marilyn [h.s.]

chapter thirteen

“Oh, Norma-” Gemma started as Marilyn Monroe- beautiful, perfect, always picture ready Marilyn Monroe- began to cry; shaking, convulsing violently in her chair. “I’m sorry,” she blubbered, stumbling to her feet and blindly whipping around in search of a bathroom or a powder room in which to gather herself.

Suddenly warm hands pulled her close to a warm chest; holding her, protecting her, smelling like vanilla and mint and mashed potatoes. Pushing him away, shaking her head, because that’s what she was taught: she was taught to push people away, because wasn’t she a ticking time bomb and he was just another casualty in World War III? “No,” she said, loudly, and a random thought of ‘you’re ruining the dinner party, just shut up and sit down’ ran through her head and her face dropped. “I’m sorry,” she said slowly, hiccupping her way through the tears and turned away sharply. Her gaze landed on the door and she marched towards it. “I need to go, really…  I’ve made a mess of this party. I’m sorry, Gemma… I really am.”

“Nonsense,” Gemma stammered, standing up from her place of stunned silence at the ruined dinner table and shooting a ‘do something’ look at Harry who stood, just as stunned, staring after Norma like a forelorn puppy. “You’ve done no harm- Devon does much worse on a day to day basis.”

“Gemma,” scoffed Marilyn as she pinned her hat to her hair with shaking, trembling fingers and a chest that was caving in upon itself like a hurricane closes in on old  farmhouses in Kansas; “I’m sorry, Gemma, I really am,” she whispered through her tears as she grabbed her coat. Because this was how it ended. She shouldn’t have even come here in the first place- she should’ve politely declined Gemma’s offer at the Mayfield, should’ve left Harry be. It would’ve been better that way.

It’ll be better this way.

Then Gemma stepped forward and placed her hands on either side of Marilyn’s shoulders, looking her sternly in the eyes. “You promised me,” she said in a harsh voice. “You promised me you wouldn’t hurt him. You promised me you wouldn’t let him go.”

Marilyn’s eyes flickered from Gemma’s to Harry’s- he, standing half a room away and an eternity into a future that was unknown, unreliable. Shaking her head, her eyes dropped to Gemma’s feet- bare, painted with purple varnish- homely, normal, casual. “I don’t belong here,” she whispered, looking up and facing Gemma defiantly. With trembling fingers, she clasped the locket that hung around her neck. “I never did.” She turned, grasped the door handle, opened it and let herself out.

In that moment; two things happened.

The first was that Harry realized he needed Norma—he needed her in every sense of the term, he realized it because when she left the room, it no longer felt as if there was life in it. And he didn’t know why she was so familiar to him, why it felt less like he was getting to know her and more as though he was remembering who she is. How every smile, every whisper brought him closer to the impossible conclusion that he had known her before, somehow, he had loved her before. In another lifetime. Another existence. There was no other method, he realized. He needed Norma, unlike any other need he had ever experienced before. He needed her, in the best of terms. He needed her because if a blind man came up to him and asked, “Describe red to me,” he would say, “When you realize you need someone, that is the colour red,” and it was because of Norma he realized this.

The second was that Norma realized how much she needed Harry- how this wasn’t a cliché story where Prince Charming saves Cinderella and they all live happily ever after; Harry needed Norma, and Norma needed Harry- in the best expression of the term. She needed him because he made her feel wanted, like she was part of something special, like she was a star and he was Galileo- completely in awe of her, and not in the way Marilyn Monroe was adored, but by the way Norma Jean was adored, the way he looked at her just to remember how her dimples looked when she smiles, how he traced the lines of her hand just to feel close to her, how he believe the ocean was trapped in her eyes, how he loved the bones in her body, the skin that she lived in because it made up Norma Jean and that was it. That was enough for him.

So just as the door clicked shut, the door clicked open, and warm fingers latched onto cold ones and pulled them close. “Don’t go. Please. Don’t go.”

“I won’t.”

And she didn’t.

--

The evening rerun of The Beverly Hillbillies played quietly as Gemma knitted, needles clacking every so often as she stole not-so-subtle glances at Harry and Norma; one engrossed with the show and the other engrossed with the miracle that sat before them.

As the commercials played, the phone rang, startling Norma and Harry out of their trances. “I’ll get it,” announced Harry. “It’s probably Liam, asking if he can come play a game of rummy.”

“Tell him no, we have company,” Gemma called, to which Norma tried to refute, but Gemma just shook her head. “Liam is over here practically every day, with his lot of friends that he just drags along everywhere.”

“Oh,” Harry scoffed and he waited for the party line to transfer. “Like you mind. You drool all over Niall every time he even passes by the window.”

“I do not,” Gemma blushed, blinking rapidly and smirking. “He’s very nice, Harry.”

“Hello? Hey, Liam. Yeah, no, sorry, we’ve got company over tonight. What? No. Yeah, it’s in my desk. You’ve got the key, don’t you? Yeah. Okay. No, Liam. Alright, be safe. And don’t do it on the sofa this time, I’ve still got a stain on my trousers-” Norma smiled at Harry as he continued the conversation with ‘Liam’ and admired his natural beauty- his pink lips, broad shoulders, curly hair, soft skin. She ran a finger through her hair and sighed.

She felt so at home here.

So when Harry came and sat back down on the couch to continue watching the program, Norma shifted closer to him, and, in a moment of decision, laid her head on his shoulder. She felt him tense, then relax and wrap an arm around her.

"Nous devrions tous commencer à vivre avant que nous obtenions trop vieux,” she whispered, quietly, so no one could hear.

We should all start to live before we get too old.

--

Later, when Norma had fallen asleep on Harry after the program had ended, Gemma finished her knitting, put it aside and locked eyes with Harry.

"I love her," he said slowly, as if realizing it for the first time. Tears sprang to his eyes and he titled his head back and laughed. "Oh my god... Gemma... I love her."

Gemma smirked, leaning back on the chair.

And it's in the way he says 'her' that convinces me.

--

okay so yeah mmhmm 

dedicated to @sleepy_styles for being adorable :)

ALSO HOW DO Y'ALL FEEL ABOUT #MARILYNMONDAY 

AND MAYBE A SOUNDTRACK FOR MARILYN