Your Princess is in Another Castle (Freya)

[Marcus Finch]

It had been two weeks since the fight. Although, if Marcus thought about it he wasn’t sure how much of the incident counted as a fight. Sure, there had been yelling and pushing and all the things that typically defined a fight, but there had been little actual content. As he sat in the empty lounge Marcus found his mind wandering over the incident again and again. He could almost smell the basement’s damp, musty air and if he closed his eyes he could feel the cold stone floor pressing into him instead of the plush couch he perched on. He knew it was an accident when Freya bumped into him, but he’d lost control of his temper. Had it been any other time, he might have been more forgiving.

Now, in the aftermath of The Aftermath, Marcus didn’t know what to do. Apologising seemed like the obvious answer, but he pretty much sucked at apologies. The other option was to continue to avoid the girl. Maybe he could survive never talking to her again, but he wasn’t sure he could live with it. He missed her. Post-Freya Ashford was boring and empty and after two torturous weeks the punk was getting restless. His ruined arm made enjoying his hobbies impossible. There was no way he could play his instruments without the use of his left arm, nor could he jog comfortably with the thing bent in front of him in its sling. Vik had been insufferable throughout the whole ordeal, prompting Marcus to avoid his own dorm as much as possible. With Freya occupying the auditorium and no reason for the punk to go anywhere else, he’d taken to spending most of his time in the forest. But, of course, today it had to rain.

Marcus sat on the couch in the lounge, listening to the soft pattering of rain on the windows. As far as he knew, Freya didn’t spend much time in here. Actually, that was a total lie. He knew that Freya came here sometimes, and maybe (definitely) somewhere in his gut he was hoping that she would walk in and find him there and they would talk and things would be better. But that seemed like a terrible idea. Talking rarely made anything better when Marcus was part of the conversation. So he told himself he was waiting. He didn’t tell himself what he was waiting for, but he was sure that it didn’t matter. After all, nothing really matters until it happens.

[Freya Reeves]

Ever since Freya had mistakenly run full force into Marcus when he was down for the count, things just didn’t seem the same at Ashford. She couldn’t go running (or actually harass people to see if they had seen a pissed off looking, green haired British punk around and then wander off) to find Marcus whenever she was excited about a new song someone had showed her, or a new band that she had fallen in love. Instead she was left alone and caused a rather unhappy, slamming the piano keys with an abnormal force as of late. It wasn’t any fun bickering with the currents that occasionally moved and freaked her out. It definitely wasn’t fun cracking cheesy jokes to unsuspecting and most likely unamused kids in her class.

It was safe to say she had been pretty miserable as of late but she refused to be the first to apologize, or at least the first to go make a point to find the other to say something. At the moment she’d take anything, even an awkward ‘hi’ and a shuffle by would do. Heaving a sigh she trailed her hand along the wall, counting the turns and the odd placement of the occasional dent. It was still tricky to navigate the school and she often had to ask for help or some directions but there were certain places she knew. Her dorm from the library or auditorium, her class schedule, and how to get from the library to the lounge.

The lounge, being the very place that she was turning the corner and walking into now. She wanted to get new scenery, scenery being a comfy place to put her butt after sitting on a wooden seat for hours on end. However, walking in she didn’t hear the normal flipping of pages or dull echo of someone playing music without earbuds. It sounded rather quiet, an unusual absence that made her pause for a moment. Had she been expecting someone? Yes. Had she hoped that it would be Marsh or another familiar voice? Yes. So being greeting with silence only caused the frown on her thin lips to deepen as she worked her way towards the couch.

After ramming her shins into a side table, a loose chair and nearly tripping of a thin piece of carpet, Freya felt her hip ram into the back of couch. “Finally,” she muttered and eased her way around the couch and into the side opposite of Marcus. Shimming into the corner she tucked herself in neatly, only beginning to take note of the faint sound of breathing next to her after she settled. “Oh! Crap, sorry. I didn’t notice anyone was here. Is it okay if I sit here? I don’t mind leaving if it’s not.” She rambled, half wanting to facepalm, though that probably wouldn’t help her awkwardness.

[Marcus Finch]

The rain against the windows and the black hole of his empty mind lulled the punk into a hypnotic state. Slouched low in one corner of the couch, he found himself suspended somewhere on the edge of sleep with his eyes shut and his head resting on his chest. Exhaustion seemed to be his pervading emotion these days which, in many ways, was a relief. It was a temporary nirvana (in the Buddhist sense rather than of the Kurt Cobain variety) that could only be achieved in the the brief moments found in the eye of a storm, the trough of a wave, and the space between sleep and consciousness. Marcus nestled into it, allowing his thoughts to fold themselves into the back of his mind so that he could snatch a few moments of peace away from the overwhelming anger that called his head its home.

Emotion was the antithesis of reason, and perhaps no one knew this better than the green-haired punk. As hard as he tried to keep his head under control, sometimes there was just no stopping the downward spiral until it was too late. Explaining it to others was a challenge in itself, especially when the public’s advice on the matter oftentimes consisted of telling him to just stop being angry. To this, Marcus could only respond with utter frustration. He could no more stop being angry than Freya could stop being blind or Vik could stop being deaf. There was no fixing it. The best he could do was try to manage it, a skill that he was far from mastering. But people had little patience when it came to putting up with Marcus’s attitude, and he could hardly blame them when the symptoms of his anger involved shouting insults and picking fights with everyone around him. At least Freya’s and Vik’s issues did not send them into spontaneous fits of violence.

Marcus ducked deeper into the fabric of the couch and tried to catch the thoughts before they surfaced, but then he was startled out of the moment when something bumped into the room and every piece of furniture between the couch and the door. Eyes snapping open, the punk watched with little surprise as Freya bowled over an unsuspecting chair before finally flopping onto the couch beside him. He had never liked her for her grace. A split second later she noticed him and began rambling in the way that only Freya could. A fraction of a smile found its way to Marcus’s lips as the girl bumbled her way through the apology. She spoke with the same level of clumsy awkwardness with which she had entered the room.

Letting out a slow breath, Marcus resisted the overwhelming urge to pull her into him. Instead, he settled back into the couch and watched the girl from a safe distance, clinging to the final few seconds before the waiting was over and he had no choice but to act. Marcus swallowed once and bit at the piercing in his lower lip before finding the words. “It’s your castle, Princess. No need to ask me for permission.” The usual carelessness in his tone gave way to tension and his foot began tapping without his notice. “I, err,” he muttered, “I guess we need to talk.”

[Freya Reeves]

There weren’t many people that made Freya instantly freeze up the way her muscle decided to rebel at the current moment. They normally consisted of her out of the loop great aunt and uncle who still believed she was five and had an overwhelming desire to wear pink tutus all the time. They were always way too close for comfort and constantly pinching her cheeks. However, there was once person who was recently added to the list. The very same green haired punk that she just happened to stumble in on today. What could she say? Her luck was outstanding and practically never on her side.

There was one part of her brain that was completely rebelling against the idea of sitting on the couch next to him, of the affection nickname he used, and the idea of ‘talking’. After their spat she had her own time to brood of the words exchanged and the venomous tones that were flashed. And much to that sides dislike, there was still part of her brain that just wanted to go back to joking and tossing one liners with the kid. That half missed him terribly and simply wanted to forget the whole thing happened. Freya knew that would never work out, as much as she wished it could.

Plus, by Marcus’s words he knew that too. Honestly, Freya was surprised that he had gotten the ball rolling. Words weren’t his specialty for a completely different reason that they weren’t her’s either. He was still way worse than she was, especially when it came to this kinda thing. So the least she could do was muster up a response, right? Right. The only problem that they weren’t coming in an order that made sense to anyone. Stupid words and having to put them into coherent sentences so other people can understand them. Who needed communication? Definitely not the pair sitting on the couch.

Finding herself letting out a breath she hadn’t been aware she was holding, Freya nodded a bit in response, “Yeah, I guess we do.” For a moment that’s all she could manage to get out. Her mind was going blank, which evident in the way her mouth would occasionally open and then snap shut when she decided the words weren’t right. She half hoped that he’d share his own thoughts before she embarrassed herself. But, in a moment she mustered up another coherent phrase, “We were both pretty crappy to each other, huh?” Apologizing was hard, especially when you weren’t exactly sure where you being a jerk started and ended in the whole thing.

[Marcus Finch]

Training his eyes on the girl, Marcus held his breath and watched as she froze. All the good-natured babbling was cut short and the girl’s discomfort was plain on her face. His heart sank and Marcus half-expected Freya to get up and leave without saying anything at all. Rolling his good hand into a fist in his lap, the punk tried to ignore the steady buzzing that was building in the back of his mind. He forced himself to exhale and relax the fist open. There was a part of him that wished she would leave so that it would be out of his hands. He made an attempt; she rejected it. It was easier to quit than to confess.

Just as he was about to say ‘fuck it’ and leave, she spoke and he was pinned to the conversation like a frog prepared for dissection. “Yeah,” he muttered, “I guess.” Marcus’s eyes trailed through the room, picking out random details to distract himself from the situation. There were two vending machines, one for drinks and one for snacks, with brightly coloured labels advertising their products. The punk wondered who was in charge of stocking them. On the counter that ran along one wall of the room sat a microwave that hadn’t been cleaned in the last century, but it wasn’t like it mattered because no one ever used it anyway. A short stack of magazines dated from 2012 rested long-untouched on the side table. It crossed the punk’s mind that many of the students who may have once read the magazines were probably dead. A shiver ran up his spine and tingled at the back of his neck.

Letting out a sigh, Marcus rubbed at his neck and shook his head. “Why am I doing this?” he asked the air in front of him. “Christ, fuck.” He rolled his neck before finally snapping his gaze back to Freya. “You must be damn special, princess, because there’s no fucking way I would do this for anyone else, okay?” The punk sighed again. That was the wrong thing to say, but there was no taking it back now. I suck at this shit, he squeezed his eyes shut and leaned his head back against the couch before trying again. “I guess I’m supposed to apologise and, like, talk about how much I miss you and how it won’t happen again and whatever,” Marcus mumbled to the ceiling. “But, I can’t do that. I’m. . .” he trailed off, swallowed, and started over, “I can’t promise that it won’t happen again, Freya.”

Letting out a slow breath, the punk shook his head again. “I dunno how to start to explain,” with his eyes still closed Marcus passed a hand over his face. He couldn’t understand why it was so difficult to open up to the girl. Freya had never been anything less than wonderful. There wasn’t a single, threatening thing about the girl so why did he feel so defensive? Because she was good and he was tainted; a septic influence on her life that she didn’t deserve. Stuffed into his corner of the couch, Marcus felt the tension roll over him like the waves of thunder that painted the landscape outside. She was his only consistent friend on the island and he would miss her more than he could bear, but he was no friend of hers if his presence put her in danger.

Feeling like a frog prepared for dissection, Marcus forced himself to stay still as he waited for the girl to make the first incision.

[Freya Reeves]

This whole conversation felt wrong on so many levels. Freya wasn’t sure how to respond to any of it and every time she tried it’s like her brain shut off. It just noped out of there and refused to work up logical responses. In a way, it was almost funny considering how she normally couldn’t shut off her annoying rambles and Marcus was the only stuck listening and now it was flipped. She was let biting her lip in silence while he continued to speak like a functioning human being. Who would have thought making up with your friends after a fight would be so hard? Definitely not the girl who had been avoided like the plague for the last few years of school.

While Marcus managed to get the words out, it was pretty clear that the whole idea of apologizing and making up was still pretty rough. She pulled her legs close to her chest and tried to shrink into the couch as he called her ‘special’. Freya knew he was right to some degree, after all he wasn’t the most popular guy in the school for a reason but at the same time she felt like he didn’t really want to go through this. Stupid self-consciousness and insecurities. Being social and having friends really sucked sometimes. As he continued speaking she tilted her head ever so slightly to the right, trying to show she was paying attention since she couldn’t exactly look at him.

It didn’t last long, however, as she quickly switched to resting her forehead on her knees. Letting out a breath, she nodded ever so slightly and began speaking in a quiet tone, “I don’t expect it to never happen again. I understand that fights kinda come with the friend thing, no matter what. I also get with your temper they’re probably going to happen more often than I would like.” Picking her head up, she shifted so she would at least be looking off to the side he was on, not particularly trying to focus on him directly this time around. She wasn’t exactly sure how well her semi-muffled words came across but this was hard for her too so he could deal with a bit of a tricky translation.

It took her another beat of silence before swallowing the lump in her throat, “But I think being friends with you definitely outweighs the times we’re bound to end up arguing. I’m really sorry we ended up fighting this time, it was pretty stupid. And I really missed you too, for what it counts.” Her conflicted feelings and awkwardness shined through a bit as she talked but she was genuine in her words. Life on the island was beyond boring without Marcus and she lying if she said she wouldn’t give anything to have him back. To have the same joking relationship that made this place bearable back.

[Marcus Finch]

Marcus kept his eyes closed as Freya spoke. He shrunk into his corner of the couch, as far away as possible from the blind girl. His thoughts tumbled in a landslide of mixed feelings as he struggled to reach a conclusion. Exhaling slowly, He shook his head and blinked open his eyes. “I'm not sure being friends is a good idea, princess,” he mumbled the words, half-hoping that she wouldn’t hear them. He turned to look at her, only to find her with her face buried in her knees. But then she picked her head up and for just a moment she seemed to be looking right at him. Freya’s silver eyes brushed past his face, sightless but captivating. The punk’s fingers twitched with the urge to reach out to her, to find the familiar softness of her hand or to run through the ribbons of her hair. Instead, he shifted a bit and turned his eyes to the toes of his boots.

“Look,” he told the floor, “it was stupid this time, but it might not be next time. You need to understand that I’m not always the safest person to be around.” The heel of his boot tapped out a steady beat as he spoke. “If I lose it, like, really lose it, I might do something, y’know, bad,” Marcus paused and bit at the piercing in his lip. “It wasn’t your fault. I shouldn’t have yelled at you, and I really should not have pushed you. You didn’t mean to trip over me. I was in a bad way, but that’s no excuse. I’m sorry, princess.” Still watching his boots, the punk pushed a hand through his hair. “And now I think we. . .” he swallowed hard, “we shouldn’t be friends anymore.” Something lurched in his chest as he said the words. He knew he owed her an explanation for the sudden confession, but the words tangled in his throat and he choked. Drawing a deep breath, Marcus squeezed his eyes shut and hoped that when he opened them everything would be different.

Guilt, the larval stage of Marcus’s hornets gnawed through the walls of his stomach. He felt them squirming in his gut, feasting on his festering psyche. There was nothing he would have liked better than to set fire to them, to smoke out the infestation and their parasitic influence. Puke-head remembered the first time he let the hornets in. They felt like safety and control at a time when everything stood on its head. Little did he know that once they were in, they never left. What started as a handful of insects soon became a swarm, and now Marcus hosted a hive in his head. It didn’t take much to stir them up, and even when things were quiet he imagined he could hear them buzzing just behind his ears.

Exhaling, the punk’s green eyes flickered open and settled on the girl once more. “I’m sorry, Freya. I like you, but I can’t do it. It’s not fair. I couldn’t live with myself if I did something to you. I’d like to hang out with you-- well, if I’m being completely honest, I’d like to do more than just hang out-- but it’d be pretty damn selfish of me to put you in danger because I haven’t got the balls to walk away.” It all came out in one long breath, and Marcus was grateful that Freya couldn’t see the redness that tinged his cheeks. His stomach clenched as the maggots continued their assault. Something hummed in the back of his skull.

[Freya Reeves]

Putting her feelings into words was never a specialty of Freya’s. Now if she had a piano or a trumpet or some other kind of instrument she might actually be able to convey her thoughts and feelings. But words? She could never get them to quite come together in the perfect order or string together words that actually expressed the emotions squirming around in her chest. Right now, as Marcus spoke, she couldn’t even put together a coherent thought to express them. She recognized a few of them but most of them wound up in an indescribable lump in her throat.

The logical side of her brain could see where he was coming from. It wasn’t a secret that Marcus had a temper and it could definitely get out of hand. She had only been subjected to a minor portion of it and she never wanted to see it full force. Freya also knew that there was a certain danger to hanging around someone like that, that she could easily wind up hurt and more than just a few scrapes and bruises. But somewhere along the lines she had accepted that and decided that being around him, laughing with him, and sharing a bond with music was worth the risk.

Clearly, he didn’t think it was and that caused the emotional side to go into a full fledge riot. Part of her wanted to yell at him. To tell him that he was being stupid and was over thinking things. To let him know that they could work past that and everything could be okay. Another part wanted to curl up next to him and refuse to let go. That way she could make him stay and maybe she’d find the words to tell him the thought of being more than friends made her heart beat way faster than it should. Instead of doing either, she found her hands tightening around her legs and her head producing a stiff nod to his comments.

“So,” She said slowly, squeezing her eyes shut and wishing he couldn’t see her for once, “you don’t want to even try because you’re scared something might happen?” The thought of Marcus being afraid of something was a little off but that was the only way her brain was translating his words. He didn’t want anything bad to happen to her, especially if he was the cause of it. “I kind of want to hit you for thinking like that but if you really believe that we,” she found the words struggling to fall from her lips, “can’t be friends… then I guess we aren’t. Friendship is a two way street after all.”

Slowly, Freya uncurled herself and stood. She paused where she was and turned her body to face him, nervously tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “You know,” she paused, feeling like something heavy was slowly pressing down on her shoulders, “for what it’s worth, I don’t feel like I’m in danger around you. I actually feel safer. Guess you think I’m stupid for that, huh?” A small frown settled onto her lips as she turned her face to the ground and toed the carpet beneath her shoes. ’Don’t let this happen.’ Freya internally pleaded before shoving her hands in her pockets, “Goodbye, Marcus.”

She shuffled her way to the door, occasionally knocking into the side of a chair or catching the edge of the table. However, they barely registered as she attempted to keep her shoulders from slumping in disappointment and smothering the dull ache that was forming in the back of her throat. Coming to the door, her slim fingers caught the wooden frame and she paused. For a moment she went back and forth, debating if she should try reaching out to him once more. “Just to let you know, my side of the street will always be open. See ya around, oh and keep up with the piano. You might be able to play through a beginner’s song soon enough.” With one last joke Freya wandered out into the hall.

[Marcus Finch]

Marcus clenched his teeth and braced for impact. His stomach lurched in a way he didn’t know was possible as he watched the expression on Freya’s face shift from confusion to hurt to resolve. She spoke and he breathed in the words, feeling them sting his lungs like winter air. We can’t be friends anymore. The words sounded even worse when she said them. Denser than air, he imagined them falling from her lips and flooding the floor around their ankles. They were syrupy-thick and heavier than prison chains. He couldn't fathom wading through the weight of those words, but before he knew it Freya was on her feet.

There was no anger in her voice; just a tremble and disappointed resignation. He wished she were angry. It would have been so much easier to take her back, but what Freya lacked in grace she made up for in kindness. What could he ever do to deserve that? Which was why he knew it was the right choice to let her go, no matter how bad it hurt. The punk slumped forward with his head in his hand. He listened without a word as she fumbled her way to the door, offering him one last act of mercy before vanishing through the door and out of his life. It was safe to say that when she left she took his heart with her. It only seemed appropriate since it was already hers.

A sudden surge of anger overwhelmed the punk and he aimed a hard kick at the coffee table from his spot on the couch. It toppled with a crash and sent magazines sprawling across the room. Marcus forced himself to take deep breaths as the sounds of shuffling papers and rain filled the empty room. His eyes lingered over the wreckage of paper and splinters and he sank back into the couch. Under his breath he managed one final verse:

“See you later, alligator.”