Chapter Text
Even all the way from the parking lot, it looms over her; the memories flooding back, her heels turn against her will. Darcy swallows, crossing the street. Stops at the curb. Murmurs a little prayer with her eyes closed.
To say her mother was shocked to see her hauling luggage onto their doorstep is… an understatement. Darcy, not thrilled, had no plans on going near the school again, but, before her foot even passed the foyer Helen insisted,
‘Kicking me out not even two minutes after I step in.’
‘No, I — I told her I'd pick her up but… She needs her sister right now.’
And her stomach sank ground deep.
"Darcy Edwards."
Her stomach drops deeper somehow.
Mr. Simpson stands at the top of the stairs, the door closing behind him. Guilt seeps in. Her mind slips away from her body planted on the curb, floating towards where she thinks is the moon, finally landing on the roof where she almost jumped years ago. A meek wave is the most she can push out of herself. That and focusing on details around her, from both her sight in front of her and the birdseyeview she watches herself. His eyes don’t quite meet hers. They haven’t really since. Something she didn’t remember until now.
She can't believe he's still here. And in a suit?
"I can't let you in. New policy."
The bulky metal detectors at the entrance explain that clearly. It's nothing personal.
"I don't want to come in or step on your toes at all," Darcy's words stumble out faster than she can register, vigorous head shake for emphasis. It pulls her back in a little. She steps forward to the stairs. Simpson puts his hand out.
"Darcy, we can't be seen together," he says bluntly.
Alright, it is personal.
"I know." Darcy fidgets her hands, no idea what to do with them. None of this has crossed her mind in a long time, small fish in her pool of problems and all. He probably remembers every day. It unravels her all over again. "I wasn't ready to say anything and you forced — No not that. You know. I'm just here to pick up Clare, okay? That's it. Then, I'll be out of your way forever. Promise to God."
His demeanor softens. "Hey, the dance is about to end. She'll be here."
A bit of comfort sets in seeing him fall back into that lank of balding awkward teacher she seeked comfort from in her dire circumstances. The thought of pursuing that now almost makes her laugh.
"I have to go. It's good seeing…” He pauses. Finally looks at her. “Glad you're back." Simpson returns inside.
Her head sinks down, settles fully back into herself, steady on the pavement. She runs her hands through her hair; she can feel it. She can feel. She can breathe. Her body is her’s.
Darcy wants to shrivel into herself until she’s nothing again. It’s worse than she expected to feel already. What the fuck was that?
A shrill “Eek!” interrupts her. Chantay pounces on her.
They jump up and down squealing and hug the way the only two of them can. Her first friend here. Other students pour out the doors, but Darcy still fixates on Chantay as they let go. Eyes big and beautiful as ever. Chantay hooks her finger on a lock of Darcy's hair, shoulder length, plain brown, and says "I can't believe it."
"Highlights are so 2009," Darcy laughs.
"Thank goodness you finally got the memo," another familiar voice. Snarky. Darcy squares her eyes on Holly J resting an arm on Chantay's shoulder, who can only keep up a scowl for a few seconds — Smile instant. "I'm kidding." Holly J hugs Darcy, much to her surprise. Darcy hugs back a little shocked at her friendliness. Behind her she hears,
"Alli, I'm not getting crucified before Spring Break because of you,” Sav says.
“Just make up an excuse,” Alli begs.
“No, we have to go home.”
Darcy, Chantay, and Holly J all savor each other’s company for a moment, wishing they had more time to catch up before parting ways. Sav and Alli’s bickering gets louder as they descend the stairs too busy to notice Darcy beaming at them. But it's okay.
Next to them.
Clare drops her bag. Eyes wide like she's seen a ghost. Not the pure rush of blood and warmth you get seeing someone you missed. Darcy doesn’t care, arms open anyway. Clare runs to Darcy. She slams into her older sister, wraps her arms around her, and sobs. Darcy pets her, kissing her head. Short hair and no glasses.
"Hi," Darcy's eyes sting with tears. Whatever happened, she's here now. She wipes her eyes, vision clear now, Alli next to them. "Look at you." Darcy takes in the grown up Alli Bhandari in front of her and reaches out a hand. They squeeze tight.
"Love you," Darcy whispers. It's to both of them. Clare let's up. The three of them hold hands in a circle. "Let me take you girls out for ice cream."
"As much as I’d love for you to unshackle me from the burden of babysitting her," Sav starts, glaring straight at Alli. Alli rolls her eyes. "We have a curfew."
Sav gives Darcy a one-armed side hug, towering over her for a quick awkward moment.
"We can catch up later," Alli concedes.
"We have all Spring," Darcy says, catching Clare’s full attention.
The Bhandaris are off to the parking lot. Darcy turns back to Clare who’s meager smile is forming.
"So ice cream?"
Darcy scrapes remains of ice cream from her cup. Her knees rest against the steering wheel. Shoes off. Not relaxed, but better than before.
Clare's ice cream melts in the cup. She’s only touched it twice in the last hour.
They should be heading home by now — Honestly should've a while ago. Their parents will just have to deal. They’ve been catching each other up this past hour, privacy is needed, so is the balmy breeze wafting through the cracked windows spreading the scent of cookie dough and vanilla. If only it was a comfort to her sister.
The conversation consists of: Clare’s writing getting published. The ongoing divorce. Those ugly school uniforms. Clare went silent a few times, needing to backtrack. Now, tonight’s disaster.
"Hearse?" Darcy repeats. That's not what she should be focusing on. "Sorry, just, what the hell? That's scary."
"Yes , I was scared. I should've known something was wrong,” Clare says emphatically, like it’s the first time she’s telling someone this. (It’s not.)
Darcy rests a hand against Clare’s. Her saint of a sister. She almost can’t believe she’s had two boyfriends first of all. Especially one who sounds worse than Peter. What a feat.
Clare leans her hand into Darcy’s, accepting hers.
“He said 'I did this for you.'"
"Oh brother."
"He grabbed me, begging me to stay. I, um… ran back to the dance. I tried to enjoy the last portion, but I've felt this crushing weight of 'What Ifs' all night. What if it's worse than I thought and I left?"
“Oh please.”
“What if he…”
Darcy sighs, locking eyes with her.
"Clare, you need to promise me to not go back."
“I don't want to.”
“Seriously. Don't be an idiot.”
"Trust me I’m not,” Clare bites. She leans back, taking a breath, trying to calm down. Darcy watches her sister sit in her thoughts, circling her brain for the words, eyeing the road ahead of them. Clare lets it out. “I just don't want him to die."
"He won't die.”
Clare looks away, stirring her soup of ice cream idly, doubt clear as crystal.
"Clare, he had the strength to grab you. He’ll be okay. Don't go back to the hospital or to him. No benefit of the doubt."
"No… benefit… of the doubt," Clare repeats back hesitantly.
"Never give a guy that," Darcy waves her spoon. With her history she’s full of shit, but that doesn’t matter right now. “You know I’m usually super optimistic, but…”
Darcy doesn’t finish, just watches Clare sitting still. Stewing in her seat for a while, again.
“What was Kenya like?” Clare cuts the silence.
“Right,” Darcy says as it sets in — Clare hasn't asked her anything about herself this whole time. She brushes it off and gushes about the rewarding work of building a school, exaggerating the lack of skills and structure of course. Exaggerating the fun of her other travels, too.
“It was so freeing. I couldn’t just stop and come back,” Darcy shifts her eyes to Clare. Not even an offended scoff. “I missed you, of course.”
Clare sulks, still staring blank. Darcy can tell she's far away. It’s weird. Clare was always the more mature one, always taking care of Darcy despite being the younger one, falling off her hinges is a new sight to see. It’s like looking in the mirror. That’s what worries her most.
So, she sits, waits for her to say anything, what she’s clearly been waiting to say.
"Eli, he — He's not a bad guy. It was a bad moment…" Clare sinks down the seat. She fusses with her headband until it comes off, carefully placing it down. Her urge to throw it is obvious from where Darcy sits.
If anyone knows bad moments it's her.
"I believe you," Darcy reaches over, rubbing Clare’s shoulder. She doesn't. Not really. Darcy takes a long pause. How does she phrase this? "Guys who crash cars and say they're gonna kill themselves over you are, um… They're not the one."
Clare's face is obscured, looking out the window, but the faint reflection shows her squeezing her eyes shut. All Darcy can do is try not to cry, too.
—
Darcy stops at the guest room — The door already open. Lived in. Smelly like air freshener covered weed. Tall, flannel sporting, auburn hair. Tall.
"No way," Darcy crosses her arms. "No. You're too old and too giant to be Jake Martin. I'm sorry."
He laughs, simply gesturing to himself. Darcy laughs for a moment too, but the joy stops when she remembers why she’s here in the first place.
"What're you doing in my room?”
"You mean my room?"
"Oh what, you live here now?"
"Just visiting.” He winks.
"Goddamnit,” Darcy stomps her foot and yells, “Mom!"
Groggy, Helen peaks her head out her bedroom door.
“Darcy…” her mother blinks.
“What is Jake doing in my room?”
“The Martins are visiting.”
“Ugh, I have to sleep on the couch?”
“Couch is taken unfortunately,” says Glen, at the top of the stairs, two piping hot coffee mugs in hand. He passes Helen a mug. They share a look… Like her parents used to… Darcy coughs loudly to get Jake’s attention, but he’s entranced with the bag of chips he’s eating. “Pleasant surprise,” Glen wraps an arm around Darcy, greeting her with a hug. He smells nice, too.
“You know, Mr. Martin, I used to have a huge crush on you,” Darcy says.
“Darcy.” Helen huffs, blood boiling stern look.
Glen only laughs and pats Darcy on the back as he steps back.
“What, I was like 12. It's funny.”
“Don’t think I’m enough for you. Best I can provide you is a cup of joe.” He hands her his coffee. Darcy gladly accepts. “I’ll make a pot for everyone. Even you, bedhead.” He knocks on Clare’s door.
“I’m not asleep,” Clare sulks at her door, dressed up. (Is that Darcy’s old belt?) Glen is already gone, but she still announces, “And I won’t be ruining my sleep schedule with coffee. Or my appetite before this compulsory dinner, Jake.”
Jake looks at Clare wide eyed and mouth full of chips.
“They’re only staying the night. You can have the guest room tomorrow,” Helen waves and closes her door.
“Sleepover?” Clare asks.
“Sleepover,” Darcy sighs. They bring her bags in what used to be their bedroom.
Clare drags them by the wrist up the wooden flight of stairs to Above the Dot’s balcony. Surrounded by teens mingling in their jackets covering their peplum and green neck bling Darcy sticks out; bundled in layers yet still shivering. She thought it'd be funny to crash their night as revenge for not having a room. Not that Clare minds. Now Darcy's having second thoughts.
"Who opened this place anyway?" Darcy asks.
"Uh… I think Peter —”
"Sweet Jesus," Darcy shivers at that name. "Yeah, I'm out."
"And be stuck with him?" Clare pouts.
"Can't be left alone. I've got no idea where I am. What if I get kidnapped?" Jake laughs.
"Thank you, Jake," Darcy says like he's serious and rushes down the stairs to the Dot, not noticing Clare watching, face falling. She heads inside, with Jake, without Darcy.
Darcy rushes to the Dot’s doorstep. Gotta escape the cold somehow. She hasn't stepped foot in here since arriving, especially in the daytime. A cafe flooded with her old classmates isn't exactly appealing. The bell chimes as she opens the door. Seeing them once was enough. Most of them, anyway. The idiot grinning behind the counter however…
"Well are you just gonna stand there?" She walks up.
“Darcy Edwards,” is all Spinner can say. He jumps over an empty side of the counter. Goofy smile and kitschy jewelry still here.
He pulls her into a tight hug. She rests her cheek on his shoulder, for a moment listens to him try to form words. It's all flooding back. She has to untangle herself before she's unable to let go — Luckily he's already going to the door. Darcy wraps an arm around herself in place of his.
“We close at 7:30,” Spinner says, turning the lock, eyeing the clock, (7:26) and makes his way back behind the counter, not once dropping that goofy smile. “But you're welcome to stay. After all, I am the manager.”
Darcy tries not to drop her mouth wide open hearing that Spinner… is responsible.
“And uh… We don't usually serve this, but… special occasion. Wanna crack one open?”
Spinner takes out a mini wine bottle and mugs to drink. He wiggles his eyebrows, goading a response.
“How did you know?” Darcy laughs.
A few gulps later, she's hugging the mug to her chest. Instinctive even for a lightweight. Ignoring her stomach churning, not wanting to be reminded.
“I would've thought I was the one to get married young,” words starting to slur, she cackles, eyes glued to the ring on his finger. Spinner laughs, too. Darcy musters up a deep silly voice to say, “But woohoo, now you can have sex!”
It takes a minute for his cogs to turn before it clicks. He bursts into laughter.
“Dude… How could I forget that painful era.”
“Painful?” She lightly whacks his arm. He pouts like it stings. “Yeah, what a joke. That shit clearly wasn't working.”
The spins trigger with the shake of her head, but he stares at her like she’s the one with two heads. And her stomach churns again.
“What?” she asks, twirling a finger clockwise, almost pokes his eye.
He finally comes back to one in her sight.
“I don't know what's more shocking the swearing or the new outlook on abstinence.”
“The swearing obviously,” Darcy rolls her eyes. “Listen, you know I forgive you for everything — Wait you forgive me right?”
“Yeah, ‘course.”
Darcy sighs.
“With me… I clearly had a sexuality I didn't know how to express. Like, my body is mine. Suppressing it got me into all sorts of crazy situations.”
Spinner nods. She hopes he only recalls the MyRoom Page debacle. He goes back to his closing tasks. She sits on her hands to restrain herself. She stares at her mug is still halfway full, but she’s had enough. Every time she takes a sip of alcohol she crashes like a tsunami into a city; the city is her stomach. Long term effects she guesses.
Crisp air hits her cheeks, waking her up from the warm simmer of alcohol that’s coated her the last hour, and it’s snowing. It’s snowing?
A block away Above the Dot pulses with music. She looks back, wondering if Clare is having a good time. (Or if she’s trapped in a room with a creep and a roofie.)
Spinner on the phone telling Emma he’ll be home soon grabs Darcy’s attention.
Emma.
Emma?
Darcy steps down to the sidewalk too quickly. She almost falls over.
“I gotcha,” Spinner catches her with his arm locking around hers.
Simpson and Spinner: In-laws. This wasn’t even in the stratosphere of her thoughts. It hits her like the nausea forcing its way up, pulling, pulling. Darcy tugs away to a bush, grabbing a branch, and spews bile into the snow. Spinner holds her up, arm around her waist, hand against her stomach, as she hacks spit to clean her mouth.
“I’m fine,” she says, standing up straight. “I haven't…” Spinner looks at her, waiting for her to finish.
She’s writhing in her skin. She wants to crawl into his.
“Nevermind.”
“I haven't drank since —” Darcy spits out, but pauses again.
Spinner nods like ‘I know.’
“Raped,” she says.
Darcy stops in place. It used to be impossible to say. Then, easy. Now, it dredges up laughter from her body. She can’t stop. She has to stop.
“I don’t…” the giggles keep coming, “I don’t wanna be drunk anymore.”
“We're almost home.”
She sees her house dawning as they cross the street.
“Spin, you can let go of me.”
“You're gonna fa —”
“Get off me!”
She hits the snowy grass.
“...Fall,” he sighs.
Darcy plunges her fingers through the snow, grabbing, twisting the grass, aching cold.
“Deja vu, man,” Spinner looks down at Darcy on the ground. She remembers Spinner knocked over by their bikes, high on the ground, no help from her. Now she's the one down here. Spinner lays down too.
They lay for a while, Darcy isn’t laughing anymore. She’s trying to stop her head from floating to the sky, wanting to be here, not a million miles away. Whispering the lord is my shepherd under her breath isn’t working like it did when she was a kid. Exhaling misty air, grass frost-tickling her fingers, she wonders, maybe that’s God.
Her fingers search, find Spinner's hand. Enveloping his fingers into the snowy grass too. He hisses from the chill. She inches closer to him.
“What are you doing?” He asks, hesitant, shifting away.
Darcy rests her head on his shoulder, hand in his. She wants to feel him breathe again.
“It should’ve been you.”
Spinner was before. Before it all happened. It was far from perfect — smothered by black and white moral hang ups — but not anymore. She wants him to feel the snow, the grass, before it all melts away. She wants him to feel God with her for real this time.
He pulls away slowly, so she doesn’t fall face first in snow, and yanks his hand out of her grasp.
“I can’t do this, Darce,” Spinner sits up.
Closing her eyes, she breathes. She doesn’t respond. He should leave her here to sleep in the snow.
“Darcy?”
She tilts her head, seeing her mom upside down at the door. The foyer light seers against her eyes.
“Gavin Mason?”
“Mrs. Edwards, how are ya?” Spinner sits up.
“What on earth are you two doing?”
Spinner helps Darcy stand. Of course he won’t leave her here. Not like she did.
“Give us a minute, Mom.”
Helen backs inside.
“I’m sorry. I’m being an idiot” Darcy blurts out, swaying in discomfort, avoiding his attentive look. Defenses fully drawn back up with the cross of her arms.
“More than me? The king of idiocracy?”
“You mean idiocy.”
“Right.”
She doesn’t know how he’s rolling this off so well. Darcy walks to the door.
“Hey can you not mention you saw me to Simpson?” she asks. Folding in on herself, she adds, “Actually, you know what, tell him I’m sorry. I’ve already told him a million times, but tell him again?”
Spinner nods, shoving his hands in his pockets.
They say their goodnights and turn to leave. Darcy opens the door. She turns back to look at Spinner. He’s across the street looking back, too.