With a frown that was more of curiosity that real concern, Marian sat down as he'd asked, rubbing her thumb over Robin's. Whatever this was, it must be serious. He had that little crease between his eyes that Marian knew well.
But then came the words Sheriff showed up today, and Marian could hear the sudden sound of white noise taking over the rest of the things he was trying to say.
The Sheriff was back.
The Sheriff was back.
She'd known it was only a matter of time. They'd all known it was only a matter of time!
Marian had an unwanted flash of a past she was trying to bury: of the way his mouth tasted when they kissed, the way his hot lips had felt against her throat, the press of their naked bodies tangled together, his hands gripping her thighs tight as he buried himself inside of her. Marian not knowing whether she had started it this time or not, Marian not knowing if she was truly just going along with it anymore.
They were in the brightly lit living room of her little apartment, but Marian could hear the Sheriff grunting Marian against her skin.
Robin was talking, and Art was saying something as well, but Marian couldn't focus, not on any of it.
Shuddering, she pulled her hand away from Robin and found herself standing, the chair clattering to the ground as she backed up. She didn't know where she was going, but her hand was behind her desperately hoping to reach a wall that could become some support as she dragged nauseous and terrified breaths.
But it wasn't a wall that Marian backed into, but Art. Solid, warm, safe Art, and without turning to look at him, eyes still on Robin, she twisted her fingers tight in the fabric of his shirt. Safe. This place was safe, and these people were safe. (But was Marian safe within herself? Was it just that she was scared of the Sheriff taking her against her will, or was it the sick knowledge that she was still confused about where she had painted her own lines in that time?)
She was still looking at Robin, because maybe he would fix this for them all.