WHO: Marcie and Kaden WHEN: Friday 29th April WHERE: their apartment WHAT: Having a long-awaited talk WARNINGS: grief
She no longer felt the lurch of the missing stair, not really. A year ago, she had been standing in Qebhet’s funeral home, carefully washing and anointing faded skin, her tears falling silently. A year ago, she had been grieving for the love she’d felt so deeply it felt seared into her soul. A year ago, Kaden was on borrowed time, and she grieved for him too.
In her dream, Marcie stood in a loft apartment, the sort of place she’d always dreamed of living in. Light from a high window let moonlight spill across her bed. Behind her, Tragos spoke her name, and she turned.
He was shirtless, his body the epitome of strength and youth. If there had been scars in real life, she did not remember them now. He held his arms out to her, and she fell into them with a sigh, pressing up against his chest. She wanted to say so many things to him, so many questions on her lips, but she said nothing, and he said nothing, his face all in shadow.
“I loved you,” she whispered at last, and then he was gone, and she stood alone, surrounded by a ruined amphitheatre. She knew, as she turned to look across the broken and cracked orchestra towards the skene, that she was not alone. A marble statue of Apollo stood, his strong features even more impressive cast in stone. Her heart beat fast, adrenaline rushing through her, because those stone eyes were watching her, and they never forgave and they never forgot, and he started to move, to step down from his pedestal so he could take her in his unforgiving hands and crush her--
Marcie opened her eyes in a cold sweat, her heart thudding in her chest, the fear ebbing away and leaving only the ache for what she’d lost.
Just a dream. Just a dream. It was only because it was the anniversary, that all these feelings felt so near.
Kaden wasn’t bringing it up. And for Marcie to bring up the subject was hard, because she didn’t want to hurt him, and bring these things to the surface where they could be poked at and examined in the harsh light of day. So she let the anniversary go, and focused on her job, and tried to do the best she could with what she had.
But. She kept dreaming about Tragos, and the knowledge of his car and his box of ash was like a pebble in her mind. They needed to deal with it. She needed to deal with it.
On a gloomy evening, that much fit her sombre mood, after Chinese food and changing into comfy yoga pants from her tight work clothes, Marcie made her way to Kaden’s bedroom door and gently knocked twice, firming her reserve. She had to pick at this figurative wound, even if it bled again. Maybe it had to before either of them could move on.