The spotlight shone brightly in your eyes as you advanced towards centre stage with your castmates. The theatre roared in excitement as an instrumental version of the opening song was playing; the cast directed their own applause to the directors, the band, the costume and set designers, and finally to the audience themselves.
Adrenaline filled your body as the applause rang true in your ears. You couldn't help but smile gleefully at the appraisal, bathing in its glow alongside your friends. The way everyone had worked extremely hard for the past 6 months was unreal—every ounce of energy went into this very performance.
You were saddened that this would be the final one, the closing night of the performance. While you mourned the ending, you were joyous that it had happened to begin with.
You exited the stage after the curtains finally fell, and immediately your shoulders dropped. Arms embraced you from all angles, pulling you into one of those joyous group hugs that you loved to savour every second of. You laughed happily in the arms of your friends, listening and participating in words and whispers of encouragement and exclamation of the performance that had taken place.
And out of the corner of your eye, you saw a familiar face.
Jareth.
He lingered in the wings, slightly obscured and hidden by shadows. He looked the exact same as you had last seen him; his mismatched eyes glued to your form. You tensed up at the intensity of his stare, feeling shivers roll down your spine. And in his hand was a crystal ball, which he played nonchalantly with, twirling it in his gloved fingers.
You blinked.
He was gone.
The embrace broke and you followed your castmates to the changing rooms, where makeup and hair care accessories were scattered across every surface. Random articles of clothing strung haphazardly over chairs and the floor, shoes messily piles and sticking out.
"I'm just going to be sobbing for the next year," Penelope joked as she slumped into her chair, focusing her attention onto the mirror that displayed a red lipstick mark of her name in the bottom corner. You slid into the chair next to her and started removing your character's accessories; earrings, necklaces, bracelets...
"Me too," you said in agreement. You blinked at your own reflection, half expecting it to start moving by itself. You scrutinised is closely, watching for any indication that it wasn't truly yours. But it followed your every movement closely, and you tried not to roll your eyes at your own paranoia. "I'll be waking up at 3am singing-crying."
Penelope let out jovial laugh.
You stripped out of your costume and lovingly hung it onto the rack, feeling the material one final time between your fingers before finally letting it go. You always became too attached to your character when playing them; it was part of the job. You felt like a piece of the character always stayed with you. Well, you were going to take a piece of the character's jewellery home with you and maybe a prop from the set, just as a cute reminder of the character you got to be. It would be stored away safely in the box that contained other trinkets from previous performances that you'd done, since you were a child up until now.
"Oooh," Penelope called teasingly from behind as you stepped away from the rack. She held up a small white gift bag, a pink ribbon attached at the top with a small hand written note. She dangled it in front of you to take; you gently pinched it from her fingers and skimmed your eyes over the message. "[Name] has an admirer!"
' Your beauty knows no bounds. Your talent is to be admired. Call for me and I will be there. '
It was a note written in cursive. Harry didn't have the neatest hand writing ever, so you knew that this couldn't have come from him. Inside the gift bag was a beautiful rose and a crystal ball.
It was from Jareth.
"So, who's it from?" Penelope asked tauntingly, sliding into your personal space and taking a peek at the written note. You shrugged her off and held the gifts close to your chest, whether to hide them or protect them you weren't entirely sure.
"It doesn't say," you said quickly, and a familiar heat started to burn at your cheeks. But you didn't need Jareth to write that it was from him, and he knew that.
Penelope scoffed and stepped back, flipping her brown hair over her shoulder and jutting out her hip. "Well, that's a bit silly," she mumbled, "how are you supposed to call them if a name or number wasn't given?"
Because Jareth wanted you to wish yourself away to him. Again. You knew that was the only way to find him, and he knew that too. His magic was stronger in the Underground, inside his own realm; it was possibly very scarce in the human world.
"Magic, I suppose," you replied, hoping that your tone came across in a joking manner. It sounded dry and sarcastic, and luckily Penelope found a hint of humour enough to laugh along with you.
You finished changing into something else after the conversation was dropped. Your castmates were going out to celebrate the closing performance, but Harry was expecting you at home. He didn't come to the closing show because he was busy with work (and because you didn't want him making love-eyes at Casey again, if she happened to be there). You didn't mind his lack of presence; you were strangely more comfortable without him watching you constantly. You felt at ease knowing that he couldn't tarnish your favourite space with his betrayals.
"Just come out for a little!" Penelope begged, her arm locked with yours and tugging you in the direction of the nearest pub. She wiggled her brows and it made you chuckle, but you continued to decline and unwrap yourself from the group.
"I'd love to, but I promised Harry I'd come straight home," you explained, now stepping back.
Penelope rolled her eyes. "I don't know if you guys had an argument or something, but in the last two months something has changed! Is he being kind to you?"
Yes. No.
You couldn't answer that.
Harry wasn't horrible to you. He was actually very doting on your personal needs. He became suddenly too attentive, and it was like he knew your emotions before you ever did. But in a way, his behaviour was somewhat hostile—not violent and abusive, but to the point where you felt like tip toeing around him. You couldn't deny that it was nice not having to deal with particular things at home, but you felt smothered and overwhelmed at times, as though Harry was constantly breathing down your neck and waiting for you to make a mistake.
You convinced yourself that he was scared to lose you again. You had been so close to giving yourself away to the Goblin King, and that must have frightened him. To have lost you so easily. It's what you wanted him to feel; you wanted him to mourn losing you, as a punishment so he'd never dare to cheat again. But that changed when Harry had confronted Jareth and saved you both. You'd given him a second chance.
"Nothing happened," you said with the best of smiles you could muster. "I'll text you all later!"
And so the final goodbyes were said, and you parted ways. You found a taxi to take you home, and you arrived back at your shared apartment within 15 minutes. Traffic wasn't too bad at that late hour, but you'd asked the driver to take his time and to prolong the journey by driving down back roads instead.
You paid and left and entered the shared space, inhaling deeply into the quietness of your apartment. You shrugged off your jacket and hung it up alongside your bag, then entered the lounge where Harry was sitting and browsing the TV. His laptop was perched on the coffee table, displaying a document with thousands of words written. You joined his side and snuggled up, placing a quick kiss on his cheek as a greeting.
"Good show?" Harry asked without looking at you. He seemed focused on the TV.
"Very," you answered curtly, sitting back and resting into the cushions. You felt the ache ease from the heels of your feet, and you stifled a satisfied moan at finally being able to relax. "Pen and the others were heading out to celebrate."
Harry grunted, but he didn't look at you.
You placed your hands into your lap. Your gaze roamed the laptop in front of you, sneaking words from his paper. None of the content made much sense, and you were sure if you'd read it from the beginning then you still wouldn't understand. You'd tried to once, but his company was very intricate and complicated.
"Good day at work?" You asked after a brief pause. You watched in your peripheral as Harry's shoulders tensed. But still, he didn't look at you.
"Yes."
Odd. Normally he had more to say. Whether it was about a meeting he was dissatisfied with, or a moan about a colleague messing up—he always had more to say.
You furrowed your brows at his behaviour. "Did Marcus upset you again?"
Harry shook his head, and he continued to scroll through the channels on the TV. Then, he flicked on the Netflix app, where he continued to browse the selection there. But he wasn't looking for anything in particular; he was just keeping himself distracted. And that made you suspicious.
"No. Marcus was off sick."
"Oh," you breathed, feeling your chest tighten as the tension in the room started to grow. You didn't dare to pry any further. There was a question you wanted to ask, but you knew that it would spark an argument if you weren't careful. Harry was clearly not in the mood to be reasonable with his responses, and you were particularly drained from todays events.
"I'm going for a shower," you told him when he didn't show any indication that he wanted to continue speaking. Harry waved you off and you immediately left.
Once inside the safety of the bathroom, you stripped your clothes and turned on the shower. You splashed your face with water from the sink and began wiping away the makeup that made you appear preciously doll-like. Then, you stepped into the shower and started to wash your troubles away.
Your mind continued to focus on Harry and his strange behaviour. You couldn't shake the feeling that something was very wrong. Something bad must have happened at work, or else he wouldn't behaving this way. Harry couldn't lie to save his own life, nor could he keep a secret very well; he wore his emotions on his sleeves, and that's why you matched well with him in the first place.
You stepped out the shower and wrapped a towel around your hair and body, then moved into the bedroom you shared. It wasn't how you had left it at all—the bed was made, and the sheets were fresh from the cupboard. You dried off and shimmied into your shorts and shirt. You towel dried your hair and plaited it over your shoulder.
You blinked at your reflection.
It blinked back, delayed by a second.
You immediately backed away and pointed accusingly at the mirror. "It's you again," you whispered harshly, watching as the reflection displayed a devious grin, completely the opposite of your irritated expression.
"Yes, yes," she hummed, waving you off with her hand. "Magic is a fickle thing. You chose Harry over our King."
She was direct and straight to the point. You frowned and slid back into the chair. "He was using me—"
"No he wasn't," she corrected fast, shaking her head in disapproval. "Our King did everything you asked of him. And you left. And you still haven't called for him. Why haven't you called for him? You know you want to."
Why hadn't you called for him? Harry told you he was using you for entertainment. You were just another pawn in his sick game of taking advantage of vulnerable wishes. You bit your tongue every time you thought about calling for the goblins to take you away; it was always so tempting to leave this world behind.
"I won't be tricked again," you explained firmly. You drummed your fingers into the surface of your vanity. "I don't belong there, do I? Harry told me—"
"Harry is a liar and a cheat," she hissed, her hands pressing against the mirror. It was almost like she was trying to claw her way out. You were thankful that this wasn't a scene out of a horror film, or else you'd have been screaming in fear. "Don't you think he's been acting strange today?"
"He's probably tired," you defended.
"From?"
"From..." you couldn't find the words to back up your argument. Harry's job wasn't laborious in the slightest. It was an office job that required him to sit, drink coffee, talk to other people via email and meetings, scroll through his phone, type a few words on a document then go home. Sure it could be mentally draining, staring at the same four walls for 8 hours a day, but that didn't mean he wouldn't be tired. Right?
Then, the reflection lifted her finger and pointed at something behind you. You blinked, confused, then spotted the gift bag you had left out in the entrance of the apartment. You whirled around to confirm it was there, and it was. You stood and picked it up, and instinct told you to pull out the crystal ball from the bag.
"He's awfully suspicious," she taunted from the mirror, her eyes glistening something dangerous and knowing. "Take a look."
"That's spying," you muttered, your thumb rubbing over the smooth glass.
"It's checking," she whispered.
A white mist rolled from the centre of the ball, then revealed Harry sitting in the lounge with the laptop perched on his lap. He seemed completely normal, typing away with the TV playing a random film as background noise. But then his phone buzzed, and he immediately discarded his laptop and unlocked the texting app, revealing Casey's contact and an entire history of messages.
You sank down on to the bed as Harry smiled dearly at the messages. He glanced around to check you weren't there, and he texted back. They were flirting—sending kisses and making jokes about their most recent meeting, about how wonderful it was to be in one another's arms again, to explore one another so personally and deeply.
You felt something shatter.
Tears rolled down your cheeks. You zoomed across the room and flung open the drawers, threw on outside clothes and began stuffing random articles of clothing into a duffel bag. You ignored the sly smirk from your reflection, not noticing the way she faded completely.
The bedroom door opened, revealing Harry's mop of messy hair. He peered in, confused, then gaped at the sight of you packing your things. "What are you doing? What's going on?" He exclaimed in panic, rushing to your side to grab your arms and stop you from moving.
You pushed him away, expression darkening at the mere sight of him. "I'm leaving," you spat, bitterly and venomous. "For good. Have fun with Casey. I'm sure you'll both be perfect for each other."
Harry visibly paled, and the clogs inside his mind whirled as the connection was made. "I don't—how did—" He lunged forwards and secured your arms around your body, and you struggled to move against him.
"Let go," you demanded, whipping your shoulders back and forth to try and throw him off. His grip remained firm and secure, his nails digging into your skin.
"No." He huffed, "I want to talk about this."
"There's nothing to talk about!" You hissed. You tried pinching his arms, but he merely groaned and held you tighter. It was becoming harder to breathe at this point, and a brief fear that he might accidentally suffocate you crossed your mind.
"[Name], please just listen to me," Harry begged, his voice an annoying sound in your ear. Like a fly buzzing around something sweet.
"So you can lie to me again? I trusted you! I believed you when you said you wouldn't see her again! And you're texting her! I bet you didn't want to come to my shows because you were seeing her instead!" You cried accusingly.
You'd caught Harry again. Well, sort of. You weren't going to admit that Jareth had given you the means to discover his betrayal, because that would only add further fuel to the argument. You didn't need him finding out your methods of discovery, it was practically irrelevant.
"She messaged me first," Harry argued, as if that very fact would make anything better.
"Why didn't you block her?"
"She got a new number!"
"Then block that too!" You shouted. It was like he found a thrill in cheating on you; sneaking around behind your back and romancing another woman. He must have found an enjoyment in being involved with Casey, then romancing you as if he hadn't just done something wrong. You felt icky and disgusted, especially now that he'd wrapped you into his arms so you couldn't escape.
"I'll do better," Harry quickly said, his attitude changing from defensive to pleading. He spun you around so you were forced to look up at him. His eyes were glossed over, and his face was rather red. "I won't do it again. I'll phone her now and tell her that I'm finished with her. I'll do it."
His ramblings made you want to be sick.
You needed to get away from him. There was no way you could trust him again, not after he'd cheated with the same girl twice. You felt stupid for ever believing that he'd change. You thought he was afraid of losing you to the Goblin King, that nearly remaining in the Underground would have surely broken his heart—but it was clear to you now that he didn't have a heart.
"Phone her then," you decided coldly. "Phone her. Now."
Harry let go and he bolted for the door.
You crumbled to your knees and began scraping together the shattered crystal ball. You desperately tried to piece them back together, but it was useless.
Your head tilted forwards and a harsh sob left your throat. How could you have been so incredibly stupid? You'd always said that a cheater was forever a cheat, and that if your significant other ever cheated then you'd never forgive them. Why didn't you take your own advice? You wanted to believe that your relationship could remain as it had, but you were so stupidly wrong.
"Goblin King..." you huffed under your breath, tears dripping into tiny puddles on the bedroom floor. You sniffled and rubbed your eyes. "I... I wish..."
The words were stuck in your mouth. You were extremely conflicted. Did you really want to leave like this? You could go back into the city and find your friends and maybe crash at theirs for a few days. They would remain out partying until the sun would surely rise—it was their typical fashion.
Harry returned to the bedroom with his phone fumbling around in his hands. You could hear the tone dial beeping, signalling that he was calling somebody.
"Hello? No. Its over. I don't want to see you anymore," Harry said into the phone, his eyes directly trained on you. You tensed up, feeling like his words were directed to you rather than Casey. "I can't keep sneaking around. It's exhausting. I'm not in love with you anymore."
He's not in love with you anymore.
Your lips parted in disbelief. This is the push that you needed. You suddenly felt empowered. You felt... free.
"I wish the goblins would take me away."
Harry's expression turned into shock as the words left your mouth. He lowered his phone and moved towards you, his hand shooting out to cover your mouth, to muffle the words about to be spoken.
But you were too fast.
"Right now."