Sometimes, Marcy truly does wonder if they really do... want her after everything.
She knows from experience just how far people will do to mask their true feelings- if they haven’t told her they still hate her for the things she’s done to them, that at least meant that they didn’t like seeing her sad. At least that’s something.
But there’s always this little voice that whispers to her whenever she takes one of their hands- the one that goes what if they secretly don’t want this? What if you’re making them uncomfortable? What if they’ve been playing along with this all for your sake, and you’re just dragging them down without noticing? It’s selfish and unrelentless, and too much of a reminder of who she was before.
But every time Anne or Sasha smiles at her, she smiles back.
It’s easier than it used to be.
Granted, even when she beats those kinds of thoughts into the dirt with just plain old logic- that if she was really that much of a nuisance, she would have seen it written on their faces, the ones she’s known for what, 10? 11 years now? She would have seen it. They would have told her. They all made a promise to be better- and so far Anne and Sasha seem to be doing alright, so if they don’t have to have any qualms about her... everything, then maybe there isn’t a problem.
Still, that doesn’t stop her from shooting up in a cold sweat at 3am, gasping for breath and fearing for... something. Her heart is hammering, beating so loudly she can hear the whoosh of blood in her ears, and she’s gasping for breath, and she’s close to tears and-
Sasha and Anne were right there in front of her. Just like she’s seen them a million times. Except for this one, she couldn’t tell where they were, where the place she had so monumentally fucked up was. Every time she spoke, every time she opened her mouth, it changed-
One moment, she was in the school hallway, and they had their backs to her, and she could hear the crunch of a now-discarded prom poster in her shaky hands-
Or she was in their shared apartment, and the tile under her feet turned icy as they turned their faces towards her-
Or she was in another world, one she’s never been to, and the vines are wrapping around her ankles as their eyes beg for her to explain-
Or she’s in the throne room. She’s in the throne room, and she is crying, and they are pulling away- when all she had really wanted in the first place was them, she just didn’t want to be separated from-
Them. They’re on either side of her, and they haven’t left, and her ragged breathing is making them stir in their sleep. She has to be quieter. They’re right here- she’s going to wake them up.
“It’s nothing Anne, go back to sleep,” she whispers, but the way her voice cracks and squeaks painfully gives her away immediately. Anne raises herself onto her elbows with a sense of urgency, and it immediately makes the feeling two times worse.
They shouldn’t have to provide for her like this. She shouldn’t attract so much attention. Haven’t they done enough already? Hasn’t she already driven them through hell and back?
“Hey, what’s wrong?” she whispers, her hand just barely brushing Marcy’s arm, and she hates it, even though she wishes she could just collapse and disappear in Anne and Sasha’s arms forever. She can’t tell them, it’d just make it worse- they’re supposed to be okay now! She’s supposed to be okay! What kind of friend is she if she’s this insecure about her relationship with them?
It’s supposed to be over. They’re supposed to be stable, and healthy, and here she is, having nightmares about them hating her, even when there are a million other things-
“I’m fine, it’s fine, nothing to worry about, just go back to sleep-” she keeps whispering, and her hands have already started rapidly flapping and tapping at her knees. “It’s okay-”
There’s more shuffling beside her, and oh frog, now Sasha’s up too. Great. Just great.
“Something wrong?” she says, not bothering to keep her voice low. “Marce?”
It’s at this moment that she curls into herself, hands still tapping away. Because how is she supposed to convince them? Not when she’s two seconds from crying, that’s what.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to wake you guys up, please just-”
“Can I hug you?” Anne asks, soft as ever, breaking through the barrage of thoughts going around and around. It’s almost impossible to connect the past and future at times like these- not when she nods, and Anne curls around her like she’s made to do just that. The shivering feels more magnified under her warmth, but it eventually ebbs away, especially when Sasha does the same.
“Just- push me away or tell me to go if you want me to stop,” Sasha says, and her words echo the sentiment that Marcy’s been keeping inside all this time.
“No- it’s- it’s okay, thanks-” she whispers. “It- it was just a bad dream. I really didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it, it’s not your fault,” Anne assures, and she doesn’t really know if it is. “What was it about?...”
And that’s where she stops.
Because it is always the same thing. Her heart might not be thudding anymore, and her breath has slowed, and it doesn’t feel like the ground is about to collapse from under her, but in telling them, there’s an obligation. An of course we forgive you, of course we’re not mad at you, and she’d rather them be honest with her than go through another set of reassurances just for her sake.
Back when she was still unsteady, back when there were still heart monitors and fresh scars, they’d said something about forgiveness in between tears. She was too tired and emotional to ask them to repeat it. Really, every day is another set of forgiveness- every day they choose to be with each other, and not let things hang over their heads.
The big things- the life-altering ones- well, she’s not so sure. She watched Anne struggle with forgiveness back when she was too hyperfocused to notice until the last second, and all it was was tears and an unsaid promise of waiting. You can love someone, a lot, but no matter how much you love them some stuff they do just sticks with you, she had said one day, whilst talking to Sasha in the hospital room. And Sasha nodded and said she understood, and that was that, because what else could she do? You don’t poke at an open wound. You don’t demand anything from it. It’ll never heal that way, and when and if it does, the scar will be a nasty sight because of your interference.
The hesitation is all that’s needed for Sasha to whisper an apology into the space behind Marcy’s ear. And Anne nods against her shoulder. There are a million things the three of them don’t like talking about. It could be any one of them, but Marcy holds this particular nightmare like a secret.
“...Thank you for staying with me,” she whispers. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
Anne and Sasha’s grip tightens ever so slightly, a comfortable weight.
“Funny how you say that,” Anne murmurs. “I’m pretty sure Sasha and I were thinking the exact same thing.”
