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Gwen dies on a beautiful Sunday morning.
I would die without him were the last words she uttered.
There's cruel irony in there somewhere if she stops crying long enough to find it.
She dons a black dress, simple makeup, and black heels. She doesn’t cry as she delivers the eulogy that she writes at last minute. After everything settles, people that she hasn’t seen in years offer her condolences, but she can’t hear a single word they say.
All she can think of is, death got the wrong person.
He comes to the wake in his best suit, with slick back hair and a fresh shaven face. He thinks he hasn't looked more polished in his life even if he tries, not that she will see because she's already ten feet in the ground. There’s a bitter taste on the tip of his tongue because it still hasn't quite sunk in that she's completely gone. A part of him thinks that this is an elaborate joke that everyone else in the world is in on but him.
Her last words still echo in his head.
I’m coming home. Wait for me.
Liar.
She knows that he’s the one the moment her eyes set their sight on him. He fills up the room when he enters, and most eyes turn to him. He seems comfortable with the attention as he makes his way through the crowd.
Blond hair. Check.
Blue eyes. Probably.
Seems like one those pretty boys from magazine. She can't say Gwen didn't have a type.
You're not as impressive as I heard, she finds herself thinking as she tames the anger in her chest.
It feels like eternity has passed before she takes his hand and he’s surprised to find how tiny and long her fingers are, like that of a pianist. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he says lamely, and bows his head. He’s never been good with words, worse now that Gwen’s gone. “Truly.”
She answers a polite thank you and gives him a quick glance before turning her attention to the guests after.
If eyes were windows to a person’s thoughts, hers seem to say that it should’ve been him instead.
“Mr. Pendragon,” she catches him before he takes his leave, “If you don’t mind, there’s a few things I need to discuss with you.” He nods and follows her into the study room. She takes a seat and invites him join her. Before she begins, she asks, “Is there anything I can get you? Water? Tea?”
He clears his throat and rests his hands in his lap. “I’m good. Thank you.” He brings his eyes to meet hers. They're green with specks of gold, he notices, now that he's directly across her. But the way she stares unnerved him, so he sits a bit straighter with his chest puffed out.
“You’re probably wondering what this is about.” He never really paid attention to it before but her voice is harsher and tougher than Gwen's. She strikes him as a nonsensical person. "There are a few things I would like to square away with regarding to Gwen's passing."
He notices the dip in her voice at the end. "I'm not sure I know what you mean Ms. LeFay."
"Please call me Morgana."
"Arthur."
"Right, Arthur," she says, and clears her throat, "I understand that Gwen and you thought about moving together—"
"We were moving in together." He hates to sound defensive but the wording mattered to him, especially now that she's gone. "I know you thought we were two stupid—”
"What I thought is irrelevant to this conversation," she interjects, "Before she died, she made some changes to her will—”
His fingers involuntarily clench together. "If it's money, I don't want it."
Her brows furrow together.
"I was not with her for money." He then sees the skepticism on her face. "You don't seem like you believe me."
"I'm trying to see what she sees in you," she answers bluntly, "As you know, Gwen's always been very trusting."
"It's one of her best qualities—”
"Or one of the worst."
"Gwen did mention that you and her are opposite."
She smiles. "I like to think that I see people for who they are, not who they can be."
He can't decide if she means to be insulting or if just comes naturally. "Even though you have never met me, you think that you know me?"
"I know boys like you."
"And what type of boy am I?"
"Does it matter?"
His lips thin out into a frown. “Look Ms. LeFay, I don't know what it is you're looking for from this talk but if you don't mind, I will be on my way."
“I did not mean—”
"No, your tone and attitude conveyed it.” He doesn’t wait for her to finish before getting up from this seat. “Thank you for allowing me the chance to say goodbye to her. Take care.” He gives a slight nod of acknowledgement and leaves.
Strangely enough, she thinks he’s not as bad as she originally thought.
Some weeks later, after Arthur stopped counting the hours and days, he punches a wall. It is a really stupid wall, that’s filled with pictures of him and Gwen. It’s not the wall’s fault because he put the pictures there but he’s not in the right state of mind to really take the blame for being angry. So he decides that he will collect everything that reminds him of her and pushes it under his bed. He can’t bring himself destroy them but he can pretend that they don’t exist.
He’s sure the stages of grief he read about never mentioned this; and he’s sure that she deserves better from him.
But then the other part of him also thinks that she shouldn’t have died and left him alone.
She breaks up with her longtime boyfriend over the phone. She probably should have waited until he comes back from his business trip but she doesn't want to delay the inevitable. She uses the it's not you it's me as a reason. It's such a cliché.
There's silence on his side before he says you're a bad liar Morgs. He doesn't even wait for her to respond before hanging up on her.
She can't decide if she's sad or not. Her chest is just hollow, and she feels like she's floating in between stages.
He gets into another fight or so he thinks. He can't remember the exact details of how he acquired bloody knuckles and a hangover to end all hangovers but he truly regrets his life choices, especially after he found a note with a lipstick mark on it that says call me.
If there's a level below rock bottom, he's officially there.
She starts seeing a therapist. It's hard at first to talk about Gwen without sobbing. Every time she tries, her throat closes up and she's choking on the words. Finally, on the third week, she manages to talk about the dreams she's been having. "Gwen's been in it a lot. "
Her therapist, a lady named Sunny, jots it down. When she finishes, she asks, “Are you guys conversing in your dreams?”
“Yes, but I can't hear what she's saying."
"What was the mood between you two?"
"Happy.”
“You sound surprised."
"I'm not." She then clears her throat. "She just looks so bright and free."
"Shouldn't she be?"
Morgana can’t bring herself to say yes so she stays quiet instead.
“Were you also happy in these dreams?"
That’s another yes she can’t bring herself to say.
The door busts opened. "You had no right." He points an accusing finger. His face is red, and sweats lick his forehead. He looks as though he might combust any second now. "I told you that I didn't want your money."
She signals for her secretary to leave and stares back at him. "Please, do storm into my work space and disrupt everything."
"Please don't act as if I'm the one interrupting your life when you clearly ignored what I wanted." He then holds up a letter. "It says here that my loans have been paid for by a generous beneficiary."
Her left brow rises. "Good for you?"
"My tuition fee for the next year apparently has also been paid."
She rolls her eyes. "Do you have a question, or do you just want to keep stating facts that I neither have time or patience for?"
He pinches his brows in frustration. "Please don't play this game with me. I have had a lot of shitty weeks—”
"I can see that." She then glances at the bruises on his knuckles and smirks. "Rough day at work?"
"I don't think that's any of your business."
"You're the one that stormed into my office."
"Because you went behind my back and did something that I never asked for—”
"I didn't. Gwen did."
“What?”
“She wanted to make sure you’d finish school, so she created a trust for you in her will. She also made sure that your tuition and loans are paid for. I didn't realize this until recently.”
"Gwen's dead," he says, and then regrets it immediately. He rubs his face in his hands and sighs. "It doesn't matter anymore what she wants to do for me. She's dead. "
"A fact I am well aware of," answers Morgana. Her eyes start to burn and the colors drain from her face. She almost wishes that she had something to hold onto for support. "I was there when they rushed her into the Emergency room, when they announced her death, and when they lowered her body into the ground. So thank you for the reminder, but I don’t need it."
She sounds tired, and sad. He then rubs the back of his neck, feeling like an ass. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for" says Arthur. "The truth is I miss her a lot and I'm just so mad at her. I know it's not her fault. I know that it was an accident but—”
"It doesn't make you feel any less hurt by her dying."
"Something like that," he confesses, stuffing his hand in his pockets and looking down. "She talked about you a lot, you know. Always said you were the best person she ever knew, and she was glad you came to live with her when she was 10."
Morgana feels her heart drops. "She said the same about you. I guess I just couldn't wrap my head around the fact that she fell so hard so fast, but that's Gwen for you. It's all or nothing."
"I know she really wanted us to meet."
"Better late than never I supposed."
Then they both break into a small smile.
He decides to screw it all and takes a different girl to bed every night. All have the same physicality. Beautiful brown skin and dark brown curls that reminds him of someone he's desperately trying to forget.
(and it's not cheating if the person you were dating is dead)
It's fucked up but he's just so tired of moping, and of feeling like the hole in his chest will never be filled. It's not like he has ever claimed to be a saint; and whenever there's a number left on his nightstand afterward, he tosses it in the trash.
Two weeks later, she's sitting at a coffee shop downtown, completely absorbed in her own work when she hears her name being called. She looks up to find Arthur waving at her. "Arthur," she greets. "Hi."
He sees her files spreading out on the table. "I'm sorry if I'm interrupting."
"Oh, it's fine," she replies, "Just some busy work to keep—you know.”
"Right," he says. "I work at the bar down the block. If you ever want to drink—”
"I don't drink." Then she realizes that could have sounded rude, so she repeats, slower this time and in a softer voice, "I didn't mean to cut you off. It's just I have never drank before."
"Well, we do have sodas," he jokes. "Or water."
She laughs.
"It's nice to run into you," he says, "I'll see you around."
Around becomes an unspoken tradition between the two of them. She starts frequenting the coffee shop, and he stops by even when he doesn't have work. They sit at the same table. He studies while she does her work. They don't speak about how they get to this arrangement, but they both understand why.
It's comforting to have someone else to grieve with without needing to explain or talk about it.
Once, she looks over at him and sees red marks on his neck. It isn't the first time but she figured, it's not like they're friends or anything, even if her cheeks do redden every time she sees a mark on him.
Four months into therapy, Sunny asks, "How are you adjusting to life without Gwen?"
The question catches her off guard. "I don't see her anymore," says Morgana, keeping her hands firmly on her laps, fingers intertwining with each other. She squeezes her fingers tight until her knuckles turn white. "These past few weeks, she has stopped appearing in my dream."
"You're avoiding my question."
She doesn't know how to answer the question. It feels too personal to even tell Sunny, who she has gotten to know and like. She trusts Sunny but she's not ready. "I don't know."
Sunny nods, and lets the subject drop.
Arthur takes a photo of out of the box under his bed. For the first time in awhile, he's able to smile looking at the photo.
He wonders if this is the first sign of him moving on and getting over the loss.
(He also stops fucking around, which was hard.)
She doesn't know how they arrive to this point, but they're having dinner together and she doesn't feel weird. Arthur's across from her, engrossed in the menu while she's looking at him, and thinking to herself if they can call whatever this is between them a friendship. "Are your parents still alive?"
He looks up with wrinkled brows. Confusion spreads across his face. “Um…what?”
"That was a weird question to start," she then laughs awkwardly, and looks away. "It's just I don't really know anything about you other than the fact that you were Gwen's boyfriend. And this thing that we're doing—” She then points between him and her. "It's rather strange. Are we friends? I'm thinking we are, maybe. I mean, I don't hate you and I am hoping you don't hate me either but you got to admit, it's a bit weird. Like we're practically—” She stops when she hears him snorting, and sees him trying hard to suppress it. "What?"
"I'm sorry," he says, holding up a hand of surrender. "I swear nothing you're saying is funny by any means. I guess I just never thought about how unconventional this is. Regardless, we are friends. We've both lost someone significant in our life and we’re helping each other through it."
"I think this is probably the first time that you've spoken more than 10 words to me."
"And?"
"It's not too bad."
He laughs. "To answer your question, my mom passed. My dad's been traveling. He's never been quite the same since her death so after I turned 18, he kind of left me alone. And to anticipate your next question, he and I are fine. Better than what we were when I lived with him. He sends me an email every now and then to let me know he's alive."
"I see."
"Now," he then leans forward and whispers, "Shall we order before they kick us out?"
She gives a silent yes.
“What do you do in your free time?"
"What?" Morgana blurts, almost falling off her chair. She really needs to stop spacing out so much. "I mean, what?"
"I want to try something different.” Sunny explains, closing her notebook. “Tell me, what do you do when you have a day off?”
“I didn't realize that this is part of therapy.”
“I thought you might say that.”
Her cheeks redden. “Am I that predictable?”
“No, just guarded,” Sunny answers. “I want to know who you are outside of your job, and being part of Gwen's life.”
“In my defense, those are pretty significant things,” she says, offering an impish grin. “I mean, what else do you need to know about me?”
“In the past five months, you've yet to discuss what her death did to you other than you having dreams about her. We haven't even discussed your coping skills, which," she then pauses to look her notes, "mostly involve you putting up walls with me, breaking up with your longtime boyfriend, and becoming codependent with Arthur."
"Codependent? Is that what you think?"
"I think if you want to get better then you need to find out who you are now that she's not in your life. Find your passions, and let them help you move on from your grief."
"My therapist says I need to discover myself," Morgana says, taking a sip of her soda. She absentmindedly drops by Arthur's workplace, which wasn't even in the same direction as Sunny's office but that's neither here nor there. "It's rather a ludicrous request, don't you think?"
He shrugs. "Is it?"
She opens her mouth to retort but has nothing to say.
"Look, I can't tell you how to handle your grief," Arthur says, "God knows, I did things that I wouldn't recommend—”
"Things?" She smiles. "Such as—”
"Things," he repeats, refusing to disclose anymore information. "But maybe she has a point. I don't think it'd hurt to reevaluate where you are once in awhile."
She purses her lips. "I guess." Then she looks around. "You know it's quite popular here."
"Well, we have good drinks and a TV."
She snorts. "Yeah, right. That's the real reason." He gives her a look that asks her to clarify but she just waves her hands and gets up. "I'll see you later."
A girl from one of his classes asks for his number.
(She doesn't have brown curls or hazel eyes, but she does have black hair and green eyes.)
At least he's sober this time to accept, and it’s been six months anyway.
Maybe he’s ready.
She tries yoga. It hurts to wake up the morning after, and she hates it so much that she quits three days into it. Then she takes a cooking class. She heard it's a good way to meet people.
She's wrong because everyone's pretty much coupled up, minus her. Needless to say, she never comes back after the first lesson. Then she tries a couple more things before completely giving up. Turns out, the internet is wrong and she's better off by herself.
He goes on a date with Melissa. She laughs at his lame jokes and pats his arms. He likes that she leans into him when they talk, and it’s not uncomfortable like he had thought. That is until Melissa asks whatever happened to the girl that always met him after clas,s and he doesn't know what to say. So he smiles and says she's gone somewhere else.
The words still sting, even though a substantial amount of time has already passed. He apologizes and ends the night early.
He doesn't promise to call and somehow, he thinks she knows.
"We got into a fight before she died." Her hands start to become clammy and shaky. Her head feels light and she wants to cry. "She told me that she wanted to move in with Arthur after just six months of dating, and I freaked out. I never met the guy and I thought she had a lapse in judgment again. I mean, it's not the first time. The last one devastated her when she found out he was cheating and only used her for financial gains. I told her she was making a mistake."
Sunny nods, signaling her to continue.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, she continues, “It was one of the worst fights we ever had. We were both crying and shouting. I should have realized that once she made up her mind, she wouldn't back down. I mean, this is the girl that knocked on my room every single day to make sure I know how glad she was I came to live with her after my parents died, even after I told her to leave me alone with my grief. She's as stubborn and as loving as they come."
"She sounds like an amazing woman."
"She was."
"Let's go back to the fight. What did she say?"
"She said that it wasn't fair for me to make her choose, and that without him, she would die. I mean how fucking messed up is that?" She barely swears in her entire life and it shocks her so much that she instinctively moves to cover her mouth. “Excuse my language.”
Sunny smiles. "It’s fine. Please continue."
"I don't know how to be okay with that. I keep thinking that maybe if I was a bit more rational and accepting, maybe she could still be here. Maybe she wouldn’t have left then and there to get herself killed.”
Sunny reaches over and clasps her hands. "I need you to listen to me. What happened to Gwen was not your fault. It was an accident. Be okay that you didn’t say the right thing, and know that you had her best interests at heart. Otherwise, you won't ever move on."
He goes on another date. They met at a coffee shop two weeks earlier when the cashier who rung them up mixed up their drinks. They shared some laughs. There was something about her smile that he liked, so he introduced himself and asked her out. She said yes and the rest is history.
"So," she says; her index finger caresses his knees, drawing tiny circles. "Would you like to come back to my place?"
The word yes never comes out of his mouth. Neither does no.
She tries writing Gwen a letter, detailing her thoughts and her apologies, and comes to the conclusion that she stinks at it. She's always been better at speaking than writing. So she grabs her keys, goes to a flower shop and ends up at the place she should have visited earlier.
After placing the bouquet on Gwen's tombstone, she can almost hear the sirens, the shouts, and the cries in the back of her mind. It was like the world suddenly stopped moving and the noises zeroed out. Then everything else just faded out like it did in the movies, except things did not get better and Gwen died. “I'm just so tired of feeling sad, alone, and lost. I don't know who I am, or what I am supposed to do anymore. I'm having a mid life crisis and the person that I would like to talk to is not here. You're shit, you know that? For leaving and dying. I know it's not fair to blame you and I can't spend my life being angry and sad but I just am." She then wipes the last hesitating tears with the back of her hand. Approaching footsteps make her looks up. “Arthur” she says breathily, as the surprise from seeing him knocked the air from her lungs.
"Morgana. Hi." He holds up a small bouquet of lilies. "Great minds think alike."
She tries to muster a smile but fails. "Excuse me. I'm a slobbering mess at the moment."
He places his bouquet down next to hers then offers his hand. "Should we say goodbye together?"
She hesitates then places her hands in his.
Morgana tries beer, but it tastes like shit. It burns her throat, and the aftertaste makes her sick to her stomach. "I think maybe beer isn't for me," she says, handing it back to him. "I want to love it, but I really don't."
"Okay, we're moving down the list," he says, laughing, "Maybe a cocktail. Something sweet." She watches as he makes her drink, swirling and tossing things in the mixer before pouring some pink liquid into a small glass. He hands it to her with a wink. "Try this."
Morgana takes a sip, expecting the worst, except the worst never happened. It tastes sweet, almost like grapefruit juice. "This is amazing."
He has a triumphant look on his face before sliding out from under the counter. "Follow me." He then leads her to a darken booth away from the customers. After they sit down, “So I went on a date recently,” he confesses. His cheeks redden and he’s not looking at her in the eyes in when he’s saying this. It's different because Arthur isn't usually the shy type. “Actually, that’s a lie. I went on a couple of dates.”
“Oh?” She hopes that she doesn’t sound as surprised as she feels. She also takes another sip of her drink, hoping the alcohol would calm her sudden nerves. “I mean, it’s been seven months and all.”
“It’s not that,” he explains, “I just wanted to see if I can.”
Something in her chest gnaws at her as she asks, “So can you?”
"I don't know." He has a thoughtful look on his face, like he's trying to articulate what to say next. "It's nice but I don't know. I freeze up toward the end of the night."
"What do you mean?"
"It's almost like my mind know when I'm about to kiss someone, and that it's not just some fling, so it just stops working," he answers, "I kind of just leave when that happens."
She almost spits out her drink. "You just leave?"
"Yeah." He runs his fingers through his hair. "Is it weird that I'm talking to you about this?"
"Well, nothing about us is normal." She then retreats into the cushion. "Maybe you know that they're not the right one."
He puckers his brows together.
She then leans forward, as he does too. "Like you know, maybe, you're waiting for the—” Morgana's suddenly aware of how close they are. Her throat suddenly becomes parched and her cheeks burn. She contributes the alcohol that's clouding her judgment and giving her butterflies. She's thankful that it's dark, and he can't see everything she's thinking on her face. "Maybe you're waiting for the magic, the same thing you had with Gwen. Something that just happens naturally."
It feels like a lifetime has passed before he answers with a quiet You're probably right, and looks down with a smile.
She exhales a shuddering breath, wondering if alcohol always has this affect and maybe she shouldn't drink anymore.
"I don't feel right," she says, fidgeting in her seat and playing with her fingers. A nervous habit, she supposes, because her hands can't stop shaking or sweating. "I'm agitated and short tempered. I don't know why."
"Is this a recent occurrence?"
"Yes. My body has been really weird lately," says Morgana, sighing, and rubbing her temple. "My nerves are all in a bundle when I see Arthur. Then I would lose the ability to communicate for whatever reason—I don't know anymore. I'm just irritated at his entire being."
Sunny flashes an amused look. "Sounds to me like it's very clear what's happening."
Horror floods her face. "No—whatever it is that you're thinking of, it's not."
"Just what am I thinking?"
"You're insinuating that this is happening because of Arthur, Gwen's boyfriend, a friend of mine, and I don't agree."
"Am I?"
"You're doing that thing with your voice—that high pitch thing people do when they don't believe in someone—he's a kid."
"He's hardly a kid, Morgana."
"Compare to me, he's a kid."
Chuckling, "Tell me about this anger you have toward him," asks Sunny, changing the topic. "What did he do to make you angry?"
"Recently, he told me he's been dating, which is fine. It's not my business but there's a girl hanging around him more so than others. They're dating, maybe. I don't know. I try not to talk about it too much with him. I don't want him to think that I'm overbearing or nosy or anything."
"I see."
She then slumps into her chair. "Maybe it is because he's moving on, or maybe it's because he's getting better than me at this grieving game. I know it's not a contest or anything, and it's only right that he has moved on but I don't know. I just feel this weight on my chest when I think about it."
"Is that all there is?"
She frowns.
"You went through a devastating loss, and had someone to share that with," says Sunny. "And when people go through a dramatic experience together, they tend to form an emotional bond so maybe, the fact that Arthur has managed to now form a bond with someone else bothers you."
She straightens. "That makes sense. I mean, we did grow closer after we said goodbye to Gwen at the gravesite."
"You didn't mention that in our previous sessions."
"There's nothing to tell. I tried to reevaluate my life with Gwen and without her. I thought about writing a letter and burning it, but it didn't seem enough. So I went goodbye at her final resting place. I haven't been there since I laid her down to rest, and I don't know, I felt like it was time. I said everything I needed to say. Granted, I expressed some anger but toward the end, I think I'm okay."
"I'm glad you made a conscious choice to move on from your grief."
"I'm not completely okay, but talking to her, and having Arthur there helped." She then sees a shift in Sunny's stoic expression. "I saw that."
"I said it before and I'll say it again," Sunny says, "Take some time to yourself. Figure yourself out and see where Arthur fits into your life. Be it friendly or otherwise."
"There's no otherwise."
"Okay."
She narrows her eyes suspiciously. "Okay."
Turns out, avoiding Arthur is easier than she thought. He has finals to study for and she makes excuses about being busy with work. She hasn't told him that she quitted, but it's not like he needed to know. They're not that good of friends, she rationalizes. Of course, now that she doesn't see him, she has to figure out what else she could do.
Which is how she ends up on a lunch date with a friend from college, who she hasn't seen for the past 5 years or so. She nervously taps her feet, waiting. What happens if she has lost the ability to talk to other people or what if the only person she could talk to is Arthur? No, that can't be it, she thinks, feeling dreaded.
When she spies her friend through the door, she hopes for the best.
He's never one to read into things, but he concludes that Morgana's been avoiding him for the past two weeks. She speaks in short phrases when he calls and sends him one worded answer through texts, which makes him think that he has done something wrong. When he racks his brain to think though, he comes up empty handed.
"Sweetie, are you listening to me?"
He blinks, realizing that he hasn't in the past half hour. "Sorry—I just have a lot of things on my mind," he answers, embarrassed. "What were you saying?"
She sighs. "We need to talk."
"Are you seeing anyone?"
Morgana chokes on her soda. "What?"
"Oh honey, you always check your phone whenever we hang out," Alex says with a smile, "Are you waiting on somebody?"
"Of course not," she says, squirming in her seat. "There's no one."
Alex gives her a glance that says she didn't believe anything Morgana said.
Some time around 9, she finds Arthur waiting outside her door. "Arthur. You're here. It's late."
"Can I come in?"
She steps aside and allows him entry. "What's going on?"
He paces back and forth, not once in her direction, which worries her. Then he turns around and radiates joy like the force of a thousand sun. "I'm just got accepted into medical school."
She gasps. "Oh my god! That's amazing."
"Yeah, it was something that I kind of forgot I applied for," he explains, running his hand through his hair. His eyes never stop shining. She almost feels giddy just being next to him. "They were one of those early admission schools. I didn't think I would get a accepted so I kind of pushed it out of my head and with everything that happened—”
"Right. Of course."
"I got the letter today and I just wanted to tell you," he says, looking at her. "I know we're going through something but I don't know. You were the first person I thought of, and I just really wanted to share it with you, Morgana, the person I wanted to tell."
There's a strange softness to the way he said her name that makes her feel warm all over, even though she has heard her name from his lips before. It's different this time. It's more familiar, and more affectionate somehow and she doesn't know what compels her to, but she tiptoes and pulls him into a hug. "I'm so happy for you," she whispers, "Thank you for sharing it with me." The hug lasts longer than she expected. When they pull away, a shyness between them form. She suddenly doesn't know what to say or how to act. Perhaps there's a line she wasn't supposed to cross and though nothing transpired, it felt like she did. He also hasn't let her go. "Um—”
He lowers his head before she could finish speaking, and allows his lips to meet hers. Then he pulls away. "I'm sorry," he says with flushed cheeks. "But I just felt—”
Reality settles in. "Don't finish that," says Morgana, horrified. She pins her hair behind her ear, and covers her face. She mumbles god under her breath many times that Arthur feels like He might just appears. "This is not happening."
"What isn't happening?"
"That, which we just did."
"Then it isn't happening because it was in the past, is it not?"
"I don't need your jokes right now," Morgana curtly replies, "We just kissed. That wasn't supposed to happen. You're Gwen's boyfriend and we completely crossed the line. I mean, we acted like a couple of hormone raging teenagers.”
“A couple of hormone raging teenagers?” he repeats, mimicking her voice, clearly amused. “I don’t know about you but I, for one, am not a teenager nor is my hormone raging.”
Still freaking out, "I can't do this right now,," she says, "I can't. You need to go."
"Wait—what?"
She grabs him by the arms and drags him to the door. "You need to leave. I can't talk to you. I can't even look at you right now. I need you to go." Then she pushes him out and slams the door on his face.
She never wishes more for the ground to open up and swallows her whole.
He calls her religiously every day for a week and sends texts when she doesn't pick up.
She ignores on all of them.
"Something happened," Morgana confesses. She can't look at Sunny in the eyes, even though Sunny would be the last person to pass judgment. "And I'm trying to forget that it ever happened."
"What happened?"
"I—I—" She pauses, inhales deeply, and says in one rushed breath, "I kissed Arthur or I guess he kissed me first. Doesn't matter the order. We kissed."
"You did?"
"You don't sound surprised."
Sunny just looks amused. "I wasn't trying to be anything."
"I didn't mean to sound defensive. I'm still trying to process how I got there in the first place. I mean who on Earth kisses their dead friend's boyfriend—”
"Ex-boyfriend."
"Not by choice. Gwen died. If she didn't, they'd still be together."
"But they're not," Sunny says, "Is he not allowed to kiss people?"
It irks her that Sunny doesn't see what she's trying to say. "He can kiss whoever he likes, just not me."
"Yet he did."
She hangs her head.
"I understand your conflicting feelings--"
She lifts her head up. "Whoa, there are no feelings here," she says, circling her chest where her heart is, "None whatsoever."
"Did you push him away when he kissed you?"
She sucks a breathe. "No but—”
"Why didn't you?"
"I—I don't know," she says, quietly, "Everything just feels different and it's weird because it didn't feel weird. Like it felt natural. I don't know. I don't even think I like him in that way. He's a kid to me. Kind of like Gwen was."
"I hope you realize that you're only five years older."
Morgana frowns. "He's still younger."
"Then why not just tell him that he's crossed a line, and that you don't feel anything other than sisterly feelings?"
Her mind goes blank as she tries to recall the reason.
"Look, you have made great strides so far in therapy. Today you used past tense talking about Gwen, which shows me that you have really come into terms with her death," says Sunny proudly. "You've also reached out to an old friend. You tried new things. You bonded with Arthur, and not let your preconceived notion of him stopped you from doing so. All things taken into account, I don't think you're as clueless as you think, and you definitely don't need me as much as you think."
"Are you breaking up with me?"
Sunny laughs. "You're paying me so it's really up to you when we break up."
She rolls her eyes.
"Just do what you feel is right."
That just sounds like the worst advice ever if she has heard one.
Morgana wears a modest pink dress. She also draws her eyes, colors her lips red, and puts blush on. It feels like a date and in some sense, it is. As much as she hates to admit it, Sunny is right. She can't avoid him and pretend that nothing happened; but she can't also pretend that it means anything more than what it is. When she sees him coming in, her heart pounds loudly. She softly taps her chest several times and begs for it to calm. She wonders when she started feeling like this.
He gives her a kiss on the cheek as a hello, which is something new, and takes his seat. "Sorry I'm late," says Arthur. His hair is damped, like he just came out of the shower. He wears a white shirt and jeans. "I was just talking to my dad and lost track of time."
She breaks away from her own thoughts. "How is he?"
"Good. Really good. I told him that I got into medical school, which will requires about 4 more years of school and--I'm sure I'm boring you with these details."
She shakes her head.
"For awhile there, I thought you would never want to see me again."
"I needed time to process things."
"I know. I'm sorry. I just wanted to make sure you were okay," he then pauses before adding softly, "that we are okay," like he's petrified. Something that he hasn't imagine could happen until that night.
She doesn't miss the emphasis on the we.
"Because I really like what we have." It's the most honest answer he could give her without looking at her, because if he's too be honest, his heart almost jumps out of his chest when he received her text to meet. It's such a messed, he thinks, of all people, it had to be her. He hasn't felt such adrenaline and joy in seeing someone since Gwen; and he tries, god, he tries to think that maybe it's all in his head or it's because they share a mutual experience. But dating other women didn't make the thought go away, or make him think of her less.
"I do too," she answers, "which is why--"
He hangs his head. "There's a but coming, isn't there?"
"You have one year left before attending your medical school so I had the lawyers drawn up the papers about the trust Gwen left for you."
Hearing the word trust makes his fingers clench.
"That way you can finish out your schooling without worries, " says Morgana, unwilling to look at him in the eyes though she can feel his gaze piercing her skin. "It's what Gwen would have wanted. She loved you and if she--"
"I don't want her money."
She stuns into silence by the anger from his voice.
"You've done enough." Then he stands up. "Thank you."
She catches him by the arm. "Why are you mad?"
"I'm not mad."
"I think I know you well enough to know when you're pissed."
"Then you should know how insulting it is to say all this to me like I'm some sort of charity case." His outburst earns them strange looks from nearby patrons. Seeing that, he sits back down. "I am not a charity case."
"Excuse me?"
"You don't want to talk about whatever this is between us—”
“You’re making this into more than what it is.”
“Just what is this—“ He points to her then to him “—that I am making a deal out of? The fact that you called and I thought that for once, we could have a discussion about what's going on between us? Or the fact that you're looking so damn beautiful that i'm angry at myself for even entertaining the thought?”
"Don't do that."
"Do what?"
“You’re speaking like you’re having feelings, Arthur,” she says in frustration, as she looks away. “When we both know, it was just a stupid mistake.”
“Right, because that would be horrible, forming actual connections to people and talking about how you actually feel,” he remarks sarcastically, “as opposed to putting up walls and locking people out."
"What exactly do we have in common other than Gwen? You think that just because we share a brief kiss, that it warranted some discussion? It doesn't. What we had was grief. What we shared was grief. It was the only thing tying us together." The wilted expression on his face makes her want to stop talking. "What we will be is nothing because as far as I'm concerned, we were friends of circumstances. Nothing more and nothing less. All that's left is squaring up our unfinished business and go our separate ways."
His eyes look so hurt that she almost reaches out and comfort him. Almost is the key word. "Well," says Arthur, clearing his throat. "I'm glad that we cleared that up." He stops to collect this thoughts. Everything feels slower, like he's high. He can't decide if he wants to laugh or cry. It must have been his imagination when he briefly glances her way that she looks just as devastated as he is, which is impossible because she's the one that said all those things. "Don't send me the paperwork because I won't sign it. I don't want that money."
Then he takes his leave and never once look back.
They never see each other after that, and it takes all her efforts not to reach out and say sorry. It's not that she regrets the way things ended. She doesn't. She just wishes—well, she's not sure of anything anymore.
Morgana puts a pause on therapy, packs her things and decides to travel.
She has enough money so might as well spend it.
It takes her 5 years and 6 months to come back. Her first stop is Gwen's burial like she has promised years before. She sees remnants of flowers left behind, and wonders if it's who she thinks it is. She then shakes her head, disposing of such thought. She doesn't know how much time has passed before she speaks. "I know this is 5 years or so too late but I'm so sorry. I love you and I miss you." She keeps it short and simple, only linger for a few minutes more. She manages a few steps before looking up to see a familiar pair of blues looking back. "Arthur."
His pulse quickens when he sees her. "Morgana, it's been—”
"Awhile," she finishes. "You look…"
"You too."
The tensed atmosphere makes her crack a joke. "A couple of talkers we are." It was a lame attempt but it's enough to make him chuckle.
"So." They both speak at the same time and gives a small smile. Arthur takes the reign and asks, "Where do we go from here?"
She shrugs. "You tell me."
"Dinner at my place?"
It's her turn to laugh.
"We should catch up. It's been long enough."
She nods and says, "Okay."