Chapter 21: Pure Morning
Betty comes swaggering into your room the next morning.
"Was just late, is all," she says, casually, as though you both haven't been deliberating for the last few days the course your lives might have to take. You let out a surprised laugh and Betty comes forward to dance you around the room and into the hall, through a hoard of surprised girls, and into her room.
"That certainly makes things easier," you say, a little breathlessly, falling into her a little when she lets go of your arms. She's a little late catching you but she does catch you; you watch her jaw clench and she rests her forehead against yours.
You're kind of frozen, forehead pressed to hers and your eyes close. You're waiting; for what you don't quite know, but you do expect something to happen. It doesn't so you tilt your head a little. Nothing happens again, so you open your eyes to meet Betty's slightly watery ones as she brings the back of her fingers across your cheek, then places her hand on the side of your face, fingers nearly in your ear. She's blurry, this close.
"You're so good to me," she says, and you have to raise a hand to wipe moisture from her cheek. She buries her face in your hand, kisses your palm. Her lips feel nicer than they should.
"You don't treat me too shabby, yourself," you say, because you don't like to see Betty cry. She gives you a sloppy smile and you pull her into you, pretending not to notice when she uses the shoulder of your dress to wipe her face.
"I'm just so relieved," she mumbles into your neck, "you must be too."
You go out with Ivan again that night, and the way he fiddles with the buttons of your dress in a darkened booth with a knowing smile is enough to make you angry.
"Betty," you start, and he gets that impatient look he always does when you bring her up.
"What about her?"
"Betty was late," you tell him, and the way all the blood drains from his face is almost laughable.
"Was?" He eventually asks. You nod. "Wait. You think it's my fault?"
"You seen her with any other men?" He shakes his head slowly, like he's still trying to figure it out.
"Wait, Marco!" He says thankfully and the look you give him is so skeptical that he lowers his head again. "You said was, right," he says, a little desperately. "As in, not anymore. So it's fine, isn't it?" And the way he won't look at you lets you know that even he doesn't believe he's asking that.
"And if she was still late? What would you have done?" You know Betty was trying to take all the blame for it, but the way she looked at you this morning, you've never seen her look that way at Ivan.
"But Kate, we're not together. I don't feel that way about her anymore. I love you," he says, "and I guess we're just lucky that it turned out that way."
"But you used to love her. What if we broke up and I was late, Ivan?"
"We'd have to, you know, actually do something before that could happen," he says, a little grumpily and you just stand up and walk out of the club.
"Kate!" You can hear him walking behind you but you won't turn around. You keep walking and he trots to keep up with you. "I didn't even know! How was I supposed to know? She broke up with me! Kate!" He grabs your arm and turns you to face him. "She should have told me. You shouldn't have told me. She should have."
"Because it's that easy, telling your ex-boyfriend when he's dating your best friend. Ivan, she was going to keep it from you. Forever, if I know her."
"And you think I'm the only one responsible?" He asks, and you can't say anything even though you have a valid argument so you shake your head.
"No, but I do think you could have been a little more responsible."
"We used protection," he hisses, eyes darting around to see if anyone's listening.
"The best protection is abstinence," you tell him, half-remembering something a travelling preacher said with his hand on your knee. You can tell Ivan's trying to think of something he can say to that. It's been a big shock to him, you know that.
"What if we were married?" He blurts out suddenly. "Then it'd be alright, wouldn't it? Would you marry me, Kate?" He asks, and you've been waiting for a proposal since you were a child but this isn't right; he didn't even get down on one knee and when he goes to, you pull him up by his cardigan because the street is filthy and his pants are nice.
"I'm sorry Ivan," you tell him eventually, "but I don't think we should see each other anymore." You lean in to kiss his cheek before walking back to the rooming house by yourself.
Author's note: You guys have been so patient. Thank you. It's so busy here; I keep falling asleep in the non-explodey classes and Nationals are next Thursday. They paired me with another chick so we wouldn't distract any dudes but then she was typing from behind me and I couldn't configure my way out of a paper bag so it could be interesting.
Anyhow, here's to six years sober. Woo.
A friend in need's a friend indeed,
A friend who bleeds is better,
My friend confessed she passed the test,
And we will never sever.
Title from the titular Placebo song.