Harbour Lights

Throughout her entire life, Marilyn Day was rarely affected by anything. She had mastered the art of composure years ago; she was the ice queen. Nothing could upset her.

In third grade, when Tory Harold ripped the head off of her teddy bear, she didn't cry a tear. In the first year of high school, when a group of seniors thought it would be funny to prank an innocent freshman by tripping her in the hallway between every single class, she just held her head high and kept on walking. When she came back from Europe after being gone for two years, everyone whispered terrible things behind her back; but she ignored them and pretended not to be hurt.

But when the boy she was in love with proposed to another girl, Marilyn Day could not take it anymore. Something inside her withered out and died, like an old dried-out flower or the fading flame of a candle. She shut herself down.

Somehow she had managed to get home, though she could barely remember how. She could recall hearing Chante and Adam's concerned voices, saying something like, "Let's get her out of here", but the memory was vague. She had already begun the process of compressing the memories of that night into a dark little place in the back of her mind; she was subconsciously trying to forget what happened so that she would never have to think about it again.

The only thing Marilyn was sure about right now that was she was at home, in her bedroom, cradled in the blankets. She refused to even peek her head out of the sheets because she preferred to stay in this warm darkness; it blocked her from the outside world, like a safe cocoon.

The tears lasted for hours. She couldn’t remember falling asleep, but at some point she realized that it was getting lighter outside and it must be morning. She refused to see Chante or Adam or even her mother, and she didn't even go outside of her room to eat. She just stayed in her room, her haven, and let herself fall apart.

When the tears dried out, there was nothing left. Marilyn had neither the strength nor the will to continue sobbing, so she just lay there and stared at the ceiling with a blank expression. As she lay there, she realized that there was a strange emotion dwelling inside her, a feeling so new and so different that she could not think of a name for it at first. But then, after staring at nothing for a good twenty minutes, Marilyn was finally able to recognize what this feeling was: it was nothing.

And it was the truth. Marilyn felt absolutely nothing. She had no more emotions, no more remorse over Will. Her tears were gone and now she had run out of fuel. Her pain had dulled everything else she was capable of experiencing.

She was broken. She was empty.

She let out a sigh and suddenly realized how dehydrated she felt. It must have been because all of the crying she did. She slowly got up from her bed and padded over to the bathroom that was attached for her room, and were it not for her thirst she would have never even attempted getting out of bed at all today.

After filling up a cup with the sink water, she glanced in the mirror – and instantly regretted it.

Normally, Marilyn Day was the sea itself. Her sandy blond hair fell in twirling waves around her tan, freckled face, which contrasted magnificently with her ocean-colored eyes. But today she looked like an absolute train wreck. Her hair was all over the place and her eyes were now a dull shade of blue-grey. Her nose was red and her eyes were puffy, and Marilyn looked the way she felt: like shit.

She gazed at herself and her reflection stared dully back. Could this mirror really be showing the same person? The girl she was looking at appeared to be half-dead, as if nothing in the world interested her anymore. Then again…maybe this was true. Maybe her appearance was finally showing how she was on the inside.

She chose not to look in the mirror too long and went back to the bed, placing the water on the nightstand. Marilyn didn't want to think about last night anymore, so she lay down on the pillow and willed herself to sleep the day away.

◊ ◊ ◊

"Come on, Willy," Marilyn begged.

"Don't call me Willy," Will replied absently, concentrating hard on the piece of paper in front of him as he scribbled something down.

"Billy?"

"Ugh," he said, "that's even worse. I hate that name."

"All right, fine," she sighed. "Douche bag it is, then." At that he laughed, and she smiled. "So…" she started slowly, walking up to the chair he was sitting on and placed a hand on his shoulder, "are you going to show me what you're writing, or what?"

"No," he said stubbornly, and turned away from her so that she wouldn't be able to read over his shoulder.

She sighed. She would have to turn to her last resort. "But Will…" she cooed and sat in his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I really want to see it." She pressed her chest up against his and ran a hand through his hair.

"I…um, I…" he stammered, and she grinned.

"Please?" She moved her face closer to his so that their noses were touching.

"Marilyn…" he said softly, "this is not fair."

"William, let me see it," she whispered.

"But I promised myself that I'd keep it a secret," he replied, barely moving his lips as he spoke. He seemed to be very interested in Marilyn's lips, for he was staring at them intently.

"If you let me see it," she bargained, trying to hold back a laugh as she saw how distracted he was, "I'll let you touch my butt all you want.""All I want?" he echoed, his eyes lighting up. "Even in public?"

"Even in public."

"Yes!" he cheered, and then he all-too-enthusiastically handed over the list to her.

She read it over and frowned.

1. Get out of bed. Done.
2. Eat.
3. Get dressed. (Optional)
4. Eat.
5. Take Mare Bear out to dinner.
6. Ask

"Where's the rest of 6?" she asked. The sixth item in the list only had one word in it: the paper had been ripped in half.

"I needed to hide it from you," he replied sheepishly – his hands were already on her butt. "It's a surprise."

"Is this a to-do list or something?" she inquired, ignoring his groping.

"Yeah," Will responded, "for our date today."

Marilyn couldn't hold back a grin. "Wow, I'm impressed. You actually planned something out ahead of time," she said. "What happened to your spontaneity streak?"

He shrugged and bit his lip; she could tell he was hiding a smirk. "Tonight's going to be really special," was all he said.

"Yeah?" she asked.

He kissed her.

"Yeah."