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AS  IF  THE  CALL  OF  HIS  NAME  PHYSICALLY TUGS  HIM  BACKWARD, feet  scuff  to  a  stop  and  turn  to  the  direction  of  the  voice. a  smile,  edged  with  weariness  from a  long  day  flicks  onto  his  expression as  he  slows  to  allow  the  other  to  catch  up.  his  lifeguard shift  has  just  ended  now  that  evening paints  the  sky  and  the  beach  is  closed to  the  public, but  that  doesn’t mean  he’s  finished working  for the  night.  the  looming  dread  that  has  settled so  firmly  upon  his  shoulders like  a  shadow reaching  longer  as  the  day  winds  down  now  whispers  into  his  ear  that  the  hour  is  ticking  closer to  meet  his  buyer.  he  has  time,  so  he  needn’t rush,  but  there  will  be  consequences  should the  kid  make  him  late.  there’s an  odd  reddish glow  to the  sunset,  and  he  wonders if  he’ll  be  seeing  more  of  that  color tonight.

“  hi  there, honey. did  you  come  out  here  just  to  try  and  catch  me?  ”  as much  as  he  likes  debbie, and  as  glad  as  he  is  to  see  her,  he’d  prefer she  be  spending her  evenings  with  her  family.  surely she’s  got  some  parents  that  care  about  her  and  are  going  to  want  to  know  where  she’s  run  off  to.  “  normally I’d  say  yes,  but the  day’s  almost over.  shouldn’t  you  be  getting home?  that’s  where  I’m  going.  ”  

NO  ONE  WILL  NOTICE  SHE’S  OUT  LATE.  her sister will be at work, and her four brothers all at their own things, and though she could sit in her room and read, or play a board game against herself, the house is too hot, and the night air too fresh. better be out here, than locked up, listening to their chaos through the thin walls, and pretending it doesn’t bother her, all that fighting. besides. she’s been running the daycare all day ( the stress rash on her arm has still refused to heal ) and if she can look after a room full of toddlers, surely she can stay out late.

Relief flooded her senses, and she couldn’t help but smile, but she hesitated all the same. “I mean, are you sure? I don’t want to make you leave before you want to go.” The worker had acknowledged them when they came in, which meant … well, it meant she felt like it would be rude to pack up and leave. At least they aren’t in the same room anymore. “Should we buy something first?” Half the things in here, Bee could probably make use of. Or give to Tanith as a gift. 

Sibella swallows hard, a tightening in her chest forming as Monty gently takes her hand. The contact of his skin against hers usually brings relief, comfort, reassurance, but all Sibella’s eyes can focus on, all her heart can focus on, is the glint of her wedding ring on her finger.  A ring that belongs to another man, Lionel. 

She knows she should have taken it off, thrown it into a corner as soon as she had arrived here, but she hadn’t. As to why, she has no idea (that she’s willing to admit). 

Eyes glance at his. Her lower lip trembles, for she has been in so much turmoil these past few days, so much emotion that the sight of him, her loving Monty nearly sends her world spinning. Oh how she loves him, yet how ignorant he is. 

For he has Phoebe to go back to once the charade fades away, his darling Phoebe whom he loves. 

Sibella has Lionel. Sibella has that cold, empty house that provides her nothing.

  “I agree that our fantasies are our source of happiness, but Monty doesn’t that make it even harder to go back to reality?” she sighs, wondering if he really understands. 

  “Doesn’t that make it harder to go back to Phoebe’s bed, to kiss her, to hold her, all the while knowing what could have been… what should have been.” She shakes her head, her golden tresses bouncing. “I find our fantasy to be just that some days… pure fantasy.”

She then pulls her hand away, not wanting to see the sight of her wedding ring any longer. 

WHAT  SHOULD   HAVE  BEEN!  monty must beat back the compulsion to remind her that she had been the one who have halted what should have been ---- that she had been the one to refuse him, when he had said that they should run away together, and use his wealth as a d’ysquith to make their own life . . . the hurt of that day still stings in his breast, but he will not allow it to undermine his efforts here, for now he truly could not be happier.

because with sibella, he has his fantasy, his burning passion, the fire with which he has always bravely played. and at home, he has his phoebe, the dear wife, whom he loves equally. yes, he loves them both, in ways that are different, but are not lesser or greater than one another. and though maybe he would have been happier married to sibella, maybe he would have been gladder to live constantly in fantasy, there is something wonderfully grounding and secure in his own marriage. no, he thinks, loving them both does not make it any harder to return to reality. the balance of both, having fantasy and reality all at once, is what makes each blissful, so much so that he oft longs for one while in the arms of the other, and at the same time, could never imagine leaving either.

but monty has not learned nothing from years in sibella’s grasp, and he does not think his true feelings will suit her ---- he does not think she will take kindly to being told he loves another as much as he does herself. which does not trouble him at all : love and lying are so similar, and he has proudly, if secretly, excelled in both.

“ dearest sibella, ” his earnest voice is soft, understanding of a plight he does not share ( he can only imagine how awful it would be, to have to return to lionel holland after spending time with himself! ) and the hand in hers is drawn closer. she is not looking, but she has exposed her neck, and monty, affectionate by nature, brings himself close enough to kiss her, beneath her jaw, as though imploring her to look back to him.

He paused at the casual declaration of love, heart fluttering, breath lost for a moment. It was still so new – all of it. Companionship, closeness – love. For him. A foolish, mindless grin bloomed across his face, smitten and hopeless as ever as he ducks his head to kiss Maurice, still reveling in the fact that he could simply do that. He could just kiss Maurice whenever they were alone, and be allowed to do it. “You shouldn’t tell me that.” He spoke, pulling away just barely enough to keep his wits about him, though he couldn’t quite help the husky, breathy tone. “Next thing you know, I’ll send you letters without rewriting them a hundred times over, and you’ll see what a fool I really am.”

      “  no  ,  ”  she  answers  her  friend  matter  -  of  -  factly  .  it  was  perhaps  more  curt  than  she  intended  it  to  be  ,  but  the  indecisive  natasha  only  paused  for  a  moment  afterward  ,  trying  to  decipher  the  right  course  of  action  .  luckily  for  her  ,  he  unintentionally  stops  her  train  of  thought  .  “  vanilla  it  is  !  should  i…  nevermind  .  ”  a  moment  of  realization  .  “  i’ll  leave  the  pistachio  here…  just  in  case  ,  ”  while  she  is  generally  unobservant  ,  and  as  much  as  she  really  wanted  to  trash  the  atrocity  ,  it  occurred  to  her  only  now  that  maybe  it  was  elwin  that  purchased  the  flavor  .  “  we  can  give  it  to  the  guests  we  don’t  like  !  ”  when  both  their  cups  are  full  of  unhealthy  amounts  of  vanilla  ice  cream  (  which  was  running  out  .  natasha  makes  a  note  to  buy  more  .  )  she  skips  back  into  the  living  room  ,  by  her  friend’s  side  .  “  i  dunno  .  i’ve  never  smelled  a  real  vanilla  pod  .  ”  she  shrugs  and  immediately  becomes  distracted  by  the  doodles  in  his  notebook  .  by  now  ,  she’s  used  to  seeing  them  ,  but  never  do  they  ever  become  less  admirable  .  natasha  ,  with  an  expectant  smile  on  her  face  ,  offers  him  her  hand  in  place  of  the  notebook  .  “  please  ?  ”

WHEN  HER  HAND  IS  GIVEN,  elwin, having put his notebook on his lap and balanced his ice cream atop it, puts the spoon in his further hand, and allows pale fingers, stained with pencil markings along the side, to be enveloped in natasha’s. once his shoulder is leaned fondly against hers, his brow furrows ---- as though he has had to situate himself against his friend, make himself comfortable in her warmth, to begin to think about the question again. when he raises a spoonful of ice cream to his lips, he pauses first, and tries to smell it ( a small white spot is left on the tip of his nose ) and seems to add to his muddle. he thinks it does smell like vanilla, but not like that vanilla tea that he drinks sometimes, or the vanilla air freshener that his mother had used in his childhood throughout their small northern home. the pistachio ice cream is completely forgotten as well ( elwin has always focused on one thing at a time, and has been overwhelmed otherwise ) and once the treat has melted comfortably on his tongue and has been swallowed, he shrugs.

Finny is adjusting his collar as Gene’s first retort is given. He knows the sully disposition of his roommate, and doesn’t let a little good-natured teasing bother him. But as Gene continues, it’s harder to ignore his negativity. Gene’s made this critique before, and Finny had effectively brushed it off then, but this was something more pointed. ‘It’s wrong, after all, isn’t it?’ Finny raises an eyebrow. “Is that a real question? Don’t tell me you’ve gone and gotten INTERESTED in my sex life now, when I’ve run out of any good stories to tell.” This is perhaps an evasion, or perhaps sincere, but either way its humorous tone obfuscates the query. “They’ll think what they want. And that’s part of the statement, I think. It’s a statement on the statements you make to yourself.” The implicit comment here would be that Gene’s remarks reflect something about himself, but Phineas either doesn’t think to go so far, or elects to leave it unspoken. He turns to Gene, making a show of popping his collar for his friend’s amusement.

GLASS CAGE:  You feel disconnected from the world around you. You can see everything, everyone can see you, but you're not really there. No one can really communicate with you, can they? You're isolated, even when you're around people you're alone. You want desperately to be close to someone, but you're afraid of what will happen if you shatter your glass prison. You don't want to let someone in, you don't want to leave, and it's a constant battle of your own will. It's easier to be alone, where no one can hurt you... Isn't it?