not proud of it. That was just...Well, that was the first time either of us had opened a space to talk about what happened. I was caught off guard—and also drunk, which didn't help a thing; sometimes I'm so aggrieved that it scares me, honestly. It doesn't matter. In the end, I reacted really poorly. Then to do what I did, after the fact...it was dirty, and cheap, and probably spiteful deep down. I don't know. I haven't really confronted it yet, but I do know it was unfair, and I'm sorry."

"I had some fault, too," I said. "That wasn't the right time to have that conversation, I just blurted it out. Either way, don't worry about it. I'm happy for you guys."

"Do you mean—?" He laughed a little. "I appreciate the sentiment, but getting laid is hardly something to celebrate. Especially not when you're both piss drunk and only remember about half of it."