Harbour Lights

Will had fallen asleep again; the drugs that the doctor was giving him to help him cope with withdrawal made him quite drowsy. He was moving along, though – at least that's what the doctor said. He would be over his withdrawal in just a few days and then…well, Will didn't know what came next. There had been some mention of rehab, but Will chose to ignore those words. He didn't want any help.

It took him a few moments to fully gain consciousness, and little by little the weight on his eyelids seemed to lift. Finally, his eyes fluttered open. The white ceiling looked harsh and cruel today. Will groaned and, not wanting to be conscious anymore, he tried to go back to sleep.

"Hey."

Her voice would have made him jolt upright in bed were it not for the IV wire chaining him down.

He turned his head slightly to the right and there she was. Marilyn Day was sitting calmly on the chair next to his bedside and she looked a bit tired, as if she had been there for the past few hours, waiting for him to wake up.

It was like looking in a mirror. Marilyn had dark circles under her eyes and she was frowning; she was completely worn out. Will imagined he looked the exact same way. The only difference was that Will's haggard appearance was caused by drugs. Marilyn's appearance was caused by Will.

"I said I didn't want to see you," he said and pursed his lips tightly.

"I know." Her voice sounded as tired as she looked. "I snuck in while you were sleeping." He could tell from the dullness of her eyes that she did not come here for a fight. She was too exhausted to put in that much effort; she had given up already.

"Why did you come here?" he asked. Will had had very few visitors – and he was perfectly fine with that. Marilyn Day was not supposed to be in his hospital room right now. She was not supposed to care. He would have kicked her out if he really wanted to. The only problem was…he didn't really want to.

"I just needed to talk," she answered.

"So talk."

"I…" Her voice faltered and for the first time Marilyn smiled at him. It was a half-hearted smile, and not a very friendly one at that, but it was a start. "I don't know what to say," she admitted sheepishly.

"You came here to judge me." It wasn't a question. “You came here to say what everyone else has said – that I’m an idiot, that I should have told someone about my problem, that I’m a horrible person…”

Everyone he had talked to had been disappointedin him. He felt like a little boy who got in trouble for some minor, insignificant thing like breaking a neighbor's window with a baseball. Only this time, Will's actions weren't so insignificant. Adam, Chad and Joe were upset, Evie was an emotional wreck, and his parents were just angry. He was aware that all of Ogunquit already knew about his little accident, and he could only imagine the whispers going around about him. Everyone was scorning his very existence, saying what a terrible drug addict he was. Everyone was discussing how immoral and senseless he was. Everyone was judging him. And he was sick of it. He didn’t want any more visitors because he didn’t feel like dealing with their criticizing stares. And the last thing he wanted was to get that look from Marilyn fucking Day.

"No." She actually looked surprised he would say that. "No, of course not, Will. I – I care about the things you do, believe it or not, and this isn't exactly something I'm ecstatic for you to be doing, but…I can't blame you." The last part came out in a whisper. She knew it was a horrible thing to say, but it was true. She couldn't blame Will for turning to drugs because it was her fault. She had damaged him beyond repair and he tried to fix himself by getting high and forgetting about her.

"You look like you were crying," he pointed out. His voice was emotionless and monotonous, as if nothing could faze him anymore.

She looked mildly embarrassed and it took her a minute to find her words. "You almost died, Will," she said, still speaking in a whisper. "I was worried."

He didn't believe her.

◊ ◊ ◊

She said no.

He asked her to marry him…and she said no.

He watched her stare in shock at the diamond ring he held before her. His excitement and happiness turned to confusion as she began to shake her head. His heart dropped to his stomach when tears welled up in her eyes and she said, "I'm sorry."

Pain was the only thing he could feel when she got up from the table and walked out of the restaurant. How was this possible? She loved him. She was supposed to say yes. They were supposed to be together forever and live happily ever after.

It must have been too rushed for her. She just needed some time to think it over.She'll come to her senses, Will told himself. I'll give her space, talk to her in the morning. She'll say yes. I know she will. What he didn't know, though, was that when she walked out of the restaurant she was walking out of his life. He had no idea that that would be the last time he would see her.

He left The Windlass oblivious to this fact. He was humiliated and hurt, but he had hope. And this hope made it bearable.

He got into his car alone. He went home alone. He fell asleep alone. But he knew that he wouldn't be alone, not for long.Just wait until morning and everything will be all right. But when he woke up the next day, he wasstill alone.

On the pillow where Marilyn's head should have been resting, there was a note.

Letters seemed to be a theme in Will and Marilyn's relationship. It had all begun with a note when he asked her out in math class. After a few weeks of dating, whenever they were too busy to spend time together, Marilyn would little letters and leave them in Will's locker so that he could read it when she wasn't there and not have to miss her so much. She would decorate it by coloring it in with crayon and he would laugh at her poor drawing skills. Sometimes she wrote perverted comments, which he liked a little too much, and sometimes she would write short, sweet nothings that would make him smile to himself.

Whenever Will did something that got Marilyn mad, he would write her apology letters and stuff them in her mailbox. They were usually pretty stupid, but they made Marilyn laugh and then she wouldn't be mad at him anymore.

And Will proposed to her with a note. Letters were therefore a fun couple thing that the two of them enjoyed doing, so putting the big question on a piece of paper seemed to fit. It was cute and he knew she'd appreciate it.

Letters therefore always meant something to both of them.

But Will had a feeling that the one sitting on the pillow right now was not a cute, sappy note from Marilyn. As he unfolded the paper with shaking hands, a feeling of dread passed over him.

It was one line. Three sentences. Nine words. That's all she had to say.

One line was all it took for the hope that Will had been clinging on to so desperately to disappear. One line made him realize that he was going to be alone forever. One line made William Banfield hate Marilyn Day.I can't do this. I'm leaving tonight. I'm sorry.

He crumpled up the paper and threw it away.

◊ ◊ ◊

"Do you regret it?" His question caught her off guard. "Do you regret leaving me?" he reiterated.

She gave him the same, honest answer that she had given Chante the day before: "No."

Surprisingly, he didn’t look hurt by her answer. Then again, it may have been impossible for Marilyn to hurt Will any more than she already had.

"No and…and yes," she added. She had only given Chante half of her answer. It was time to give Will the full story. "No because…we were kids, Will." She felt the need to explain herself. "We weren't grown up yet. And we still aren't."

"Says who?" asked the boy who never grew up, the Peter Pan in disguise.

She gave him a look. Don't kid yourself, her eyes said. She wasn't ridiculing him or judging him; she was just making him face the facts. "I needed to live before I settled down. We wouldn't have worked out if we got married so young," said Marilyn.

"It's not like we worked out anyway," he said in an accusatory voice.

"I know," she whispered, "and it was my fault."

They fell into a silence, and then he said, "You didn't finish."

"What?"

"You weren't done explaining if you regretted it. You told me why you don't. Now tell me why you do."

She went on to finish her explanation. "I said yes, too, because…" She paused as her breath caught in her throat. "…Because I missed you so much, Will." Their eyes locked and something seemed to spark between them. "I thought about you everyday. I couldn’t stop. And as much as I tried to forget you, it just didn't work." She swallowed the knot in her throat before continuing, "That's why I came home. I said it was for an internship, but…but I couldn't go on anymore. I had to see you again. And I knew you still hated me and I knew that I would be putting up with a lot of shit by coming back, but I promised myself that I would bear through it. Because being in Ogunquit surrounded by people that loathe me will always be better than being in Europe alone."

All he could do was stare at her. Was the world really this cruel? She was the one who left him alone, and he had to deal with it for two years. He couldn't do anything about it; he couldn't go out to look for her, because he would never be able to find her.

But when she decided that she had had enough, all she had to do was book a flight and come back. She was the one with the choice. She had always been the one with the choice. She chose to leave, and she chose to come home.

She had it so much easier.

But he didn't tell her that. She hadn't come looking for a fight, and neither did he. Besides, she knew how terrible of a person she was, and he had reminded her of that enough times already. Saying it again now would just be redundant. "We would have worked out, you know," he said instead.

"What?"

"You said we wouldn't have worked out if we got married," he said. "Well, I think we would have. You just never gave us that chance."

"Will – "

"You said you needed to live your life. We could have lived it together. We could have gone to Paris or London or wherever the fuck you wanted and we could have still been together."

"But your band, Will," she said. "I could never imagine you leaving your band."

To which he replied angrily, "And I could never imagine you leaving me, but look how far that got us."

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"That's exactly what you said when you left."

"I – I know. I'm sorry," she repeated.

"I know you are. But I don't care," he said. "Your apologies don't really mean anything anymore. You killed me a little bit, Mare. I can't forgive you. Not yet. Maybe not ever. I’m not sure if I can, or even if I want to."

Her eyes filled up with tears. She knew he was justified and had every right in not forgiving her – she hadn't even forgiven herself yet – and yet she could not help the crying. After she witnessed Will proposing to Evie, something inside her broke. She lost the composure she was once a master of, and now she could not prevent the tears anymore. It was pathetic and she knew it.

Will had seen Marilyn cry only twice in his life. The first was at her father's funeral. The second was when he proposed to another girl.

It was his weakness. What had he done to her? She used to be so well-collected, and now she was a wreck. And this was his fault. She couldn't contain her tears because he had been the one to break the damn. He couldn't handle it. She was breaking down, and he was breaking down along with her. They had been wearing each other out for so long, both of them fighting against the other's current. Maybe now it was time to give up on that struggle. Maybe it was time to go change course.

"Come here," he said.

Without another word, she got up from her chair and climbed into the bed next to him. She rested her neck in the crook of his shoulder and he wrapped his arms around her.

It was wrong and both of them knew that. But it felt good, in a sort of bad way.

Marilyn cried into his chest for the rest of the night. His arms remained around her shuddering body and not once did he let go of her.