After lots of debating, I finally decided to keep continuing It Rains Every Day, even though it kind of kills the whole purpose of a one-shot. Oh, well! Disclaimer: MDBC, content, and its characters belong to Heather Vogel Frederick.
Jess's POV
It Rains Every Day
I'm aware that he and I are standing face-to-face on an empty sidewalk with no cars driving down the street. Suddenly, I'm conscious of every detail around me, every little, insignificant thing would never be seen.
Unless someone took the time to notice grungy brown-and-grey color scheme of the bricks on the stores or the crack full of black rock-dust and greying pebbles in the sidewalk, nobody would pick up on it. Of course, I do, because being around Darcy is awkward enough, and I don't want to see the expression on his face. I half-hope he's not looking at me, and the other part of me wishes like crazy.
While I observe the absence of a sun in the sky, it comes to me that the rain isn't so bad after all. I don't particularly love it, but it's refreshing, at least. The gentle dewdrops flitter down and cover me.
"So, are you going to keep standing, or should I make you sit down?" Darcy asks out of the blue. I blush, like I did when I first started liking him. The only thing that keeps me from laughing is the awkwardness of the situation.
My ex-boyfriend, my first and only boyfriend, just popped up six months after we broke up, and I'm dying to apologize but I don't want to say the wrong words and hurt us even more than I already have.
I sigh and weakly mouthe "I'll sit", too nervous to say anything, and Darcy looks away. I think I see him smile, but I can't tell. The whisper-speak is something we used to do back when we were dating, when we didn't need to speak. I miss it.
Parked near the bookstore I'm in front of is a furnished wooden bench, covered with streaky raindrop marks and easily big enough for three or four people. I dismiss my anxiety and sit down. Darcy looks around with his big brown eyes, like somebody's hunting him down, and sits down next to me.
My head is already reciting the apology I wrote him after the break-up set in. It wasn't a real thing that I set out to do, the words just started fitting into place. It's the feeling Emma gets when she writes, that the work was meant to exist and she doesn't need to force the words; they just come together, intricate and detailed, but true.
Darcy is on my right, and I want to face him and talk to him about everything I have bottled up inside of the, even though I don't. Fear is rippling through me like a white surrender flag on a battlefield. Should I be this stiff and afraid at a reunion meeting with my ex? I hope not.
If Darce went from Dartmouth to Juilliard and even met up with me here, I might as well not take it for granted. I've done that in the past, and look where it got me. Lost, bewildered, and confused instead of happy and content.
Mustering up all my courage, I talk to Darcy. I really, really hope it doesn't become one of those moments where I wish life had an undo button. I've gone through plenty of that during the last six months: thinking about my outcomes with him, had I acted, spoken, or thought differently.
"Hi." It's simple and casual, in a soft, trembling voice that I never thought I'd go through again, ever since my mother returned from New York. Fear is paralyzing, and it's like you're being electroshocked by it constantly. I've been so scared and alone this semester that I've hardly said a word to anybody other than my Concord friends.
Of course, I really don't know anybody at Juilliard, so that means mute. Yes, I know my classmates. I know their names and we're friendly towards each other, but it's not like we go to movies and parties, or study together, and things like that. I used to have that kind of fun with Emma, Cassidy, Megan, and even Becca and Sophie.
When Darcy doesn't reply for a few moments, I fluster extremely, inwardly, silently. My nervous fingers fumble and probe for the left part of my neck. I take my pulse. Is it too fast? Is it supposed to be this fast? I don't know. I just picked it up. The pulse-thing, I mean. I feel the beat quicken. I try to take deep breaths. To calm down. It isn't working. I mope over Darcy. Like I have been. For the last six months. Rain lands on my extended arm. I brush the drops away with my too-long sleeve.
I just don't know what to do. Life doesn't have guidelines for these situations. I wish it did. Darcy probably hates me. It's all my fault. The silence pounds like a boulder on me. I can't take the pressure. I know I'm seen as this perfect, happy, fairytale girl by some, but inside I'm crashing down. They see the good grades and the blonde hair and the scholarship to Juilliard, but there's a lot they don't see, too.
"You okay?" He finally asks, and I feel the pressure and internal stress dissolve away into a watery mess. I'm pretty sure I'm shaking and shuddering by now, but I don't notice. This doesn't feel like life. It feels like some dream, where I don't wake up.
An overwhelming wave of mixed emotions, scattered like sand on the seashore, comes right at me and hits head-on. Rain pours perpetually, and I'm pretty sure I look like a mess right now.
"Y-yeah. I'm fine. Just a little cold. And wet."
If I had known it would rain today, I would've brought a thicker jacket. The one I have on now is simply for aesthetics; its material is delicate and not durable in the least. I am left with no real protection on a rainy New York day.
Darcy takes off his navy blue jacket and drapes it over my arms with a soft smile. I really miss that smile. Foolish, stupid girl, I chide. Why'd you ever let go of him?
But the taunt is quieter and my voice feels louder, because he's here.
"Thanks."
"No problem. It's the least I could do for you."
"Pay you back?"
"You don't have to."
"But I want to."
"If you say so."
I put on his jacket, and, with a flourish, we get into his car. I take the wheel. The rain pelts Darcy's windshield at first, but it quickly vanishes as I keep driving. This is nice.
I'm pretty glad I missed my bus after all.
