searching around the beach had been an exercise in patience, he had tried to maintain a calm head but the longer his eyes turned around and did not find her, the more he had begun to hear the whisper to turn back and wait for her — it would be the rational choice. however, if he did that, it would make him no different from the past.
over the years, he had learned what it was like to expect nothing, whether it brought satisfaction or simple disgust. this was the way of the world, and he had nothing if eons but to watch over everything. closing his eyes could never stop the horrors from behind the curtain, but Marie. Marie had always worn her heart on her sleeve, and learning to read her cues had made him understand more than anything this: she did not want to be alone.
how could he live with himself if he did not look for her?
relief is a privilege he rarely allows himself, but as the seasons have changed, he finds the air inside his lungs being punched out of him. it is not that kind, it could never be kind; instead it is visceral and raw and familiar, and he does not fight it. he feels his mouth open, and ridiculous as it for someone that has no need for it, he takes a deep breath. he had been worried when he had arrived at their home, concern turning into fear when her absence told him nothing.
“Marie.” her name is the only sound that leaves him, eyes wide in palpable relief, as his tongue stays tied in knots. he does not want to ask how long it has been since she saw him; she has always been strong, and people could confuse that with coldness. that could not be any further from the truth, she was more than anything that what she showed to the world. “... Were you waiting here?”
@animasend
