Chapter Three: Work In Progress

When Sally Faraday was about to turn six, for her birthday party she’d wished for a fairy cake and streamers that looked like tree branches. She’d wanted to wear her fairy costume all week—the one with the wings and glittery tulle skirt—but her mother had only allowed it for her birthday weekend because for school her uniform had been a non-negotiable. Even though Sally at twenty-four could sympathize with her mother, Sally’s six-year old self had thought the demands utterly anti-magical. Her brother, her senior by five years, was the one who had taught her the word ”anti”. He was also the one who told her conspiratorially that she should think of herself as a fairy in disguise, undercover alongside the other children to understand what human life was really like.

So, for that week, and for a good while after, little Sally Faraday had whispered to herself, with a pout she’d been unable to quit though it came combined with a small smile at the cheekiness of her words: ”I’m a fairy in disguise.”

Magic had been everywhere when she was a kid but then she’d become a sensible teenager. She’d no longer had time for dreams; she’d begun to set goals for herself instead.

At thirteen (and a week) she’d found herself in the backrooms of a musty old theater in the village over from where she grew up. A friend’s aunt had invited them for the afternoon because her niece wanted to be an actor. Sally had become mesmerized by what aunt Val was occupied with, meticulously and patiently restoring a backdrop that had been discovered during a basement overhaul. Sally had sat with Val for hours as Val talked her through what she was doing and why. It had been the lightbulb moment that brought Sally out of childhood fun and play and into the ambition of knowing what she wanted to do with her adulthood.

Patrick was the same. They’d bonded over their love of history and art and preservation but even more so over their list-making and planning ahead-ing that had brought their relationship into symbiosis. They both had goalposts that they were aiming for; they both cheered the other on as they worked their way towards crossing them. They were in it together.

This was why it was quite the shock to her, sitting on Patrick’s bed, watching him move around the space like someone possessed, chattering in a way she had never heard him chatter, all the while avoiding eye contact. He never avoided eye contact. Sometimes she’d lose her breath because of how he wouldn’t break eye contact, everything he felt but couldn’t quite articulate evident to her in the way he looked at her.

Now, for the first time since she’d known him, she wondered if he was on something. Neither of them partook, not even to keep the lights on during exams season, but perhaps the pressure of leaving Rome had gotten to him. The damned rascals he’d spent the previous evening with could easily have slipped him something too. Her skin flushed hot with fury at the very thought of it.

Her Patrick, who would ask her how her day had been while rubbing her arms because he knew the gesture comforted her. He’d want to know all about the mundane tasks she’d listed and then checked off as she got them done. He’d want to know about her studies too. Once he’d made handwritten flashcards just to help her crack the memorization of dates and places for an art history class she’d been afraid she was failing. He’d quizzed her for hours and she’d nailed the exam but more importantly she’d understood how deeply she was in love with him.

Her Patrick, who was the most reliable part of her life, and had been for nearly four years, but who was in the middle of what appeared to be a mental breakdown. He was babbling. He never babbled. It wasn’t that he wasn’t lively with her. In group settings he might be the quiet one, the observer and listener, but with those he kept close he was open. However, he didn’t babble, or rant. Now he was doing both on topics that kept switching between making little sense to no sense at all.

”You know,” he said, like it was a given. ”Because of the weather. Anyway, I was thinking about catacombs. Or was I? Can’t remember exactly why I was thinking about that of all things. Or was it tunnels? Tunnels? Really? Why would I have been—oh! That’s right. It was because of that thing we talked about? Oh, I don’t know, a few nights ago we talked about it while we were making plans for that other, you know. What was it again? I forget. Funny how that happens, isn’t it? I’ll remember. I swear, if I don’t talk about it for five minutes it’ll be like—smack!—in my head. Like magic almost.”

He laughed nervously to himself and repeated the word ’magic’ before continuing with the nonsense run-on sentences. On and on it had gone on since the moment she unlocked the door. Something he’d also asked her to do.

She hadn’t thought much of it but watching him take his third turn into the bathroom, where he proceeded to rummage through the cabinet above the sink for no earthly reason whatsoever, she was beginning to question it, along with everything else.

She was beginning to think he looked like someone barely afloat and she couldn’t tell what was drowning him. He was treading water, buying time instead of telling her what was wrong. She’d never seen him so worked up, not even during exams. His behavior was too erratic for it not to signal red all over.

”It made me really think,” his voice came from the bathroom like some disembodied soul and she felt apprehension like a row of talons across her shoulder blades.

Then he appeared, smiling that smile of his that made her brain turn to mush in the most relaxing way. It made it easier to trust that he had whatever this was under control, even though it wasn’t obvious to her.

”You know?” he asked, as though he hadn’t paused for thirty seconds at least, both of them caught in a shared smile.

If he smiled, she smiled. It was reflexive.

”Think of what?” she prompted an elaboration.

”Time,” he replied, then mumbled, ”I really did think about time.”

Sadness settled itself in his expression. It was unfamiliar and unwelcome. She wanted to chase it away, invite the smile back. Only, before she could speak he continued, ”I mean, I thought about time in the context of how to spend it and now…” He trailed off, eyes caught in hers and she could’ve sworn the sadness made way for regret. ”It’s really big,” he nodded slowly. ”I don’t even know where to start with this. I didn’t think…” He smiled briefly, a flash of relief in her mind, but then he looked away from her again, finishing, ”Didn’t think about that.”

The talons were back, sharper this time, and she straightened her posture as she knew she was going to have to prod for him to level with her.

”Patrick,” she said, his eyebrows lifting in a query. ”What’s going on?”

He pursed his lips, nodding in recognition that of course she would ask that. Of course she would know that he needed to level with her. Then he shook his head, another brief smile on his mouth before he suddenly sat down on the bed next to her, reaching for one of her hands. Her eyes were already in his but she could see something different about his irises now that he was completely focused on her. The blue was a deeper color, the black of his pupils expanding as he stared at her, searching for the right words.

”You’re never going to believe me,” he said. ”I don’t have any proof.”

She furrowed her brow.

”Did they drug you?” she asked matter-of-factly, squeezing his hand. ”Do we need to see a doctor? Call your dad, if you haven’t already. He’ll know what to do.”

Patrick blinked, then threw his head back and laughed. A nervous giggle escaped her, a frown making her brows dip as he focused back on her. ”Sorry,” he apologized. ”It’s not really that funny it’s more… not funny than funny but… also it’s sort of hilarious.”

She pulled her hand out of his grasp, her body stiffening at the way the smile lingered on his mouth at whatever private joke he was getting lost in. This wasn’t like him. What the hell was this? The smile faded when he noticed the changes to her. He immediately softened, looking more like himself again as concern chased away the last of the mirth.

”I’m sorry,” he said with more sincerity. ”I had an accident last night and I’m a bit…”

She grabbed his hand again, leaning forward into his space without a moment’s hesitation, her free hand on his forehead before it began sliding down his face, neck, shoulder, searching for any place that might signal hurt or pain. ”What happened?” she asked as she went. ”What kind of accident? Why didn’t you text me? Did you go to hospital? Jesus, Patrick, it’d be just like you to go home and believe you can sleep it off. Was it serious?”

His hand wrapped around her fluttering one, bringing it down to join the one holding onto his. He was smiling again. ”Just like you to make a hen out of a feather,” he remarked gently.

”An accident is already a hen,” she said impatiently. ”Are you okay?”

”Well…” he said slowly, his gaze sliding out of hers and down to her mouth.

He couldn’t possibly be thinking about sex in the middle of his explanation. She felt like smacking him on the head but then his arms were wrapping around her and he was pulling her to him, burying his face against the sloping of her throat as if his nose was searching for a scent it was afraid of forgetting.

She sighed, placing her hands on his shoulders, unable to deny the soft arousal that was already moving through her at his closeness. His cologne was faint, remnants of the night prior, but it still turned her on. She’d kept a bottle on her nightstand so she could have a spray of it lingering in the air as she went to bed without him for his three months in Rome. She moved a hand into his hair, an affectionate stroke that turned into a fistful, pulling at his head to get it away from her skin when his teeth were suddenly biting the side of her neck.

Author’s note: This chapter will be updated as I write it and tagged Work in Progress until it’s completed. Slight disclaimer as I’ve never gone to Oxford and am doing research while writing: details may change as I’m editing as I go. If anyone sees a detail that is ghastly out of order, please, feel free to let me know. This is not only a first draft but a living document and it will be edited many times over. Please forgive any mistakes, grammatical errors, filler words etc. Thank you for reading!