seekerbenjyâ:
âYou hit me!â He declares, more surprised than anything else. âThatâs a hate crime!â
âNo itâs not.â Marlowe says, rolling her eyes and deepening her glare at him. Niko puts his arm around her in a way thatâs practiced, easy. Simple. He cared about her, clearly, and LoeyâŚ
âOh fuck-â Benjy manages, before he violently throws up over the arm of the couch onto the floor. As he retches again, he hears snippets of conversation.
âWhat do you mean you-â
ââŚdoes he look like he canâŚâ
The world is fuzzy now, and all Benjy can taste is bile as he manages to sit up semi normally on the couch heâs on. Someone hands him a glass of water which he sips on gratefully, his head bent forward, close to his knees, willing the world to stop spinning and the ache in his chest that has nothing to do with alcohol to go away. He canât remember where he and he really wishes he had a drink. Benjy isnât sure how long he sits there.
âCome on.â Marloweâs voice is soft now, and her hand on his back feels so nice. âLetâs get you home.â
âOkay.â Benjy says, trying to get to his feet and stumbling, only catching himself with Marloweâs hand. She says something to someone else in the apartment theyâre in, but Benjy doesnât hear or understand. Marlowe guides him down the stairs and into the FLOO-the wizard rideshare service. Thankfully sheâd gotten a car, Benjy wasnât sure heâd be able to stay on a broom.
âYouâre staying, right?â Benjy says, unsure himself if he means for the car ride or overnight. Marlowe doesnât acknowledge his question, just slides into the backseat next to him. She says something to the driver and when the car starts, Benjy vomits again-but the car instantly whisks it away. Sheâd ordered the service that catered to drunks.Â
Loeyâs hand is on his back, but she doesnât rub it in small circles, she doesnât whisper nice things to him-and thatâs how Benjy remembers the reason heâd been drinking in the first place.
âDâyou know what today is, Loey?â Benjy says after a moment, taking a mint out of the container that was floating beside them. He sits up, slumping towards her slightly, letting out a half chuckle as she sits him up right.
âNo, Benjy. I donât.â
She sounds tired, borderline exhausted, and Benjy knows a lot of that is his fault. He shifts, pressing his cheek against the window, smiling softly at the way that cool glass feels against his face. He speaks softly, not looking at her, because heâs worried heâd do something incredibly stupid, like cry, if he did.
âFive years agoâŚtoday, you and I had a big fight. THE big fight. And you told me I had a week to get my shit together or you were done.â
Benjy closes his eyes, the moveent outside the window was making him feel sick again.Â
âAnd well, you know the rest. I didnât. You left. And clearly, Iâm handling it quite well.â
Marlowe freezes, her hand lingering a half-second too long at the base of his spine but Benjy doesnât seem to notice. She used to think perhaps with time, every single moment spent with Benjy somehow monumental in the smallest of ways would all fade from memory. Instead, they seem to stream through her blood as in the very thing elemental to life from birth until the end. The fight with the ultimatum. Her aunt often resorted to ultimatums with her uncle and yet, still to this day, theyâre still together as if the power werenât heavily stilted in favor of one half of them. She loved them both individually but together they could be horrid. And Marlowe came to the conclusion that it depended on ultimatums. She promised herself that she would never be one to resort to ultimatums and yet she had given Benjy one seven days before her nineteenth birthday. Unlike Aunt Marilyn, however, Marlowe followed through with this one.
âI knew it was coming up,â she murmurs, unsure if he can hear.
âHngh?â
She turns her head, their eyes meeting in the faint reflection through the city sky night passing by the car window. âHow else do you think I ended up on your Instagram last month?â