GOODBYE IS NOT FOREVER
Ah, does it feel great to finally get back to this again. I was beginning to feel a little rusty with my Transformers stuff. Poor Melly has really had it rough; things aren't going to get better in a hurry, that's all I'm saying. And don't worry; Blurr, along with Sari and the others, will come back very soon. I felt Melly deserved a little chapter of her very own, with no one else around.
Characters (with exceptions) © Hasbro and Entertainment Rights
Story © unicorn-skydancer08
All rights reserved.
Chapter 10
Melly ended up going home alone that night. The doctors wanted to keep Matthew at the hospital for at least another day, for further observation. Melly wanted to stay with her brother, but Matthew was given a sedative that would make him sleep soundly for several hours, and the doctors assured Melly that there really wasn't anything else she could do.
They told her to go home, get some rest, and come back the next day. Too disheartened to even consider arguing, Melly acquiesced.
The house seemed eerily quiet and empty when she set foot through the door. Melly flipped on a few lights, and while the darkness was immediately chased away, the sense of gloom yet lingered. Melly felt worn and listless, like a wrung-out rag. Though she hadn't eaten for some time, she was in no mood to eat. Though she'd had a long, rough day and was dog-tired, she was in no mood to sleep. She wished Blurr were there to comfort her. She wished she could talk to Sari, to Bumblebee, or any of the other bots. Despite the rift between them, she missed their company terribly. She missed Bumblebee's jokes and Bulkhead's amusing blunders; she even missed Prowl's nagging, and Ratchet's grouchiness.
Melly wondered what the gang was up to tonight.
Above all else, she longed for her dad.
If only things could be the way they were before—but, of course, Melly knew that was impossible. Times had changed, and there was nothing she or anyone could do about it.
With a heavy sigh, the girl began to wander aimlessly about the house.
At length, her feet carried her to her father's bedroom. She hadn't been in there since before Marc's death, and she didn't know why she stood at the door now, but something drew her inside, like an invisible hand. The room was exactly the way Marc had always kept it; the bed was neat and tidy, the knickknacks on the shelves stood in their usual alignment, and the only thing truly out of place was one of Marc's favorite shirts, lying in a jumbled heap at the foot of the bed. Almost without thinking, Melly walked over to the bed and picked the shirt up.
She buried her nose in the worn fabric and slowly breathed in the scent of her dad's aftershave. She closed her eyes, and it was as if Marc were right there with her, that very moment.
It was at once soothing and painful.
Tears filled Melly's eyes afresh as the awful truth struck yet another crushing blow: her father was gone, and he was never coming home again.
Why, Daddy? Melly thought silently, her hands tightening their grip on the shirt. Why did you have to go? Why have you left us alone? Why?
She would gladly trade in everything she owned in the world, if only to see her father again for one minute. She reflected on all the times she'd needed her father as a child.
Even now, as an adult, she needed him—in some ways, more than ever.
Where was he? Was her father truly nothing more than an unfeeling corpse in the heart of the earth, or did his essence still live on somewhere?
Could Marc still see her and hear her? Did he miss her and Matthew as much as they missed him?
Melly's tears soaked into the old shirt as her composure turned to soup and she started to cry. Still clutching the ratty garment, she sank onto the bed and curled into a ball. She didn't bother to take off her shoes, or her glasses, for that matter. She simply lay there in the middle of the big mattress in a fetal position, her father's shirt pressed to her trembling lips.
She stayed in that spot for what must have been hours, and she cried until she'd cried herself to sleep.
Melly was six years old, and learning to ride a bike for the first time. She was going much too fast, and she ended up losing her balance and hitting the pavement. In no time, the girl was bleeding and wailing pitifully. Marc was at her side in a flash. Tenderly, he scooped his small daughter up in his big, strong arms and carried her into the house. He cleaned and bandaged her scrapes, and then he sat quietly with her and held her gently on his lap, crooning loving words into her ear, until Melly calmed down completely.
Melly was now nine years old. She was just returning home from school, and she came into the house crying. Her classmates, as always, had teased her relentlessly about her bright orange hair and her glasses; as if that weren't enough, someone had stolen her homework that morning before she could turn it in, then one of the boys kicked dirt in her face during recess. When Melly's father saw her and learned what had happened, he gave his poor little girl a long, comforting hug, then led her into the kitchen, where he served her some ice cream.
Now Melly was a teenager, at that point where she made the transition from girl to woman. She was examining herself in the bathroom mirror, and disliking the person staring back at her. Her dad came in and asked her what was bothering her. Melly went into a brief but passionate tirade about how ugly she was, how no boy in the world would be caught dead near her. When she was finished, Marc just smiled at her and, in a quiet, gentle tone, assured her she was beautiful the way she was. He called her his little princess, and promised her that she would find that special someone someday; she just had to be patient. "And in the meantime," he said, "concentrate on being the very best person you can possibly be."
It was well after midnight when Melly awoke. At first, she didn't recognize her surroundings, but when it dawned on her that she was in her dad's room, on his bed with his wadded shirt beside her, that cold, leaden feeling settled over her once more. The girl drew in a long, shuddering breath, but she did not cry this time, as she hadn't any tears left to cry.
Ultimately, the thought came to mind that it did no good to mope around, and that tears were useless. Nothing could change the past. Nothing would bring Marc back. The past was in the past. Melly was not a child anymore. She was no longer in that period where a mommy's kisses could make boo-boos better and a daddy's presence could vanquish anything.
It was time to grow up, to get on with her life.
Melly needed to be strong, for Matthew's sake, if no one else's. Her brother needed her, especially in his condition. And far too many other things depended on her as well.
She couldn't afford to fall apart now.
"Concentrate on being the very best person you can possibly be." Her father's long-ago words repeated in her head, embedding themselves in the inmost recesses of her heart. Yes, Melly told herself, that's what she would do. She must let her father go. She must place the past behind her, center her focus instead on the future ahead.
She must put aside her own feelings, and do what was best for others.