NOTES: Lizzy's POV. Normalish length. The last part of the gala.

This... legitimately made me tear up. But, if it makes it any better, this is the last chapter thats 100% angst. The next few won't be fluff, Mind you, but it won't get this bad again. Promise :)

I'll post again soon. Until then, pretty please leave a comment if you have anything to say! They always make me smile, and a lot of times y'all have great ideas that I actually use to shape the plot.

Anyway, stay safe y'all! ~Vinny 🌸

Lizzy was on a bench. Sitting. As close to the wall as she could get, without looking like she was hiding. People passed her by, their eyes drifting past her like she wasn't even there. She wiped at her eyes with the back of her thumb.

She wasn't crying. She wasn't.

It was only crying if your chest shook and your nose got red, if your breath heaved and you sobbed into your hands, loudly. It wasn't crying if the tears slipped down your cheeks without any noise, if they whispered across your nose in crooked patterns, tracing the downward spiral of your life.

She had been not-crying for a while now.

Ever since Fitzwilliam had begun spewing that nonsense about economic status being in direct relation to social status and manners and education— confirming all of her worst fears about him. Even when she asked him to stop, he didn't see anything wrong with what he said.

Lizzy wasn't even sure how they had got on that topic; she only knew that when they did, she could see Fitzwilliam turning back into the angry, snobbish, cold-hearted man he had been when they first met.

And it broke her heart.

Was it real? Was any of it? Had he ever really changed at all? Was he always sweet and caring, or was that a blip on the radar, a change brought about by the excitement of a new girl to play with?

Did she even matter to him?

"LIZZY!"

Her head shot up. She looked to her right, to where Fitzwilliam was stumbling and shoving his way through the crowd, bellowing as if the world was burning around him.

"LIZZY! LIZZY!" He caught sight of her. His face was red. His tie was undone. Sweat glistened on his cheek, and his dark eyes looked almost swollen in the bright lights. "Lizzy! There you are!"

He made his way to her as she jumped to her feet, frantically rubbing at her eyes and trying to turn away.

A hand caught her wrist.

Lizzy slowly turned, and looked back into deep earthy eyes, staring at her.

"You've been crying," he said.

Lizzy didn't say anything. She didn't want to see him right now.

"Why are you crying?" Fitzwilliam asked, almost tenderly.

Lizzy felt her face darken into a scowl. This motherfucker. Did he really have the BALLS to ask her WHY she was crying?!

"Let go of me. Please," she said, through clenched teeth.

She refused to meet his gaze again. If she had, Lizzy would have seen his face register confusion, hurt, then finally, anger.

He didn't release her wrist. In fact, his grip tightened, and he pulled her closer. "Why are you crying?" Fitzwilliam snarled, in a much different tone. "You… you lied to me! And left me! You're the one who ruined this— so why are YOU crying?!"

As he yelled at her, more tears fell from the corners of her eyes, dripping down without her permission. She felt like curling up in a ball on the floor, and breaking down completely.

But she smelled strong alcohol on Fitzwilliam's breath. She caught the shaking pain in his voice.

He wasn't in his right mind. This wasn't the real him.

Lizzy drew herself up to her full size (not even close to his height) and took a slow breath. Find your happy place. Calm down. But he had taken root in her herb garden— he had twisted her world and broken her heart.

She couldn't calm down.

But she had to. For him.

She stopped puffing herself up. She crumpled in on herself, shrinking back to a pale husk of a freckled woman, who had no business being at a party like this. She rubbed her thumb on his skin, wishing it didn't have to feel like she was saying goodbye.

"Come on," Lizzy said, gently, a single tear hanging off her eyelash like a dewdrop. "Let's get you home."

Fitzwilliam was breathing hard. He was red in the face, eyes puffy and focused on her. As if she was all that existed. "I love you," Fitzwilliam said, hiccuping sadly. "Why don't you love me?"

If her heart wasn't already shattered, that question would have done her in.

She sighed, almost laughing, but there was no humor left in any part of her. She held Fitzwilliam's hand, and led him away from where EVERY. SINGLE. PERSON. in that room was staring at them.

"Come on," she said, tiredly, "We're leaving."

At the use of 'we' Fitzwilliam perked up noticeably. He followed quietly behind her like a puppy, only staggering a little as they walked. As she passed the bar, Lizzy saw Blondie watching them, his mouth open in a horrified expression.

She would have felt sympathetic, but all of her emotions felt drained at this point. "I'll get him home," she said as they passed, "Please make our excuses to the host."

Blondie's mouth snapped shut, and he nodded, rushing off to find somewhere to be, glancing after them every few steps.

"So..," Fitzwilliam said from behind her, "You… do love me?"

Lizzy led him to the entrance, unwilling to look him in the eye as she answered. "I just don't know anymore, Fitzwilliam. I… Love isn't supposed to hurt this much. And even if I said I loved you, right now, I would still have to leave."

"But 's not forever, is it?" Fitzwilliam had dug in his heels at the top of the steps, and was clutching her hand so tightly Lizzy thought her bones might crack. "I'll see you 'gain?"

"Maybe… yes.."

Fitzwilliam looked past her, for a moment, his brown eyes going out of focus. Then he shook his head, and beamed at her, though his face was still contorted unnaturally. He got down on one knee.

"Then please," he said, words garbling in his mouth, emotion clogging his speech, "Make it forever. I don't remember the last time I kissed you, but I wanna be the only one to kiss your freckles, and make you… make you laugh. Please. Forever. Lizzy… please. I need you, Lizzy. I love you. I always.. always wanna love you."

This time, Lizzy really did laugh. A tired, broken sound, that mixed with fresh tears and raw pain.

"I'm sorry, Fitzwilliam," was all she said. "I'm so, so sorry."

There was a taxi on the corner. Afterwards, Lizzy didn't remember giving the cab driver a twenty, and telling him the address. Lizzy didn't remember opening the door for her— for her ex-boyfriend. She didn't remember letting go of his hand as he slipped inside.

All she remembered was his eyes, watching her, unblinking. The brown blurred as the stars reflected against the rolled up window. His pale flesh was stained with the lights of the city. There was something shiny and see-through, making its way down his cheek.

He didn't look away for one second.

It was only after the cab pulled away, and Lizzy was left alone on the streets of the city she once loved, that she allowed herself to cry.