Normally, Marlowe would let this go. She would let his answer be sufficient, and would retreat into a smile and a playful grin. But right now, as she stood gripping the counter-top, knuckles turning white from the effort, she couldnât think of anything other than her anger. There were times where she felt as though he were leading her on, and there were times where she felt that she was just reading too into how he felt. Was it her fault that she kept running back to him? Why didnât she care that every bloody time it ended like this?Â
So, finally, when she spoke, it was one word, choked out as if she were half trying not to say it. âNo,â she said, looking up at him. âNo, you donât get to do that. Not this time.â Marlowe finally pried her finger tips away from the counter top, crossing them over her chest as she let the words she kept in for so bloody long out. âIâm sorry, I donât mean to be⌠I donât mean to be an arse, but I canât sit here anymore and pretend likeââ
The words caught in her throat and she closed her eyes for a moment before meeting his. He had to know, didnât he? How she felt. And still, here they were, staring at each other as if they were only friends. She was sick of it; full of a pain that she wasnât ready to keep feeling. So, she kept going, a train without tracks, moving forward even if it hurt her. âYou know.â The words were a half whisper, and Marlowe could feel the tears threatening. âBloody hell, please tell me that you know. I donât think I can stomach what happened last night if you donât.â
And didnât he? Didnât he have to know? Marlowe felt that she had been fairly obvious, if not before last night then last night itself. Sirius could be a bit oblivious, but this time there was no mistaking. This time, he knew what he had gotten himself into. Didnât he? âIâm tired, Sirius,â she said, still quietly, but stronger now, meeting his eyes. âIâm tired of knowing what I want and being told I need to stay at arms reach. So, Iâd like an answer, and itâs a simple question in theory, but reallyââ Marlowe paused, rounding the counter, forgoing the barricade for a moment as she asked: âWhat do you want Sirius?â
Sirius stood quietly, not moving an inch as he watched Marlowe simmer. The harshness of her voice and body language caught him off guard, but he gave no reaction. He wasnât used to Marlowe being short with him, but subdued anger itself he was more than used to.
When they were in school and things went wrong, Marlowe would get upset. Thinking back on it, sheâd gotten upset more times than he could count. He would fuck up or thereâd be miscommunication, she would get hurt, he would either fix it or he wouldnât, and life would move on from there. However, this was different. The anger in the past, even when it was biting and cut deep, had an innocence to it. They were teenagers then, just figuring things out. Romance was new and difficult for them, and their inexperience made the highs incredibly high and the lows devastating, but, at the end of the day, they were just kids. Fucking up was expected and they always bounced back.
As Marlowe stood in front of him, her arms firmly crossed and building resentment sounding from each syllable she spoke, it felt different than the other times. For the first time it felt like he was supposed to have the answer, to know what to say. It felt like all of the childish fights they had were supposed to have prepared him for this, they were supposed to have taught him what to say, but they hadnât. Instead he just stood there, shut down and listening until he was sure she was done.
She said it so simply, but it wasnât a simple question. What he truly wanted eluded him half the time, and even when he did know, it wasnât always just about what he wanted.
âWhat...â he started before trailing off. He wanted to give her a good answer. She deserved a good answer.
âWhat if it works until it doesnât, and then nothing works at all.â he blurted out, unintentionally raising his voice as he spoke. âWhat if you just think Iâm good enough but then Iâm not, and you get hurt - worse than Iâve ever hurt you before. Cause we both know that Iâve hurt you before.â He was yelling now, but he couldnât stop. âYou think you know how things are going to turn out, but you donât. You have no idea, Marlowe.â
Somewhere in the midst of his anger, heâd taken a step towards her. Calming for a moment, Sirius took a step back. He took a deep breath before continuing on in a softer tone. âThings could end up worse than they were before, because weâre not kids anymore.â What if he fucked up so bad and cut her so deep that she never spoke to him again? What if he never got to see her smile the way sheâd been smiling when heâd first walked into the kitchen that morning? The way he was handling things in that moment, he doubted he would ever get to, but if he stopped now and didnât hurt her any more than he already had, maybe there was a chance.
âI just canât,â he whispered, taking another step back, and then another as he turned around and walked towards the door. Marlowe had a life, a real, put together, adult life. She had plans and goals she wanted to accomplish, and he didnât. Sirius had no idea where his life was going. He could barely figure out what he wanted now, let alone what he might want in ten yearsâ time. What if down the road they wanted different things? What if down the road she didnât want him?