garden song.

       a vacant expression remains on her features as she absent-mindedly listens to him. selective amnesia and blocking unnecessary voices; two of her favourite abilities, finally coming in hand with the arranged marriage situation. a scoff sits on the tip of her tongue, eagerly waiting to swim out of her lips with his ‘i don’t need you’, silently cussing at herself for being so wrong about him. did she really think this would be easy? blame her two brain cells, she indeed did — or maybe it’s the utmost respect and trust she bears for the patriarch. mr hornsby never signs off worthless deals, she thinks, the same way he always manages to create the most stressful environment for merrit to inhabit. “but you obviously do,” states the brunette with a flat, emotionless voice, complimenting the taut smile she wears. unfortunately for the male, merrit doesn’t care what he thinks about her — a pushover, a doormat, a people pleaser; all seemingly ugly labels she nonchalantly pins to her chest like a navy officer with their awards. it’s not that he, as a person, doesn’t matter to her, no, it transcends beyond her stupid little heart and emotions, it’s the fact she is a realist before anything else. “if you find this intolerable, please, go ahead and run to your father. tell him about how much you despise me because i want to honour their arrangement. tell him i’m ready to do anything to please them and you at the same time but you’re too much of a spoiled brat to understand that.” the austere words radiate past her mona lisa smile, which may puzzle any uninvited observer with merrit’s true intentions. she regrets the last part, it’s not like her to let emotions get the best of her. this harlowe boy, he’s really doing something to her. “you can leave now, and probably make it before my last class. we would still have time to hang out.” she’s adamant on keeping the porcelain mask on, though a part of her wonders why she’s not crying right now; pathetic, he calls her. should hurt, right? and it ironically does, enough to let the waterfalls wash her smooth cheeks, but there’s no sight of them. it’s been years since she last cried, merrit remembers vaguely. another trauma sign she may unpack later, just not in front of him. “it doesn’t matter.” she whispers with clenched teeth, the regret of her soft, idiotic feelings for the male washing over her. “we can meet weekly, to tour the quad together. just don’t hook-up with people in public. no need to raise suspicion.” merrit has no idea what’s going on with his romantic life, and certainly, it’s not her business, so it’s safe to warn him and not regret later. though she doubts any girl would be foolish like her, falling for his charm and sweet gestures, only to realise he’s no different than the rest of the students here. still, it hurts to hold his hand, act like nothing’s happened, like his words don’t scrape off her silky skin. “aw, thank you.” the brunette hums, quietly walking towards the cafe, freeing her hand from the inconvenient touch.  “and i will pay for your drink, equality and all that. hm, call it a reverse ‘going dutch’.”

              a coy glint enters her ocean orbs with his continuation of the tv talk, deciding it’s not fair to press him further. what she feels for the young harlowe boy is almost indescribable, something that transcends the duty she’s crowned with... something beyond softness and gratitude? she cannot tell. they walk in empty halls, hand in hand, a proud smile ready to envelop her features if they encounter a friend. she doesn’t mind it, really, playing a part, being his girl — it’s no different from her daily life anyway. “yay, i knew she would like it,” she choruses, pace fastening with excitement. a balanced combination of her grandmother’s love and grandfather’s toughness, she’s made out of the most exquisite clay, specifically moulded to meet their needs. still she wants to take a part of the credit, for enduring it, enduring all of it that she now calls her upbringing without a flinch. sharp but dainty nose crinkle when she feels his gaze on her, stomach making a nosedive as an unsettling feeling creeps into her systems. she listens, a plastered smile still gracing her pale face. “don’t interrupt me again,” grandfather warns her, “people like us are born with grace and decorum, never forget it.” merrit’s mouth twitching from the phony grin, she resists the urge to scream and shout like a three-year-old throwing a tantrum, back to grinding her teeth as she did in high school. her grip on his hand loosening, she attempts to move it over her head to be released, aligning her body right in front of him, giving no space to walk away. “i don’t understand why you’re being this way, leo,” she mutters, head tilting to check for any hidden figures in her peripherals. people do fight, just not them — not the young, elated couple, merrit and leonardo. his words still playing in the back of her mind, stinging like thorns, her expression grows distant. unfamiliar. “you don’t have to like me. i may not be the girl of your dreams and i know i may never please you but,” eyes study him for a second, hoping he understands the wreckage she’s trapped under “it’s what our families need. your father and my grandfather made a deal, and we are to honour them for two more years. you may want to talk to your father after graduation, but until then this is happening.” she finally takes a deep breath and drops her shoulders, voice lowering. “i will do anything to make my grandmother happy and she is not going anywhere any time soon.” apples of cheeks perking with a gentle smile, merrit reaches for the hand she’s just let go, fingers ghostly dancing across his skin. “i will make it easy for you, i swear. whatever you need and want, i will be there to help you.” there you go, she wishes to say, here’s your wife to be. the lady macbeth, minus the guilt, to your king. “now let’s forget about the photo thing if it makes you this upset, i will photoshop something for grandma later. no worries.” meekly taking her place next to him again, a beaming smile tugs at the corner of her cherry lips. “do you want to get coffee first? i’m craving an iced-americano.” 

       brows  crease  with  his  objection,  words  swimming  out  lips  in  a  plea  like  manner  and  she  struggles  to  understand  him.  a  greek  god  incarnated,  she  sees  romeo  for  who  he  is  —  the  bloody  knuckles  and  witty  tongue,  all  fade  into  the  background.  it’s  the  softness  in  his  voice  that  makes  her  heart  burn,  in  the  most  beautiful  way  possible,  and  she  wants  to  tell  him,  tell  him  he’s  perfect,  that   there’s  nothing  wrong  with  him.  mouth  opens,  though  only  a  simple  “stop,”  rolls  off  her  tongue.  a  hypocrite,  that’s  who  she  is.  she  has  been  trying  to  change  him  ever  since  their  first  encounter,  right?  then  where  is  this  uncontrollable  desire  coming  from?  “you’re  being  too  hard  on  yourself.”  she  mutters.  perhaps  he  doesn’t  need  her  reassurance,  after  all,  she’s  simply  a  planet  to  his  sun,  bound  to  disappear  in  a  sea  of  bodies  ever  so  lucky  to  end  up  next  to  him.  his  question  ends  up  pulling  her  out  of  the  inner  monologue  bordering  on  a  classic  vacuum  of  inferiority  complex,  “i...”  merrit  stutters,  apples  of  her  cheeks  painted  in  a  rosy  shade,  her  ocean  orbs  on  his  own,  a  bold  attempt  to  the  scatter  the  fog  created  by  her  mirth,  mixed  with  delicacy.  “playing  nurse,  uh,”  free  hand  awkwardly  rubbing  her  temple,  a  slow-growing  smile  graces  her  lips.  the  brunette  no  longer  sees  the  point  in  putting  up  a  façade,  not  when  even  the  complacent  tone  of  his  voice  has  a  soothing  effect  on  her.  “yeah,  i  guess  i  do.”  she  seems  to  purely  be  levitating  next  to  him;  mind  devoid  of  responsibilities  and   the  things  that  keep  her  awake  at  nights;  her  grandparents,  the  fact  she’s  to  wed  his  friend  after  college,  that  she  no  longer  recognises  the  reflection  in  the  mirror.  all  because,  unbeknownst  to  him,  she’s  tasted  the  pomegranate  seeds,  because  she  has  no  choice  but  to  live  with  the  ardent  fires  he’s  set  in  her,  waiting  for  the  inevitable  exposition.  no,  merrit  doesn’t  blame  him;  it’s  her own  stupidity  for  feeling  this  way  about  the  male,  practically  imploring  to  be  punished  for  asking  for  more  than  she’s  ever  deserved.  icarus,  flying  too  close  to  sun  to  his  demise  suddenly  begins  to  make  sense.  the  awkward  tension  from  her  unexpected  burst  of  affection  dying  down,  she  moves  closer,  fingers  fiddling  with  the  collar  of  his  shirt,  almond  nails  barely  brushing  against  the  smooth  skin.  “and  what  is  that?”  stilted,  merrit  swallows  roughly,  hoping  it’s  enough  to  keep  the  butterflies  inhabiting  her  chest  from  breaking  free  as  her  gaze  lingers  on  his  lips  a  little  longer  than  she  intends  to.   “tell  me,  please.”

     the blonde’s existence manages to bring out the best and simultaneously, the worst in the young hornsby; a method acting job’s gone for too long, merrit no longer can detect where she ends and her past begins, especially around isabella. her perseverance, the efforts to keep the friendship alive throughout the years, feeds the baneful guilt trapped inside her chest, the friendship gradually becoming a form of torture. “just my own demons,” the brunette shrugs, “you know how hard it is to be a perfectionist.” i wish we didn’t, she wants to say, guessing both the girls are fighting a losing battle — who do they think they are, striving for perfection? maybe she’s wrong about her friend ( she can never tell with isabella, a part of her is always eclipsed ), and that thought brings comfort. she prefers the loneliness over the blonde’s company in misery, heart leaking with affection. classic merrit, ashamed to take, always giving, like her favourite diarist says, mistaking it for virtue. “i love you, and i know bex does too. we have all we need, just the three of us. the rest can kindly fuck off.” a weary smile tugs at the corner of wide mouth, head full with the seemingly insignificant compliment she pays. weird how people, including the those closest to her, think so highly of her when she feels like a deceiver, a serpent, unworthy of their love. merrit mimics her, slumping against the bed in a way her grandmother would strongly disapprove. that’s not a lady like behaviour, antonietta, my dear, she would have said. “even the freshmen know i’m friends with you, izzy.” she chirps, mouth twisting into a smirk “they know i’m off limits. no one dares to disrespect the queen. trust me.” ocean orbs studies her side profile, a gentle smile tugging at her lips “and you? i need you to be honest with me, completely. i am tougher than i look and you can tell me anything and everything. how are you feeling? being back here? the classes? talk to me.”

       “only if you can actually go on without ripping out everything, i can’t.” mind crawls back to the memory of her first assessment, how she almost went through a sketchbook while trying to decide on a damn outline. fingers blistered, papers rubbed with eraser, broken beyond repair. perfection goes hand in hand with dissatisfaction, her grandpa preaches, you have no choice but to be better if you are always feeling so. easier said than done, merrit can tell you that much. “thank you.” she doesn’t expect him to understand, but it’s the effort that matters.. or he just doesn’t care enough about her to continue, which sounds more appropriate for their situation. shoulders drop with the thought of him not giving a single heck, and yet again, a beaming smile envelops her expression, though a crease quickly finds the space between her brows with his overenthusiastic comment. can’t get enough of it? it’s binge-worthy, at best, but nothing too great. “i especially love the alien invasion episode, what do you say? and ted’s love story with the queen x-12... poetic.” lips pursing together, she tries to contain her laughter, a fuzzy feeling spreading over her senses. he cares, enough to resort to a while lie. his arm, around her shoulder and she peeks at him, head instinctively tilting to close the gap. a gentleness she’s not felt in perhaps years puzzles her, his question replaying faintly like an echo. an uncharacteristic silence follows the unexpected yet delicate kiss that only lasts for seconds, though not in her mind, there, it’s imprinted — something she will continue thinking about for longer than she’d be happy to admit. still blinking rapidly, cheeks flushed, she bends her arm to hold his hand, fingers meekly resting atop his. “no, i like spending time with you. alone. it’s nice, as long as you...enjoy it too.” dimples rouse with a girly smile, looking up though lashes “so... i think grandma would love it if i mailed her photos of us. she was chatting about the antique frame she bought at auction and said some stuff about you.. and us, and i thought it would be cute. maybe i can get a similar one online and ship to mrs. harlowe? would she like it?”

the 𝑝𝑎𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑎𝑟𝑐𝘩 — grandfather friedrich robert hornsby , 79 , donald sutherland . the 𝑓𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑙 — aunt cornelia austen hornsby , 22 ( deceased ) , lauren german . the 𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑎𝑟𝑐𝘩 — grandmother irénée antonietta ( nee du pont ) hornsby , 77 , michelle fairley . the 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑔𝑜𝑛 — mother alma sixtine ( nee astor ) hornsby , 41 ( presumed dead ) , amanda beet . the 𝘩𝑒𝑖𝑟 — father percival leon hornsby , 43 ( presumed dead ) , jason bateman . the 𝑔𝑜𝑙𝑑𝑒𝑛 𝑐𝘩𝑖𝑙𝑑 — older sister austen elspeth hornsby , 7 ( deceased ) , darcy rose byrnes . the 𝑝𝑢𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑡 — merrit antionetta hornsby , 22 , kristine froseth .

         “and  that’s  my  fault,”  she  admits.  “i  am  always  cautious,  making  sure  everything  goes  according  to  plan.  no  room  for  evolving,  learning  from  mistakes.  i  just..  exist.  that’s  not  living.  i  wish  i  was  more  like  you.”  words  leave  her  mouth  faster  than  pea  brain  can  comprehend,  wrecking  the  mental  walls  she’s  built  around  her  insecurities  with  every  syllable  laced  with  candour.  it’s  an  instant  wave  of  regret  that  almost  drowns  her,  he  likes  her  as  the  perfect  girl-next-door  and  stripping  off  feels  stupid,  giving  him  a  solid  reason  to  leave  her.  “i  don’t  know,  perhaps  i  didn’t  miss  it,”  she  mutters,  “i  don’t  remember,  thank  the  sweet  selective  amnesia.”  oh.  she  feels  the  porcelain  mask  cracking  as  her  smile  withers,  unable  to  control  the  pursing  of  her  lips.  it  shouldn’t  come  as  a  surprise,  not  when  the  three  sisters  of  fate  have  already  planned  her  future.  what  she  has  with  him  is  a  knot  that  one  day,  as  dreadful  as  it  is,  will  come  undone.  you’re  mature  for  your  age,  grandma’s  socialite  friends  tell  her  —  not  mature,  only  realistic;  she’s  aware  of  her  place  in  life,  that  she  shouldn’t  ask  for  more  than  she  deserves  and  oh  boy,  he  is  off  limits,  it’s  a  fact.  “i’m  glad.”  is  all  she  can  muster  up,  mouth  twitching  with  the  forced  smile  she  flashes.  the  vivid  memories  of  him  entertaining  other  girls  remain  locked  in  a  box,  buried  deep  in  her  subconsciousness,  only  to  be  remembered  when  she  wants  to  add  fuel  to  the  fire,  pouring  salt  into  her  own  wounds  like  a  masochist.  fingers  still  wrapped  around  his  thumb,  she  resists  the  urge  to  roll  her  eyes,  voice  dissolving  into  a  soft  laugh.  “that’s  the  thing,  romy,  you  can  do  it  yourself  but  you  don’t  have  to,  not  when  i’m  still  around.”  to  be  honest,  the  selfish  part  of  her  knows  patching  him  up  is  a  safe  way  to  keep  him  around,  and  the  other?  well,  she’s  not  exactly  confident  in  his  medical  skills.  her  oceanic  hues  remain  on  him  as  he  speaks,  not  straying  even  for  a  second,  letting  the  millions  of  tiny  fireflies  flap  around  in  her  stomach.  the  filter  between  her  brain  and  body  seem  to  dissolve  with  his  question,  gently  pulling  his  hand  towards  her  face,  close  enough  for  him  to  possibly  feel  her  breath  on  his  knuckles.  “yes,”  she  quietly  hums,  lips  brush  against  the  battered  skin,  painting  a  trail  of  chaste  kisses.  a  mistake  —  one  she  knows  but  does  anyway.  didn’t  she  just  ask  for  it?  to  be  more reckless  and  make  mistakes?  next  time,  she  can  hear  the  genie,  be  careful  what  you  wish  for.  swiftly  moving  his  hand  back  to  near  his  torso,  merrit  hides  hers  under  her  chin,  body  awkwardly  wiggling  to  give  him  the  obviously  needed  space.  “sure,  if  you  still  want  to.”

      she nods, making a mental note of the book that has managed to capture his attention only to faintly remember the film with the same title. he doesn’t strike her as a ‘film over book’ kind of guy, so it’s best to keep quiet — maybe she can read it, god knows she has all the time in the world with the no sleep life style she has. a pathetic attempt to impress the young harlowe. grandfather would be proud of her efforts, at least she likes to think so, he probably couldn’t care less. leo’s decision to hold her hand catches merrit off guard, making her feel like she’s some sort of volunteer for the dunk tank game, anxiously waiting for the dexterous boy to sink her in the cold water and he indeed manages to hit the bullseye with the interlaced fingers. ironic she feels this way when she initiated it; the impulse to please him, to play the role of the perfect girlfriend overtake her senses, merely a robot, acting according to its codes written by their families. the brunette doesn’t want him to know how this arrangement suits her, delighted with the tailored dress, sewed into her skin — that pain is nothing compared to the one she would be facing in a case of hornsby’s discontentment. giving him a gentle squeeze, merrit deepens their hold, thumb aimlessly drawing small circles against his tendon. “deal,” she muses, cheeks plump with a beaming smile from his idea. “i like to use them for sketching, i know, it makes no sense but... looks pretty, i guess. they even make the errors look better, so i don’t rip the pages in frustration. so far it’s working.” the image of leonardo annotating with her glitter pens widens her grin; his umber hues squinting with utmost diligence, ruddy lips pursed together and his stray curl begging to be pushed back send tingling sensations over her chest, a ‘sipping camomile tea in a january night’ type of warmth. “um, nothing much. i’m done with the history of architecture course for today. it’s interesting, really. my instructor is nothing like ted mosby, but it’s nice. have you seen the show? how i met your mother? not exactly my favourite but i’ve been rewatching for the architect representation. i don’t know, leo, i’m happy to be back. i missed the garden, the sleepless nights, touring for inspiration and losing my way like a freshman fool. call me a dork but i do enjoy school more than i enjoy most things in life. the rules and regulations, projects, glitter pen sketches... keep my mind occupied, better than a blank canvas, i guess. plus... i have you guys here, right next to me. izzy, bex, romy... only a two minute walk, then voila, i’m in their rooms. isn’t that great? you could say there’s nothing really new happening, but i like it the way it is. my home. anyway,” she trails off, momentarily gazing at him to make sure he’s still present, not bored to death with the nonsense coming from her mouth. why do i care, is the million dolar question, but it demands to be answered another time, preferably while watching the sun rise from her bedroom window. “uhm, yeah. how i met your mother, so.. you a fan?” awkward tension etched to every syllable, she fastens her pace to avoid the face she expects him to pull, the type where he goes ‘what the hell is she talking about?’, not that she’s seen it on him before, it’s just a guess. “if you want we can invite people to hang with us. i don’t want you to feel forced,” a tired smile pulls at her lips and she shrugs “to be alone with me, you know? you don’t have to, it’s like totally okay.”