Author's Note: This chapter kind of makes me want to cry.


CHAPTER 51: Pocket It

As she shoved her hands into the pockets of Caspian's coat, she felt cool metal and looked up at Caspian, whose smile faded as quickly as hers. She enclosed her fingers around the object and pulled it out, letting it rest in her palm. It was a silver ring with three brilliant diamonds set in the middle. Astra gasped and felt her mouth go dry. He was going to propose; he was going to give the ring to Lady Hanalei. She was flooded with conflicting feelings. She was angry, hurt, and betrayed that he did not tell her. However, the more frightening thought was this: she did not want him to marry Hanalei. Astra did not know why—it was an unreasonable sentiment—but she had deluded herself into assuming she had all claims on him. He was her Caspian, she knew him like no other person, they had something. She was not in love with him, but she loved him (that had to count for something); she did not want to marry him, but she did not want him to marry anyone else. This pain stabbed her in the chest and she knew that she could not say this—how would he understand? She could hardly understand the truly terrifying notion herself and could not wrap her head around how she managed to latch onto the idea that she would always be Caspian's girl and was completely irreplaceable. However, she could only play the part of a hurt friend, not a hurt… well, whatever she was.

"You have a ring in your pocket," she said, feeling tears prick her eyes.

"Um, yes, I do."

"You have a ring in your pocket," Astra repeated for firmly, her chest tight with anxiety.

"It was there."

"You have a ring in your pocket."

"Um, it was my mother's and I…" he lied, but Astra did not know it.

"You have a ring in your pocket!"

"I know!" he shouted, finally raising his voice to match Astra's shrill tone. They both waited for a moment, each fighting their own inner battles.

"People don't just carrying rings around in their pocket," Astra reasoned, her voice still tight with emotion.

"It was in my pocket," Caspian calmly responded, which only further provoked Astra.

"People don't just carrying rings around in their pocket without a reason."

"It was my mother's."

"People still don't just carry rings around in their pocket." Caspian gave an exasperated sigh, frustrated with her sounding like a broken record. "Is it for Hanalei?"

"Astra…"

"Are you going to ask her to marry you?

"No…yes…I do not know…maybe," he said, changing his answers.

"Well, you have a ring in your pocket—"

"—I know—"

"So that implies you were planning on asking her!" she cried triumphantly, although she hardly felt satisfied in this victory.

"I suppose…well, I honestly am not sure." Astra looked down at the stunning ring, turning it over in her hand. He had a ring for her; that was certainly a step in the general direction of marriage. When did he start carrying it around? How did he know she was The One? How long had he known it? And more importantly, how could she have not seen it coming? Astra was utterly blindsided by this epiphany, despite its irresolute quality.

"And you did not feel the need to tell me—your best friend—that this was something on your mind, something you were considering?" Astra asked slowly, pain stitched in her every word.

"Astra, I am so sorry, I—"

"Because there are expectations, I believe, when you court a girl."

"I know."

"You don't just court her until you get bored of her, you're supposed to marry her!"

"Oh, so that is what I am supposed to do now?" asked Caspian with bitterness, surprised to her this coming from her (of all people).

"Yes!" she cried, not sure what she said that set him off. "That's what you're supposed to do, marry her."

"I have enough people dictating to me how to live my life, and the absolute last person I need to do so is you!" he yelled, feeling hurt and betrayed himself.

"Well, do you want to marry her or not?"

"I do not know!"

"Then why do you have a ring in your pocket?"

"I do not know!"

"But you have a ring in your pocket, surely you must know!"

"I do not know!"

"Do you love her?"

"What?" Caspian roared, both of their voices growing louder and louder.

"Do you love her?" Caspian did not answer her and so Astra more pressingly asked the question. "Do you love her?"

"NO, I do not love her, damn it, and I do not know if I am going to marry her and I do not know why the hell I have a ring in my pocket! I do not know, I DO NOT FUCKING KNOW!" he shouted in one breath, yelling until his voice was hoarse and his nose just inches away from Astra. She cowered, scared to see him so angry, and by Aslan's mane, swearing! Tears now rolled freely from her cheeks as she stood in shock and fear, trying to wrap her brain around what just happened. She had never seen him so agitated, so upset, and enraged; she hardly knew what to say as they stood just inches apart, their breath coming in short, desperate gulps.

"So, you have this ring in your pocket?"

"Yes, damn it, I have a ring in my pocket," he snapped, taking a step back. Astra felt herself break too, now churlish and petulant.

"Just because you are a fucking PMSing girl does not give you the right to yell at me!" she bellowed, taking a step toward him and jamming an accusing finger in his chest.

"I could say the same damn thing about you," he snapped back and Astra pushed him with both hands in the chest, feeling as though he just slapped her in the face.

"What the hell has gotten into you?" she choked, now feeling herself sob as she punched him in the chest. "This is not you, this is not the Caspian I know, you are swearing and yelling at me and…" she could not go any further and felt her knees go weak with sobs. She went to push him again, wanting to hurt him for hurting her, and he grabbed her arms, pulling her toward him and wrapping his arms around her body as she screamed profanities, cursed him in every possible way and language she knew, and let herself be consumed by sobs which racked and rattled her chest. She gasped for air and tried to quiet herself; in the process, she realized that Caspian was quietly crying along with her, ashamed of his actions and completely and utterly lost at what to do about his predicament. Finally, Astra pulled away and turned around, trying to compose herself.

She looked into the mirror on the other side of the room and saw the sad spectacle they made. Astra's face was streaked with tears and blotchy, still desperately clutching the ring in her fist. Caspian lingered behind her, hastily wiping tears from his eyes, his posture defeated and deflated. They stood apart, breathing deeply, until Astra finally spoke.

"It is beautiful," she said with her back still toward Caspian, admiring the piece of jewelry. "It is timeless, absolutely stunning." It would make any girl happy, she almost said. It would make me happy. Caspian tentatively stepped toward her until Astra could feel his breath on her neck. The sensation made her shiver and he let his head rest on her shoulder, wrapping his arms across her shoulders. His lips touched the crook of her neck and burned and antagonized her. She wrapped a hand around his arms that encircled her and let her head learn back on his chest.

"Why does this have to be so…?" asked Caspian, his voice cracking in anguish. He never found the word he was searching for, or if he did, he dared not say it aloud. Perhaps 'complicated' was the word they searched for; perhaps no such word existed that could encompass their sentiments at the moment and 'complicated' was only the beginning of it. Astra pulled apart from him and turned around to face him, holding out her fist with the ring in it. Caspian warily eyed her hand and very reluctantly, after nearly ten seconds of hesitation, offered an open palm to receive it. Astra pressed her palm to his, feeling the now warm metal in between their hands. Caspian's thumb went to capture her hand, but Astra let her hand slip away, returning to her side. Caspian, dumbfounded, held the ring in his palm, suddenly feeling as though he was taking it from its rightful owner. He banished this irrational thought from his head and let his fist close around the ring, putting it back into his pocket.

They had returned right where they started and yet, everything seemed entirely altered. There were no certainties; there were only questions without answers. They pocketed their burdens, they pocketed their crazy thoughts, and most of all, they pocketed the desires their hearts yearned to scream: Love me. Pick me. And the funny thing about putting objects in one's pocket is that one never knows when they might resurface or if they will survive the laundry at all. Both walked away, knowing that by pocketing it, they engaged themselves in a most dangerous proposition that could only be a temporary mend to a rip far larger than either of them suspected, a rip that could either kill or save them. Pockets, they knew, were fickle like that.