trigger warning for the second half of this chapter
Bonnie was relaxing in her garden, sipping on an orange juice, when Marceline stepped out of the back door. She hadn't texted, or called, but Bonnie expected her anyway. She'd already set out the second deck chair for her, just in case.
She'd been thinking about that a lot more. As well as speaking to Lady about it, since she was experienced with this kind of thing. She'd managed to get Jake to be her boyfriend, after all. Because Bonnie was starting to think that maybe there was some kind of possibility that Marceline liked her back. Maybe.
"Googling fish and chip restaurants because she thought you might not have had it for ages, that's not something you do for just a friend. You guys were basically on a date," Lady had told her, "and she cleared up things about that guy, and told you she didn't have a type. She's dropping hints. Plus, poking you and sticking her feet on you and licking your hand? Major flirting. Girl's basically in love."
Bonnie wasn't sure if she believed it. It seemed a little too good to be true, and Marceline had still said she had a type, just that she wasn't restricted to it. That meant that she was less likely to have a crush on Bonnie. Probability and all that. Lady had told her to test the waters and do some legitimate flirting, but Bonnie wasn't sure. Part of her was anxious to do so, because what if Marceline was weirded out?
"Yo, brainlord," Marceline sank down into the second deck chair. "What's up?"
"Well, I was finally trying to get some peace and quiet, but I suppose that plan has flown out of the window upon your arrival," Bonnie turned her head and flashed Marceline a teasing smile, "Want some juice?"
"Sure," Marceline said, "got any vodka I can slip in there?"
Bonnie raised her eyebrows, pausing as she stood up. "Excuse me?"
Upon her stern gaze, Marceline held her hands up in defence, "Joking! Well, if you did, I wouldn't complain about that, but… joking."
"Better be. I don't approve of underage drinking." Bonnie put on what she liked to call her 'teacher face', stern and authoritative, but it was hard to maintain. She laughed. "No, I don't care, do what you like in moderation. Frankly, I think the drinking age being twenty-one over here is ludicrously high. It's eighteen at home. Still don't have any vodka for you, though."
"Dang," Marceline pouted, "just orange juice it is, then."
Bonnie went inside and poured her a glass, sprucing it up a little by adding one of Peter's cocktail umbrellas and a wedge of lime on the side. She took it outside and said, "Here. A mocktail."
Marceline snorted with laughter. "Thanks, nerd. Anyway, I booked the hotel for our little concert trip. Two nights."
Again, Bonnie broke out the stern look. Even though Marceline had a job, she couldn't let her do all of that. "You're letting me put something towards it."
Marceline shook her head, stubborn as ever. "Nope. It's your birthday present."
"The concert tickets and you being my secret homosexual guru were my birthday presents." Bonnie stated matter-of-factly, and Marceline snorted with laughter. "I am going halves on the hotel with you, and petrol money, and also halves on anything else we do there. And I will be treating you to dinner as a thank you."
Marceline laughed. "Cute, but no. Like I said, it's your present."
She heard Lady's voice in her head. She likes you, nobody does that much for their friend's birthday, and it's not like you turned eighteen or a 'big' number. Seventeen hardly warrants all of that. Maybe imaginary Lady had a point.
"You don't want to argue with me, Marceline." Bonnie folded her arms across her chest. "I'm very stubborn. I know you're stubborn too, but I'd win. I could get you to cave."
Scoffing, Marceline rolled her eyes. "I don't think so. I'm way more stubborn than you."
So, putting her pride aside, Bonnie pouted. She paired it with the puppy-dog eyes and reached out to take Marceline's hand. "Please, Marcy? I would feel like I was taking advantage if I let you pay for everything. Let me contribute."
And the icing on the cake, she pressed a kiss to Marceline's cheek. That was all it took. More alarm bells – good ones – rang in her head.
"Ugh, fine," Marceline pulled her hand from Bonnie's grasp, "god, you're the worst."
Bonnie laughed. "I know you don't mean that, so I'll let it slide."
Marceline just sighed. "Fine, maybe you're the best. You're annoyingly too good."
"An insult and a compliment in one," Bonnie commented with a smile, "I admire your skills."
"Wait, no," Marceline looked up in surprise, and Bonnie's stomach flipped, "I didn't mean to insult you. Not really, anyway."
Another point, Bonnie thought. She immediately tried to clear it up when she thought she'd offended her. Means she didn't want her to think anything negative of her. God, is she overanalysing all of this?
"I know it's all in jest," Bonnie leaned over and hugged her, because she really was just a marshmallow. "You're such a sweetie."
Marceline groaned, but she hugged Bonnie back, "Kill me now."
"It's not a bad thing," Bonnie squeezed her a little tighter before letting go, "it's cute. Even Lady has noticed that you're much cheerier. And before you go around glaring at everyone extra hard to make up for it, please don't. For me. Because you have the prettiest smile ever."
Test the waters, Bonnie, she thought to herself, it's harmless. Perhaps the fright that Marceline's kiss with Tom had given her had actually instilled her with some kind of courage. At least she could say she tried, if Marceline didn't like her back.
"I- Bonnie," Marceline hid her face in her hands, and Bonnie wondered if she was trying to hide a blush. She smiled hopefully. "Stop flirting with me, loser. You're not my type. I'm not into nerds."
The words cut a little deeper since Bonnie knew it was the truth, despite what Marceline had said the other day, and despite anything Lady might've said. But she still let herself hope. "Well, I know that. Just telling the truth."
"Wait- oh my god, my brain really isn't working because you keep saying nice things and I don't know how to process it," Marceline shook her head and sighed, "You're totally my type. But like, not in that- oh my god. You're not my type, but… like, you could be. In a totally objective, platonic, hypothetical way."
You're totally my type.
The words echoed in Bonnie's head.
You're totally my type.
Marceline was rambling, and it was endlessly adorable. Despite the words platonic and hypothetical, Bonnie let herself have faith at the way Marceline was so flustered. Trying to wind her up even more, and continuing to test the waters, she just smirked and said, "Get in line, Marceline. I have many suitors just waiting to get with me."
"Oh my god," Marceline groaned and forced out a frustrated laugh, "You're killing me, Bonnie."
"Well, you did ask me to," Bonnie retorted with a rather cocky grin and stood up, "Come on, let's go watch a movie. I think you deserve to pick since I already entertained myself thoroughly."
And gathered evidence, Bonnie concluded. She smiled to herself. Yes, all things required research. Even Marceline.
"I take it back. You're definitely the worst." Marceline sighed begrudgingly and got up, following her inside. "I don't know how you tricked me into liking you."
Bonnie's stomach jumped, but continuing with her ruse that wasn't really a ruse, she smirked and said, "So you admit it, huh?"
"As a friend!" Marceline practically yelped, and Bonnie chuckled to herself. The reaction was oddly comforting, despite the actual words spoken. "I won't keep liking you as a friend if you keep messing with me."
"Ah, so you will be getting in line as one of my many suitors," Bonnie said, and Marceline let out another frustrated laugh when she realised how Bonnie had twisted her words. Bonnie grinned and kissed her cheek, making her blush again, "You make it way too easy, Marcy."
"Clearly," Marceline shook her head, still looking rather flustered. "Shut up, four eyes."
It had no bite behind it – none of Marceline's insults ever did – but Bonnie pouted and tried her best to look hurt. "Hey. Mean."
"Oh my god, totally kidding!" Marceline walked right into it, and she was blushing when she murmured, "I didn't mean- I like your glasses, I think they're… really… pretty."
Butterflies fluttered in her tummy; her next flirty joke forgotten. The sincerity of Marceline's words had knocked her off course. "You do?"
"I… yeah," Marceline looked away, and when she muttered, "platonically," Bonnie laughed. She wasn't sure she believed that.
"Okay, pick a movie," Bonnie handed her the television remote, "I'll make popcorn. And I'll stop winding you up. You do make it really easy, though."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Marceline rolled her eyes, "Go make popcorn, princess."
Bonnie cast a glance at her as she headed back towards the kitchen. Marceline was smiling to herself, and the look on her face made the butterflies in Bonnie's tummy go crazy.
Maybe, just maybe, her crush wasn't so one sided after all.
When Marceline returned home and her dad's car was already in the driveway, she felt a little sick. He was supposed to be out late tonight, that's why she thought it'd be okay for her to leave the laundry to do when she got back from Bonnie's. He had a rule about that, wanting all the chores to be done by the time he got home.
Her heart beat a little quicker as she walked past his car, up to the front porch. Maybe he wouldn't have noticed. Maybe she'd get away with it. It was unlikely, but still possible.
She fumbled with her keys as she unlocked the front door with shaky hands. Her body was already betraying her. If she was shaking like a leaf in front of him, of course he'd know she'd done something wrong, and then he'd try to figure out what it was. She levelled out her breathing. It would be fine.
She pushed open the front door just as he walked out of the lounge. He smiled chillingly. "Marceline. I believe I asked you to have the laundry done by the time I arrived home."
Her heart was in her throat when she opened her mouth to make any kind of excuse, but relief washed over her like a tidal wave when Marshall jumped the last four stairs and said, "She was nerding it up with Bonnie all day."
There was something teasing in his tone, but she ignored it. All she felt was gratitude that he was home. "Shut up, we weren't nerding it up. We watched a couple of movies and drank mocktails, aka orange juice in fancy glasses."
And maybe… flirted a little bit? Marceline was still a little flustered from all of that.
"Probably nerdy movies, and that mocktail thing is the nerdiest thing I've ever heard." Marshall said, and when he started walking towards the kitchen, she followed. Anything to get out of her dad's line of sight. He flashed her a grin when they were out of earshot. "You're welcome. I had a feeling he was going to yell at you."
More than yell, little brother, Marceline thought, though he was hardly little, only four minutes younger. Emotionally, though, she had years on him. "Thanks. I should probably make dinner. Don't want to make him angrier."
Marshall helped her throw together a quick mac and cheese and she made sure to set the table while her dad was looking. Maybe that would make up for the laundry.
She was wrong. When she glanced up over her dinner, the disdainful look her father was wearing was almost predatory, and she knew she was in for it. But Marshall was home. Nothing would happen while Marshall was home. Tomorrow, she could go out early, and maybe he'd forget.
She cleared the plates up, washed the dishes, and was on her way to hide out in her bedroom when she saw Marshall again, this time by the front door, putting his shoes on. Her stomach dropped.
"You're going out?" Marceline questioned. That was bad. That was really bad. "Stay home. We can play GTA or something."
"Can't, Jake's already here," Marshall said, gesturing towards the front door, "but we can play something when I get back, yeah?"
She couldn't ask him to stay again. That would be too obvious, and she couldn't do that to him. She watched in despair as he left and fumbled to grab her boots. She could go out too. To Keila's, or back to Bonnie's, or anywhere. Just not here. She couldn't be here. Her hands were shaking, and her stupid laces weren't cooperating. She tried to control her breathing. Don't panic. She'd be fine. She was always fine. Forget the shoelaces, Marceline told herself, just go.
Her fingertips just brushed the front door handle when she heard him. "Going somewhere?"
His hand pulled her back roughly by the collar of her shirt. Her father threw her against the living room door, and she fell down, squeezing her eyes shut, cursing inwardly, already feeling a doorknob shaped bruise forming on her hip.
"You didn't complete your chores today before I returned home," Hunson told her matter-of-factly, "Have I not made myself clear that there is a rule about that? And you know how I feel when you break my rules. I don't want to have to do these things, Marceline, but you never leave me any choice."
"I'm sorry," The apology came tumbling out of her mouth, some fucked up automated response that he'd drilled into her over the years, "I was with Bonnie and we lost track of time, that's all."
"Oh, so now it's Bonnibel's fault that you can't be bothered to pull your weight in this house?" Hunson questioned, stepping forwards. She pushed backwards, but her back just pressed up against the closed living room door. She was cornered and he knew it. "You are going to blame a lovely, well-adjusted young woman for your laziness?"
"That's not what I meant, I-" Marceline tripped over her words, "I lost track of time, it wasn't her fault."
"I know it wasn't her fault," Hunson stared down at her and shook his head in disappointment, "Frankly, I don't understand what Miss Butler sees in you. Surely if she knew what you did to your mother, she wouldn't want anything to do with you."
The mere mention of her mother made her blood boil. Even though she knew it was what he wanted, knew he was trying to provoke her, she spat out, "Fuck you."
He landed a kick to her stomach and she gasped as the wind was knocked out of her, doubling over in pain. She couldn't see him, but she knew he was staring at her. "Get up. Now."
Slowly, she rose to her feet, still coughing, wondering if that was it. She'd been so careful, so good at avoiding him over the last few months, ever since the last black eye. He'd caught her a couple of times, but it had never been more than a few punches. Bonnie had believed her lie before, but if she showed up with anything serious, she would ask questions. She would find out. And that couldn't happen. She couldn't let that happen.
Hunson looked at her in disappointment. She wondered if he enjoyed this or if he'd convinced himself it was a necessary evil from a place of messed up love. She froze under his gaze. Fight or flight didn't exist, not for her, not when he was looking at her like that. A chilling look rooted her to the spot like some kind of dark magic.
She thought of Bonnie, and for once, Marceline fought the spell he'd put on her. She took her chance, running towards the stairs like her life depended on it. Maybe it did. If she could make it to her bedroom, she'd be okay. She had a lock on the door, and she could climb out of the window.
She made it halfway before she felt a familiar pull at her hair. She went tumbling back down the stairs, landing with a painful bang on the hardwood floor. She scrambled to get up, but he was too fast for her, landing kick after kick to her side and her back. She curled up, trying to shut him out, trying to think of anything else except the blow after blow and the searing red pain.
Bonnie, Marceline thinks, think about Bonnie. Her smile, her laugh, the way she always believes in you, the way she was maybe flirting with you today. Think about Simon and how he always makes you feel better. Think about Keila and your jam sessions. Think about your brother and how you're keeping him safe.
She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of crying out. That was something she never wanted to give him. She never wanted him to think he'd won.
He seemed angrier, if anything. He pulled her up by the collar of her shirt and threw her into the kitchen, landing a smack to her face, slamming her chin down onto the cold, hard counter. Marceline had to bite down on her lip to keep from shouting, and tears stung her eyes. It hurt so much.
He threw her to the ground and the kick he landed on her ribs was accompanied by a sickening crack. He finally got what he wanted, because she cried out in pain and curled up on the kitchen floor, sobbing in agony.
"Have you learned your lesson?" Hunson asked calmly. "Do you understand why I had to do that?"
"Yes," Marceline managed to force out between sobs. Even talking was painful. What the hell had he done to her? "I'm sorry. Please, no more."
"Come on," His hands were on her again, but this time to pull her up. She could tell that he was at least attempting to be gentle about it, but there was a searing pain in her ribs that made her cry out again and nearly collapse, "No, don't fall. I will take you to the hospital and we will get that looked at. If anybody asks, you were in a fight. Do you understand me?"
"Yes," She forced out, choking on a cry. The bruises were already blossoming all over, and just walking to the door, even with his support, felt like she was still on the ground and he was still kicking her.
"This wasn't the evening I wanted to have with you. I only do that because I love you, Marceline. I want you to be better." Hunson said, opening the front door, "if you followed the rules, it wouldn't have to happen. One of these days, you'll learn your lesson properly and straighten up your act. You don't have to make it so hard."
Or one of these days, you'll kill me, Marceline thought. She didn't say it. That was just asking for trouble. She couldn't believe she'd been so careless. She couldn't believe she'd let him catch her.
When he pushed her into the car, she passed out from the pain.
