(extra -long chapter alert!)
**********
My heart pounds. Races. Fingernails dig into my palms, and at the sharp pain I soon feel, I resort to cracking my knuckles. Rubbing my hands over the denim on my thighs, fidgeting. From the window seat, I watch the brick wall on the exterior zoom past at lightning speed. The subway, although already running several miles per hour, could be running a lot quicker.
In front of me, a man in a business suit begins nodding off, likely the aftermath of a particularly long work day. A few seats down from him, a lady in her mid-thirties holds a brown paper bag full of groceries. She stares out the window. A seat away from me, a high school-looking boy wears a jacket and skinny jeans. I hear the faint bass coming through his bright red headphones, his feet tapping to the rhythm. Regardless of the no-smoking sign, the smell of cigarettes floats prevalent. I mentally complain for the millionth time about the physical discomfort of subway seats. I also wish it would go just a bit faster.
My eyes continue wandering the seats, searching for someone who might look like they're on their way somewhere, instead of on their way back home. Someone who's impatient, rushing to arrive, heart racing, palms sweating. Someone I could possibly relate to.
For the tenth time in the past five minutes, I check the screen of my phone; the time reads 5:37 PM. I need to get to JFK, and soon, before the international flight to London departs at 7. Before it's too late.
*************
Several hours earlier
"Hellooooo?"
Lara's voice rings through the apartment walls, and it brings my dormant body back to consciousness. I hear a jingle of keys, the front door clicking shut.
"Anyone home?" her familiar, bubbly voice chimes again. I remain silent, in my bed, the white duvet clutched tightly to my chest, knowing she'll eventually come in to look for me.
Footsteps approach, and soon my bedroom door, already cracked, is pushed fully open. With one hand, Lara carries a cupholder decked with two iced coffees.
"Oh! You're awake! I was gonna leave this on your nightstand. Brought some sandwiches, they're on the counter." She fumbles with straws, opening them with her teeth and one hand, sticking them into the plastic coffee cups, and handing one to me while I sit up.
The rims of my lower eyelids still sting from crying. She's bound to notice the puffiness eventually.
"Angel. Thank you." I take an iced coffee from her, taking a gratuitous sip and slumping back onto my pillows. "How was your night?"
Lara tells me about her club escapade with a film school friend from Brooklyn; getting to see her again and catch up with dinner, going dancing, staying out late and catching a morning train home. "It was well-needed."
I smile at the story and her happy demeanor, when I notice the long look she's giving me. "You alright?"
I nod, shrugging. "Just didn't sleep too well."
"Nightmare?"
"No, not that."
"Hey, what was that phone call last night? You sounded so weird."
Knowing that I can keep nothing from my best friend, my eyes well up with tears again. Through a mess of choked sobs, trying to keep myself from going hysterical in my fragile state, and shaky words, I recount to her the entire night. When he came over. The whole night in my bed. Waking up in the morning. What he told me. How I reacted. And when he left.
"I'm so — angry at myself," I choke out in my fragile state. "I reacted so...terribly. In the worst possible way. I feel so awful, so guilty, so angry at myself. I got so mad at him, but why did I have to say all those things? This is literally his career, his passion, his dream, the life he lives, so why was I so mad? I'm mad, but I'm not mad, I'm actually so happy and excited for him, so proud of him. Dammit, why couldn't I have just been happy for him? Asked him about the movie and the trip? Lara, and he still wanted to work things out, to work out some long-distance thing. When we've only known each other for a month. God, he was being so sweet, and I was being such a bitch, god, Lara, why did I do that?"
"Hey." She inches closer, grabbing my tensed-up hand and squeezing it. "Hey. Slow down. Breathe." There's a pause as I attempt to collect myself.
"I'm going to be honest with you," she continues, "He's going away for five months, and that's something kind of big, and he kind of kept it from you. Like, what did he expect was going to happen? Did he really think you'd be like, 'okay sweet, have fun I'll see you in five months!' I'd be kinda crushed, too."
"Lara, I was such a bitch."
"Yeah, well, maybe you were. Maybe he's a bitch, too. Maybe you have that in common. But he didn't tell you about something really, really big that would definitely have a significant impact on your relationship. Or whatever you guys are. Does that say anything?"
I nod, sniffling, trying to absorb the consolation, but feeling defensive. "Just...don't make him the villain here. He had his reasons. They were valid. I just blew it out of proportion."
"You aren't upset that he lied to you?"
"I wouldn't say he lied. He kept it to himself, but he just didn't know how to tell me." I make an arm gesture. "See, now I'm thinking about it a lot clearer, now that I've messed everything up and he's gone for good. I hate this."
She nods, understanding.
"I made a huge mess," I continue.
"I know."
"I'm so, so angry. Less at him, mostly at me."
"I know."
About a minute passes; she clutches my hand, helping me collect myself.
"This hurts a lot right now, I know," she says. "So let it. Don't be mad at yourself for what you're feeling. Feel it all, let it hurt for right now. But don't lose sleep over it. You're still you. He's just a boy, and you are still you. You got so much of yourself back over the past few months. Don't let this extinguish it. You still have you."
I blink. Another set of tears trickles from the corners of my eyes.
"You really liked him," she says. And she says this affirmatively, like it's a fact and not a question.
"No," I say. "I like him. Present tense."
**********
I shower. Manage to eat a sandwich and keep it down. Then at my desk in my room, I complete a writing assignment. I finish and submit an internship application; my big accomplishment for the day.
I put on leggings and a t-shirt, grab my headphones, and take a walk down the street. The subtle warm breeze plants peace in my mind, the dose of sunlight bringing calm to my anxiousness. Thinking of the events of last night, this morning, all of it, plants a feeling of unease in my stomach; I vividly begin to recall us slow dancing to White Ferrari in the living room, at an ungodly hour of the morning. I try to push it away as far as possible.
I recall the expensive rum sitting in my kitchen cabinet, how I could easily just go home and pour some, on the rocks, easily sedating myself for the rest of the night. Usually, I restrain from drinking alone, hearing only my mother's voice in my head reminding me of our family's alcoholic gene. But sometimes, it's needed. Like maybe I earned this one. Right?
Then I start to feel sick at the realization of my toxic thought spiral, pulling myself from wanting to drown my emotions in booze. It would be unhealthy, detrimental, self-destructive; one night would turn into one week, and a prolonged eventual downward spiral. I have more control than that. I need to hold on to it.
Instead, I find a bench at the nearby park, pull out my phone, and call my therapist to make an appointment. I know better than to try and deal with my anxiety alone, and by means of self-medication.
**********
When I come back to the apartment, Lara's standing in the living room.
"Hi. Feeling any better?"
"A lot better, thankfully. A walk did me well."
"Good. I'm glad. Hey, not to ruin anything, but I was sitting here on the couch editing some footage, minding my own business, when I found this behind a pillow. I know it's not yours, and it's definitely not mine. On this couch, that I've been sitting on all day! I thought we established no fucking on the couch. Do I need to get us a new one?"
She holds out Timothee's t-shirt. The one I handed him this morning.
I'm dumbstruck. Shook. Behind a pillow? How is still here?
At my change of demeanor, she backtracks. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to joke. Forget about the couch, I'll get rid of this. Burn it, even. You won't see it again."
"Wait!" I gently take the shirt from her hand. He must have sneakily left it when I was looking away. He still wants me to keep it.
I explain to her how I'd tried to give it back to him this morning. I groan dramatically, throwing my head back.
Then I look down at the t-shirt in my hands. It really is like a sacred relic. A time capsule. And I realize that in this moment, I don't feel angry at all. Not one bit.
"Whatever this is, I want it, I want this and you and whatever we started here, because I'm positive that this is something, we have something, and it's something good."
"So he left it intentionally," Lara says.
"Yes. Thank you, Captain Obvious."
"Oh, you're in such deep shit."
"Correct, again, thanks."
A moment of silence passes. "Did you ever see any red flags? With him?"
"No," I answer after thinking it through.
She thinks. "Did he see anyone else throughout all this?"
"I don't think so." I shrug. "Maybe. I don't know. He did had the freedom, if he wanted to."
"Next question. If he hadn't told you he was going away. If he wasn't going to be in another country for the next five months. What do you think would be happening right now?"
I shrug again like I don't know the answer. But I know damn well what would be happening.
"Marley," she begins. "I've known you for nearly five years now. I watched you go through hell and back. And these last few months, I've been watching you become you again. And I know it's been so hard, and it still is, but you've become you again. Practically like new."
She pauses. "But you know, with all you had to go through, these things are going to be a lot scarier for you than for any other normal person, you know. It's okay to feel scared."
"When you're with him," she says later. "Do you like who you are? Does he bring out the best in you?"
I ponder at her question, then shut my eyes before nodding. I feel the corners of my mouth curl up, and I try to hide it.
"What are you most scared of?"
I think for a moment. "Maybe...losing who I am. Completely missing any red flags. But that's the thing. When it comes to him, no, there aren't red flags. The first night we ever spent together, he asked for my verbal consent. He's so wary of his every move when we're intimate, and he never wants to do anything I won't want, or anything that'll hurt me. And he always asks about me, my life. It feels so...natural when we're together. I've known him for a month, but it feels like I've known him for a year. Maybe even longer. Last night, he wanted to know all about my family. And it felt just like he knew them, even though he doesn't. That's how much he cared to know." My arms cross in front of me. "He's so kind. And sweet. And gentle. I'd listen to him talk forever. And I've questioned his realness a million times." I might start crying again.
We continue to talk things out for a moment, sitting on the couch. Lara brings up things like signs of manipulative tendencies, taking advantage, other things that I succumbed to with Luke. Timothèe has none of it. Which isn't to say that he is a perfect human being, because no one is; to think so would be unhealthy and toxic.
The only red flag, if any, is his level of fame. However, I know well that the fame isn't him, and doesn't define him; at the end of the day, he is just a boy. And I soon admit to Lara that he just happens to be a really, really good one.
"I'm jealous, to be honest," she says, chuckling. "He really does sound wonderful."
I hold a couch pillow to my chest. "Yeah," is all I can muster out.
"I know you're scared, but it's okay to be scared, and I think we covered that. But you know," she says, "sometimes you just have to risk it. Because if you don't, then you might always be wondering what would've happened if you did."
"I love you a lot, you know?" I tell her. "I don't tell you enough."
"I know. I love you too."
"This is insane."
"I know."
"Am I insane?"
"Probably."
My eyes wander to the wall clock.
"So when's his flight?"
And before I answer her, I've already made up mind, and know exactly what I need to do. Or rather, attempt to do.
**********
a/n: i was.......real nervous about this chapter lol feedback appreciated