NOTES: Short chapter. Darcy's POV. Angsty.
(Also, Im literally sitting backstage as the curtain goes up for opening night as I post this. Hopefully, I wont be too tired to only post once tomorrow— regardless, I will post soon)
Also, the gala isn't over yet. Just you wait.
💔
It only took a few steps before Darcy ran into the woman he was looking for.
And when I say ran, I really mean crashed.
"Ah SHIT," Lizzy yelped, toppling backwards.
"I got you!" Darcy said, catching her at the last second. "I got you," he repeated.
He held her close to his chest, and he could feel her trembling like a leaf in high wind. At that moment, all he wanted was to take her away from whatever was making her shake like this, whatever was making her scared.
Then Darcy felt her push away, softly, her face red and downcast. He looked around, and saw clusters of unfriendly eyes watching them, waiting.
He cleared his throat, and stepped away. "So, uh, where were you?"
"Blondie," Lizzy said, out of breath. "By the bar."
"Ah." Darcy frowned. He hoped his cousin wasn't going to get drunk and make a scene. That would be horrible.
"So.. where were you?" Lizzy asked, after a pause.
He stuck a thumb over his shoulder and shuddered. "Caroline. The— uh, woman from work."
"Yeah, the stalker, I remember. What did she want?"
"Her brother— my friend— is getting married. She… uh, didn't like the choice of bride."
"Why?" Lizzy asked, probably to be polite.
He shrugged. "She's poor. Caroline's worried about her brother's image— and her's by extension."
Lizzy turned around, expelling a short breath through her nose. "God, what is WITH these people?! We're not in the 1800s! It shouldn't matter if someone's poor or someone's rich— people are just people!"
"Well yeah, I get that," Darcy said, rubbing the back of his neck, "but I… well, I used to think the same as her. Like, poorer people aren't on the same level, and stuff. And I mean, economic status does affect social to a degree, and some of your educational opportunities, so it would almost make sense for someone to want to be with someone in their own income bracket so—" He stopped talking.
"Lizzy?"
She wasn't moving. He couldn't see her face; her curls waterfalling down her back were shaking with microscopic tremors.
"Lizzy, are you okay?"
She didn't turn around, even when she spoke.
"Fitzwilliam, please don't say those things. Please."
"Why?" He asked, genuinely confused. He tugged at his collar, feeling the uncomfortable sensation of being watched. "It's absolutely true— people who were given certain opportunities in life usually have better education and manners—"
"How can you say that?!" Lizzy cried, whirling on him. "Everyone here is—" she pulled him close, whispering furiously.
"Everyone here is AWFUL. They have been nothing but petty, and rude, and snobbish. They treat the servers like trash, and they treat me like a dancing monkey they were told to be nice to! So please! Don't be like them!"
His temper flared, and his eyes narrowed. "I am NOT like them," he said, in a low voice, barely audible.
"Then act like it, please," she said, bitingly.
Darcy growled a sigh, and pinched the bridge of his nose.
Okay. So she had figured out that everyone here was terrible on her own. No big deal. He had expected that. He had planned for it. But.. her thinking HE was like THEM? He… he wasn't…
"I'm sorry, I brought you here," Darcy spat out slowly, with difficulty.
I thought you would like spending time with me. I thought you would make me feel better, but I still feel like screaming. And you're unhappy. I hate that I was the one who made you unhappy. I just hate it.
While he was in his own head, and his chest was heaving, and the silence rang out like a battle cry in the dead-quiet ballroom, Lizzy took a shuddering breath.
"I think we should take a break."
Darcy's mind went, for a moment, completely blank. Lizzy kept talking.
"I feel like we've been fighting a lot tonight, and… I don't like it. Usually couples fight about stupid stuff, but this, to me, feels.. big. Like you see me as lesser. Even if you don't want to. And I know, people say I make you better, but tonight… you were much worse than I've ever seen you. Cold, and.. and rude. I… I love you, Fitzwilliam. But right now? I just.. don't like you."
It felt like the floor was falling out from under him. His mouth was dry. His eyes couldn't close. His world was falling apart.
His world was falling apart, and when it was put back together again, Lizzy Bennet was not in it.
"Believe me, I don't want to do this either," she was saying, "but I'm going to my parents' tomorrow already, so we can take a break for a few days, just get our heads on straight, and—"
Darcy wasn't listening.
When the world falls apart, you don't stop to hear the sirens.
You just run.
"I'm leaving," he said. He turned around, and walked somewhere into the crowd.
He didn't hear her call out behind him— because she didn't. Darcy even looked back to check.
It only hit him afterward, when the stinging pain had cleared, and the ache set in, that there had been tears in her eyes, misting over the green. It only hit him afterwards, that he had been the one to leave.
And by then… it was too late to change things. Too late to save the love they had planted in the coffee grounds, and blossomed in an herb garden.
It was too late.
The damage had been done.