Mary Margaret Blanchard (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
the_fairest) wrote2012-05-20 06:23 pm
the_fairest) wrote2012-05-20 06:23 pm
1.06, The Shepherd
She has to walk away before she falls apart in front of him, too.
(That's okay, she told David. It's everything but.)
She feels finer than fragile china and like she's fallen from such a great height, each of her pieces shattering into far reaching distances. The sensation is such startling, shrieking pain taking over every thought or breath. Like her whole body is made of disbelief and betrayal.
Every choice a stupid idiotic movement she should have avoided. She knew to avoid.
Not to even think about it. Not to hope. She'd walked away. She'd resigned.
She'd told him every time, soon he'd start to remember things. He'd see.
And now. Now. In a skirt, with lipstick and perfume. The first tears breaking free to fall. The explosion going on in her stomach, her lungs, her throat. Threatening. But not yet. Her fingers clutched her elbows, far past cupping them now as she walked.
Mary Margaret hadn't even brought her car. It'd been a nice night and if she didn't they wouldn't have to figure out what to do with an extra one if. If. She swiped another tear away, walking down the sidewalk of the main road. The lights of Granny's in the distance, a blurry beacon.
She didn't want people to see her. But even more, she didn't want Emma to see her. Emma might be working late tonight, but she didn't know how long that late would be. And avoidance of her whole house. The place she'd been so excited. Her silent phone. Her aching chest.
Mary Margaret could see that knowledge even now, the expression Emma would have when she heard. Could almost hear what she'd suggest given the last few days, the ways to handle each of the things she'd chosen. How she ever thought them hard before this.
Granny's would be the closer place to get a drink. To hide until she felt strong enough to go home.
She rubbed the sides of her knuckles into her eyes, batting away the few tears gathered. Scrubbing the wetness from whole face with fingers and the flats of her hands. Trying impossibly for any decorum not obliterated from her already, as she pulled open the door and walked over the bar stools.
"Hey, Mary Margaret," Ruby called, just turning from an order. "Just give me one second and I'll -- you okay?"
Not watching she'd still heard right where her voice changed, where she had to look up. Guilt and hurt etched on her, as clear now as the second they'd been born in the shadow of the toll bridge, before she swallowed and looked back down. Her voice cracked on her first words since leaving David, but her focus on her words doesn't waver. "I need a strong drink."
"Rum? Vodka? Scotch? Whiskey?" A hand touched the counter in Mary Margaret's peripheral vision, just beyond where she was focusing on her own ring on her hand. "Maybe, you want to-"
Mary Margaret overrode Ruby when her voice listed more concerned, if not much softer. When the sensation in her chest pulsated like being known by another person, it could just come out again. But she couldn't. Not here. Even if her voice croaked, unsteadily, she didn't look up and she still said as firm as she could muster, "Any of those would be fine."
(That's okay, she told David. It's everything but.)
She feels finer than fragile china and like she's fallen from such a great height, each of her pieces shattering into far reaching distances. The sensation is such startling, shrieking pain taking over every thought or breath. Like her whole body is made of disbelief and betrayal.
Every choice a stupid idiotic movement she should have avoided. She knew to avoid.
Not to even think about it. Not to hope. She'd walked away. She'd resigned.
She'd told him every time, soon he'd start to remember things. He'd see.
And now. Now. In a skirt, with lipstick and perfume. The first tears breaking free to fall. The explosion going on in her stomach, her lungs, her throat. Threatening. But not yet. Her fingers clutched her elbows, far past cupping them now as she walked.
Mary Margaret hadn't even brought her car. It'd been a nice night and if she didn't they wouldn't have to figure out what to do with an extra one if. If. She swiped another tear away, walking down the sidewalk of the main road. The lights of Granny's in the distance, a blurry beacon.
She didn't want people to see her. But even more, she didn't want Emma to see her. Emma might be working late tonight, but she didn't know how long that late would be. And avoidance of her whole house. The place she'd been so excited. Her silent phone. Her aching chest.
Mary Margaret could see that knowledge even now, the expression Emma would have when she heard. Could almost hear what she'd suggest given the last few days, the ways to handle each of the things she'd chosen. How she ever thought them hard before this.
Granny's would be the closer place to get a drink. To hide until she felt strong enough to go home.
She rubbed the sides of her knuckles into her eyes, batting away the few tears gathered. Scrubbing the wetness from whole face with fingers and the flats of her hands. Trying impossibly for any decorum not obliterated from her already, as she pulled open the door and walked over the bar stools.
"Hey, Mary Margaret," Ruby called, just turning from an order. "Just give me one second and I'll -- you okay?"
Not watching she'd still heard right where her voice changed, where she had to look up. Guilt and hurt etched on her, as clear now as the second they'd been born in the shadow of the toll bridge, before she swallowed and looked back down. Her voice cracked on her first words since leaving David, but her focus on her words doesn't waver. "I need a strong drink."
"Rum? Vodka? Scotch? Whiskey?" A hand touched the counter in Mary Margaret's peripheral vision, just beyond where she was focusing on her own ring on her hand. "Maybe, you want to-"
Mary Margaret overrode Ruby when her voice listed more concerned, if not much softer. When the sensation in her chest pulsated like being known by another person, it could just come out again. But she couldn't. Not here. Even if her voice croaked, unsteadily, she didn't look up and she still said as firm as she could muster, "Any of those would be fine."