Work Text:
"....and I just think we both deserve to find something that makes us feel whole. I really love you, I always will. A part of me will haunt you, I think."
Fiona stared at the sweaty wine glass. Her fourth glass of horrible sparkling water. The sweat running down her back echoed the sentiment.
The waiter checked in probably 10 minutes later. Or maybe it was seconds. She asked for the check and paid for uneaten spinach dip.
Three years.
She washed her hands slowly in the bathroom before leaving. Fiona noticed she had makeup on the collar of her new shirt. At least Dragon hadn't seen that. She touched it with wet hands and watched it grow soggy.
"A part of me will haunt you, I think"
The words dropped on her like rain. Or maybe it was raining. Fiona watched from afar as her hands started the car, pulled out of the space. Drove to a red light.
Three years.
The connection on her phone got worse as she continued to turn left every fourth red light.
Surviving by the grace of a full tank of gas and counting red lights was a reasonable response. All of it was logical. So, she lost a tug of war. She would recover. Red light number three glowed in front of her. She slowed down.
"....we both deserve....."
What was the definition of deserve? She should Google it. She should pull over and Google it. What other words did she not dissect? What other words was she using haphazardly, not fully grasping the meaning? Did Dragon understand the breadth of the word? When she wrote that text? Ever? Four red lights. Time to turn left again.
" .....make us feel whole."
Did Dragon feel partial when Fiona had pretended not to see her friends from work at that museum? Was that where it fell apart? What was the moment. Where was it. Which moment. Which conversation. Which half truth. One red light
Three years.
She could fix this. She had fixed it before. Countless times. She can be more strategic. More surprise gifts. More museums. She can do this. She will call Dragon and sort this out. She'll pull over now and do it. Two red lights.
"A part of me...."
Which part? Which part. Which part? Oh God, which part. She can't imagine picking. The catalog of parts grew daily in Fiona's mind. She had to pull over. Just one part?
Three years.
She felt her body hyperventilating, watched from the roof or somewhere beyond. Watched the windows fog. Watched the rain drop heavier onto the cars windshield. No windshield wipers swaying. She needs to flick them on. Or pull over. Both, maybe.
"...find something...."
What would she find? What was left? Choir robes on Sunday. Presentations at work. Wednesday nights at her parents, alone. Traffic trying to get home. Silence. What would happen to the bits of Dragon in her apartment. Can she get home and pick one to keep? Had she left behind anything she'd miss? Would a text asking that question get through anymore? Four red lights. Turn again.
A parking lot that wasn't flooded. Car parked. Half a tank of gas. The lightening flashes catching the empty can in the passenger seat cup holder. Was this the part she got to keep?
Shrek laughed loudly as Fiona pointed out another hilarious looking dress. The sun was hot on her face. A perfect Wednesday night, they had just left her parents house. Shrek held her hand as they headed to their favorite ice cream shop.
Fiona heard a distinct laugh echo from across the street. Downtown was quiet suddenly. Her head snapped to the left, watching Dragon's heels click down the pavement. She was holding the hand of a beautiful woman with short black hair. She would remember later that it was Donkey, from Dragon's support group.
All Fiona could think now was that the makeup stain on the collar of this shirt had never come out.
Three Years.