So I'm finally done with exams, and I'm no longer busy! That means I can finally write! But honestly, I hit a roadblock with this particular chapter, and while this isn't a filler chapter, some of you may not find this very interesting. However, I felt this conversation needed to happen between these two characters, especially with the situation they've found themselves in. And, actually, this is a conversation very similar to one I've had before: how do you work past an incident that causes you to lose trust in your partner? And for one of these characters, that would be the next logical step after this crazy weekend. And I wanted to show that and make some rounder, more three-dimensional characters. So let me know what you like or hate or think is realistic or unrealistic. Enjoy!
Gray.
All Anne knew was gray.
Her gray irises—rimmed in slightly-swollen pink eyelids.
Her gauzy, gray dress—the only neutral clothing item she'd tossed in her weekend bag.
The gray sky ahead—as she gazed from the window of Roy's polished, black vehicle.
Yes, her world was now tinted with the hazy color, and Anne blankly fell back into her charcoal leather seat as Roy zipped pass a slow-moving car.
Since the pair had reversed out of Green Gables' driveway, Anne hadn't directed a word to her boyfriend of two years, but—as she thought to herself—Roy hadn't said anything to her either.
So in the forced silence of a long drive, Anne wearily leaned back and let her eyes flutter shut.
Her thoughts meandered back to her wonderful, disastrous weekend in Avonlea.
She could still feel the blades of cool grass beneath her hands and shins as she sobbed weakly in Lover's Lane.
She could smell the clean detergent from Diana's quilt mingled with the musty cologne lingering on Gil.
She could hear the strumming of the folk band and the clicking of heels on the makeshift dance floor outside the Barry's home.
She could see the budding spectrum of flowers in Marilla's garden sparkling with liquid gems.
She could taste the cheesy, salty pretzel at the white-washed shack on the out-of-the-way exit.
Now, she could hear raindrops splatter against the windshield of Roy's vehicle, and she wandered further in her mind.
She felt the cold raindrops slide down her legs as the musty smell of decrepit carpet invaded her nose. The throbbing of her heart echoed in the hall and her ears as her knuckles rapped against the grainy plywood door. Then, lamplight blinded her for a moment before a flash of hazel….
"Anne."
The images swiftly drained from her working memory, and Anne opened her eyes.
A somber storm gathered ahead, but Anne turned to Roy, wordlessly.
"Anne, I've decided to forgive you," he began nervously, aware of Anne's gaze burning on his cheek. "Because… well, because I think I ought to forgive you."
Anne raised her eyebrows in surprise and started fiddling with the hem of her dress.
"Yes, it does seem like the best course, the most prudent course," Roy continued, growing bolder. "I must assume I caught you rather unawares, and that Avonlea should obviously draw out a rather different side of you. A side I had not known until recently."
"Roy," Anne said, swallowing painfully. "I really don't—"
"But I do believe some events rather out of your control occurred," Roy steamrolled on. "And though I cannot put you at fault for those events, I do find I can hold you accountable for your actions in response to those events."
Anne clenched the filmy fabric in her fist as Roy drove his stinging words into her prickling conscience.
"And what was so offensive about my actions, Roy Gardiner," Anne asked sourly.
Roy clenched his jaw irritably, and Anne watched as his brow knit together.
"I found you with him," Roy said with quiet venom. "I watched you dance with him. I watched you flirt with him and glance at him and smile at him. And I watched it all like a dolt. Surrounded by your family and your entire peculiar town. And they all ate it up, cheered it on—like the embarrassing soap opera it is!"
Sudden sheets of rain drowned Anne's view outside her window, and she nearly suffocated in the cramped, stifled car, but Roy continued his dressing down without so much as a stutter.
"I dare not imagine what might have occurred if I had not attended this wedding. You acted without the least regard to propriety or decency, Anne. If you only understood how your actions affect me…."
A piercing guilt tore at Anne as Roy's words forced the memory of her encounter in Di's room to the front of her mind.
"But all this I'm willing to forgive, Anne," Roy whispered brokenly. "Because I love you so very dearly. Because I'm not ready to let you go. Because I don't believe you would've acted this way if it hadn't been for this perfect storm of circumstances: in Avonlea at your best friend's wedding with him. It's been a mirage of a weekend, and the Anne I know—the refined, Redmond Anne—would never behave that way."
Anne's eyes dropped shamefully, and the cab of the vehicle quieted for a moment.
"She would never hurt me," Roy murmured at last, his face haggard.
His crestfallen expression awakened something gentle in Anne. She had treated him abominably, and in some ways, he was right. The Anne he knew was more elegant and guarded and propitious. He had never seen her as she was in Avonlea, as she was when she was truly, freely at home.
And seeing her in such a state and with such company must have been quite a shock for Roy.
And if Roy knew her every thought and deed from this weekend, Anne wondered if he could still forgive her.
If he could still feel obligated to her.
If he could still love her.
If those were the things she wanted from him still.
And she knew she must tell him about the kiss.
"Roy, I…."
The storm worsened, and Roy's knuckles paled as he gripped the steering wheel tighter, out of necessity and frustration. They were finally nearing the outskirts of Redmond.
"I need to tell you something," Anne whispered, her stare fixed hotly on Roy's face.
With a sigh, Roy veered down the exit ramp toward the college town and glanced briefly at Anne.
"Unless you are going to tell me you love me and you are so sorry for this weekend," Roy said unevenly. "I do not believe I can handle anything more this weekend, Anne. Please, give me more time to process what I already have."
"But Roy, I—" Anne began, her hands rising from her lap.
"Please, Anne," Roy shuddered. "If it's what I think it is, I need more time than even this drive allows."
Then, he stiffly turned left toward Redmond, Anne felt tears gather in her eyes, and the pair fell into tense silence once more.