Chapter Text
The tile feels abnormally cold against her, shivering whether from temperature or shock, she’s not sure, but she finds herself pulling her jumper sleeve further down, hiding her skin from the prying eyes she feels will soon descend upon her.
Her fingers grip tightly to their lifeline, turning her knuckles white, and her bottom lip swells with a sting from slipping between her teeth, fear radiating through the nervous habit she’s never been able to quit.
She can feel the tears prick at the corners of her eyes, wanting so desperately to fall, but threatening to sink her into reality. So she squeezes her eyes shut, willing them to cooperate, her vision veiled, until all she feels is the weight of her fringe balancing on her brow, a slight tremble in her hand, a pressure of permanence in her grip, and the image of a future she had never dared to imagine that had snuck up on her.
The absence of a figure beside her is not lost, and her eyes slowly open, moving to the banging on the door, telling her she’s been in here too long, before her gaze finds its way back down. A rogue tear makes its journey down her cheek, leaving a trail of betrayal in its wake before taking the plunge to the floor.
Her thumb gets caught in the groove, lines she wished were invisible crossed over with no feeling that this was real.
“We’ll be okay.”
The words echo through her mind, taunting her, sending more tears down her face, a litany of a plea that she wishes were true. She’d said it, she’d put it out into the universe, actually believing that the content feeling she felt wrapped up in his arms every night would somehow sustain itself without him there.
And now, all she was left with was the aftermath.
xxxxx
The vibrations from her mobile buzz against the shelf, causing a dance of sorts to move the device this way and that. She can feel the jump of her heart startling her from her task, the daze she seemed to have been floating in all day, broken, nearly dropping the stack of books on the floor.
Glancing at the name, she lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding seeing that it was Joanna, and not the curvature of a C lighting up her screen. With a sigh, she dismisses the call, not in the mood to talk at the moment, quickly turning it over so she didn’t have to see any more notifications.
Juggling the stack of books she carries, she gently sets them down on the floor with a grunt, blowing her fringe into a flurry, before righting them with her fingers and a shake of her head. A dizzying spell comes over her, and she grasps the shelf to steady herself, her head coming to rest on the frame.
Her eyes close to the chime of the bell, announcing the arrival of a customer. With a lick of her lips, she slowly opens her eyes the quiet lighting illuminating the books in front of her. Pages and pages of drama and romance, people who fell in love and against all odds, usually, lived happily ever after.
Shoving a book into it’s place on the shelf, she hits the back with a thud, her hand lingering on the bright cover, the blue resembling the eyes of an endless pool, begging her to jump in, drown in the warmth, instead a shiver runs through her, the wind from the door washing over her.
A Trinity student wanders in, asking about a book Marianne found her fingers trailing over the spine of several times earlier today.
“Right this way,” she says, her hair, having grown longer, resembling that of her school days, trails after her, as they weave between the winding shelves, stacked high, nearly floor to ceiling. When she pictured how her life would be, even just a handful of years ago, she never saw herself tucked away in a small bookshop in Dublin on the other side of the river, but here she was, getting lost in the word of others.
Her days were quiet, a quick coffee in the morning, work, dinner in her room (avoiding her flatmates), maybe a video chat with Joanna every once in a while, crawling into bed with a book, (usually the same book of poems), and passing out with dreams of what content must have felt like before she’d tucked herself so deeply inside her mind that she wasn’t even sure what she was doing anymore. She could feel herself sinking into despair, unable to shake the image from her mind of the day her last hope had slipped through her fingers. The smell of coffee lingering in her nose, the scattering of papers, and the shuffle to get out leaving her nauseated.
Grimacing, she pushes the idea of her dinner break back, suddenly no longer hungry, the thought of eating turning her stomach. Turning to head back to her stack, she sways on her feet, an almost inaudible groan escapes, willing herself to get it together and head back to work.
She thought that staying would mean being settled, but when she’d been cut off from her family, and college had ended, she found that all those years spent not working had hit her with a dose of reality, sending her to a small flat, inhabited by students, up all night, loud, glancing at her like the colossal failure she felt like. She’d tried a few jobs, none of them fit, until a couple of months ago when she’d walked past the bookshop that doubled as a café. Wandering in, she’d loved its quaint atmosphere, as if not expecting her to be anyone but herself, while simultaneously inviting her to lose herself in a big cosy chair and the stories of others, and there she’d found some sort of peace among the stacks and aroma of tea.
But it was becoming more and more difficult for her to ignore the truth that was clawing its way to the surface, demanding to be acknowledged. Her thoughts becoming sensory, the touch of his mouth on her shoulder, the pressure lingering into a shiver, his fingers following in a whisper across her skin, biting the lip she found herself sinking her teeth into all too often. Her hands searching for a touch she’d been denied for over a year, hooking in his chain, pulling him further on top of her, until she can almost hear him murmur against her ear…
“Marianne.”
“Yes?” She shakes the reverie from her mind, letting the memory and the taste of him dissipate into thin air.
“You alright?” Her manager asks. “You’re lookin’ a bit out of sorts.”
“Oh, I’m…fine,” she gets out, her hand coming to swipe her fringe out of her eyes.
“Why don’t you head home, I can close tonight,” she suggests, and Marianne finds herself nodding, despite needing the hours.
Exhaustion had creeped into every part of her, the walk home draining her any energy she’d had, dredging up the stairs, collapsing onto her small bed, the frame creaking under her movement. Her head turns to the parcel sitting on her desk. Her annoyance of someone having gone into her room not even worth the energy. Reaching towards her desk, she grabs for the post, not remembering having dispatched anything, but excited someone seemed to have thought of her.
Sitting up, she looks at the return address, only to find it’s from New York.
Connell.
Tossing it to the side, her eyes find themselves staring at the drawer by her bed, knowing its contents, having buried it that morning, willing the reality away with nothing but hopes and silent prayers.
Swinging her legs back and forth off the bed, she debates with herself, before glaring at the parcel one last time, slowly reaching for the drawer, its nearly hollow existence echoing through her room as she opens it. Reaching in.
“Come on, Marianne, I need to get in there,” she hears from behind the door, woefully admitting that she needs to move from her spot on the floor.
“I’ll be right out,” she says, her voice calm under the circumstances, as she wobbly makes her way to the basin, turning on the water, sounding like static against her pounding head, staring at herself in the mirror - paler than usual, dark, purplish circles announcing her lack of sleep lately.
I don’t look any different, she tries to reason with herself.
Forgoing the douse of water against her face, knowing it would seemingly do nothing to shake her from her spell, instead she opens the door. A look of confusion meets her as she blankly walks back to her room, burying her secret in a drawer.
Balancing on the end of her bed, finally relinquishing her grasp, setting her future down by the parcel. Her hands come to her face, hiding the wracking sob that escapes, sinking her into the bed. Her face coming to bury itself in her pillow, the only comfort she had these days. Her sobs eventually turn into quiet hums, finger grasping at the linen, as if needing it to be the shirt of the man she’d clung to, something to keep her grounded. It’s only when she hears her mobile buzz again, does she leave the safety of her pillow, turning to see Connell’s name flash across her screen. Like clockwork, every night, even though she hasn’t answered in weeks, not since she’d left New York. But tonight’s different. Tonight, he’s with her. A piece of Connell resting on her bed, and a piece of him nestled within her.
Marianne rolls over, grabbing a blanket to hide beneath, sending the gift from Connell hitting the ground, the positive pregnancy test following quickly after, as the screen goes black.