DISCLAIMER: The Sound of Music and Hummingbird aren't mine!
Hummingbird
Beating of your wings still echoes on my mind
Hummingbird
Somewhere in me singing, wish we could rewind
Leave me alone, alone
Standing on the pathway that led to the lake, she was more than dumbfounded. She felt cold—so cold. She could feel sweat soak through the cotton material of her borrowed dress as her eyes raced back and forth between the Captain and the Baroness. The Baroness' gaze seemed to pierce right through her—she looked so immensely happy—ecstatic, euphoric, glad, glowing. And he… he proposed to her, didn't he? So that meant—
Now what? She asked herself.
Where was she to go now? There was nowhere to go. Nowhere to turn.
Lost.
Drifting.
For so long, she had known what she wanted to be. She had been adamant and firm. She had been so sure. But two months. It had taken two months for three years of her life to crumble before her very eyes, ashes scattered at her feet. She had bared her soul to the Reverend Mother—told her everything she had felt. Her feelings. Her dreams. Her thoughts. She was vulnerable. She felt weak. She felt so cold.
Entering the Reverend Mother's office, she had her mind all made up. Everything had been clear before her—she would take her vows, and she would put everything she had known behind her. Start a clean slate, start anew—start fresh, without the stains and strains of heartbreak (if it could be even called that, she thought) and misery. She would be whatever they wanted her to be. She would do what was expected of her. She had visions of her in black—praying, singing praises—just as she had four years ago, when she was but thinking of entering the abbey. But…
But the Reverend Mother…
The Reverend Mother said…
"You must find out how God wants you to spend your love."
Breathe.
I can't breathe.
"These walls were not built to shut out problems. You have to face them. You have to live the life you were born to live."
Breathe.
I can't breathe.
"Climb every mountain, ford every stream, follow every rainbow till you find your dream."
Breathe.
I can't breathe.
Each step up the stairs, no matter how fast she had been, had been a burden. Her legs felt heavy, and she felt faint. She gripped the skirt of her teal-coloured dress so tightly, she had no doubt her knuckles had turned white. Till you find your dream. Dreams that haunt. Dreams that bring sorrow. Dreams—morphing into unwanted, lingering nightmares. Cold. So cold. Seeping into her reality, until they were dreams no more, but the life she led.
"You are back to… uh… stay?"
His smooth voice glued her in place, her feet firmly cemented on the concrete steps of the terrace. The way he spoke—the way he spoke had sent the memories she had so perfectly crammed behind a wall crashing down, flooding her mind despite all her pleas and cries. She felt as if she were drowning. She held her breath—fighting to stay alive. Fighting for breath, but she was suffocating—she needed air. She let the breath go—and she sank. She sank. She sank. Eyesight becoming blurry as salt stung her eyes. Hazy. I can't see.
You are back to stay?
I want you to stay...
I ask you to stay.
I—
Slowly, she turned her head to him—attempting to gulp down the lump in her throat. She wanted to scream, but her throat was dry—so dry. Moments passed—breaths passed, the words still ringing in her ears, her eyes wide, holding his gaze, the two of them suspended in time.
"I ask you… to stay," the words remained unspoken as she continued to gaze at him. She shook her head, watching as his eyebrows slowly furrowed, and his eyes grow dim—storms arising, grey clouding the sky. His face slowly hardening into stone. She could not bear to look at him. How could she? She could not possibly. She could not bear to see the familiar look in his eyes—the whirlpool of emotions in them, look of hope, the look of worry, the look of—
"Only until arrangements can be made for another governess," she said softly, looking away immediately. Closing her eyes, wanting to breathe. Not being able to breathe. Dagger to her heart. She felt cold. So cold. So, so cold.
She could feel his eyes follow her every move, and she hurriedly made her way into the villa. His prolonged gaze burned through her. When in dreams, she could not bear for him to follow her—to haunt her, that desire for him to keep away from her increased tenfold. She did not want him near her. She wanted to forget him—forget that she had met him, forget that she had come here to tell him that—
The reason you came no longer exists, Maria.
I know.
What now?
Oh, Lord, What now?
Distant calls of her name echoed around the hall, taking in a shaky breath, and closing her eyes, she attempted to quiet her mind. Quiet everything around her. Quiet. Words. Quiet. Fraulein Maria! Quiet. Dinner. Quiet. Lake. Quiet. Captain. Quiet— She would do anything—everything just to forget everything around her for just one goddamn minute.
Too much noise. Too many words. Too many questions screaming in her mind.
One foot in front of the other. One step after the other.
One, two, three. One, two, three. Step, hop. Step, hop.
It was a mistake to be back here, she thought. It was a mistake. Mistake. Mistake. Mistake.
To see the table without thinking of glances to and from the other end. To walk the hallway without catching a glimpse of the study's door. To see the ballroom without thinking of the way he looked at her. And the way he held her. And the way that he— Too much noise. Too many words. Too loud. She was such a fool to think that he would ever change his plans for her. That he would stray from his perfect, meticulously-crafted plans from before he met her. And so what? So that he could possibly show that he felt for her and return what she possibly felt for him? Would you think of that? What kind of fool would think that a woman of her stature—a failed postulant—would ever—
Too much noise. Too many words. Too loud.
As she stood at the entrance of the dining room, she took in a deep breath. Breathe. Clear. Breathe. She entered with a smile on her face—matching the smiles of the children as they saw her enter the room. As soon as she was seated at her usual place, hands folded on her lap, staring at the food on her plate, she caught a glimpse of the empty chair across her. She shook her head and took her cutlery in her hands. Eat. You have to eat. Please, you must. No, you don't. No, you must. There is no rule—
"Fraulein Maria," Marta said meekly as Maria pushed her peas across the plate. "Do you love us?" She cocked her head to the side, her warm chocolate eyes staring straight into Maria's.
"Of course, I do, darling," Maria smiled softly at the girl.
"Is that why you came back?"
The little girl blinked at her, and she couldn't help but avoid the young one's gaze. Feeling small. Not knowing what to say. Feeling heartbroken as the words slipped from Marta's mouth. Feeling—
"Yes, darling. That's why I came back," she said with ease as she fixed the napkin on Gretl's lap. A small smile had pulled the corners of her mouth—her cheeks began to hurt, and so did her heart. The burden of… lying making it heavy. Stretching the truth, perhaps, would be a better way to put it, she thought. She had come for them, that was true, yet not wholly because of them. Then what was truth? What was false?
"Okay."
The girl seemed to accept it, and so did Gretl, and Kurt, and Friedrich… maybe. Yet Louisa narrowed her eyes, Brigitta raised an eyebrow, Liesl looked concerned. But no one spoke a word. Quiet. Yet her mind was screaming—endlessly. Too many voices rang in her head in the silence of the meal—Sister Berthe's scolding, Sister Margaretta's soft, pitying words, the Reverend Mother's firm advice, the Baroness' haunting realizations, Herr Detweiler's invitation, the Captain's nonchalance and whistles, her uncle's horrid screaming. She wanted to scream.
Silently, she ate the peas she carefully rolled across her plate.
She hated peas.
As if Kurt had heard her, he, too, grimaced as he ate a pea—he almost never complained, dear Kurt. Yet she smiled at the boy's loud exclamation of peas being an abomination (and Brigitta's quip, saying that she was thoroughly impressed that Kurt knew what abomination meant). Louisa graciously reminded him that he had even wondered what grass tasted like earlier—and he must be grateful that he wasn't eating grass ("Because it fell in my mouth when we were catching crickets once, and it was not good"). The table erupted in laughter—and she couldn't help but laugh, too.
Perhaps things will be alright.
Yes, things will be just fine, she thought, as she breathed out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.
"You should breathe more."
No.
Back to square one.
She rose from her seat at the end of the table once everyone was done with their meal, and helped Gretl and Marta with their cutlery and helped them fold their napkins neatly beside their emptied plates. The youngests clung to her as she ushered the children upstairs. She couldn't say that she could blame them. She had abandoned them—
Her name was being called for a round of cards but she softly declined—she didn't think she had the capacity to at the moment. No, her judgement was too clouded—her mind tired. Her mind filled. Her mind noisy. Her mind wrecked. Her mind—
Cheers erupted as Louisa won. Another round, they said. Another round.
"Do you want to join us, Fraulein Maria?" Brigitta asked. Shake head. No, thank you.
She watched as Louisa's eyes flickered from person to person, blue eyes blank. Blue eyes stoic. Blue eyes calm. Blue eyes cool. Slender fingers moved slightly—movements so calculated—hand clutching four cards. Cards laid down one by one. Diamonds. Clubs. Spades. Hearts. Queens. All. Another triumph—another shout of joy. Louisa's eyes remained stoic—emotions behind a wall, though it sparkled gently under yellow light.
She wished she could be like Louisa.
Louisa looked at her, grin wide, genuine and pure. Louisa jumped up and hugged her tight, reveling in her victory—Louisa, Louisa, darling Louisa. Heart kept hidden unless she must let go. Knowing when to hide and when to show herself. Louisa, sure of her movements. Calculated, precise, adventurous, spontaneous, confident, caring.
She wished she could be like Louisa.
How absurd to envy a thirteen year old, she thought. Yet she did. Gosh, she did.
She buried her face into her pillow once she had washed her face and prepared to go to sleep. She simply wanted to wake up and forget—to wake up and find that she was back in the abbey, ready to take her vows. To wake up and find that she was happy that she was to live the life she was born to live. To wake up and find that everything was alright. But—
But she was not alright.
She felt a clawing in her chest—a clawing from within that she could not stop. Each swipe of the claw made her want to cry out, yet painful as it was, it never managed to tear through her flesh. It clawed over and over and over—unceasing, incessant, each swipe more painful than the last, tearing through nothing. Bleeding. Cannot breathe. She curled herself into a ball as she suppressed a scream. Tears rolled down her cheeks—streaming down in currents. Swift. Deadly. As the tears flowed, she allowed herself to mourn the remains of her burned-down past—amongst the ashes, she lay. The pages of the future she had written so legibly, so carefully, torn and thrown to the wind. Everything she had imagined. Gone. Gone. Gone.
The world outside seemed to mourn with her—rain poured in torrents as wind whipped wildly. Thunder boomed and lightning illuminated the sky terrifyingly—veins like thin, shriveled fingers, sharp, pointed nails that seemed to claw, and claw, and claw— She clutched her blanket close to her. She felt cold. So cold. So cold.
What was she to do n—
A loud scream filled her ears.
Wiping her tears with the back of her hands and pulling herself together, she rushed out of bed, put on her dressing gown, and managed to stumble into the hallway. All the lights were closed. The hall dark, dim, empty, and cold. Power had probably been knocked out due to the thunderstorm, she frowned. The thunderstorm. Determined, she made her way to the children's rooms—the moonlight streaming through windows, her guide. Entering Marta and Gretl's room briskly, she found Gretl bundled up in her own bed—fast asleep, shadows casting on her face, lightning illuminating it, gone immediately, yet Gretl didn't seem to care. She was snoring soundly, arms tight around her pillow.
But on the left was Marta, clutching onto Mr. Snuffles—her beloved stuffed duck with a wayward beak. Shaky moonlight glinting on her silvered tears, sobs muffled. Maria rushed to Marta's side, cradling the girl in her arms. Marta burrowed herself deeper in Maria's embrace as thunder boomed and lightning struck. From these flashes of light, Maria protected the girl. Raindrops on roses, and whiskers on kittens, she began. Bright copper kettles and warm woollen mittens. Brown paper packages, tied up with string…
"These are a few of my favourite things," Marta sang weakly. Though Maria could barely see the girl's face, Maria knew that a small smile made its way to Marta's face. There was no mistaking it—each word she sang was lighter, less laden. Maria almost sobbed with relief.
As they finished singing about their favourite things, Marta tugged on Maria's sleeve.
"Fraulein Maria?" She asked softly.
"Yes, darling?"
"I'm so happy you're back," she sighed, and Maria could only smooth the girl's hair beneath her palm. Did she feel the same? As much as she loved the children—
"I am, too, darling—I'm happy to be here, with you," she whispered softly, gently, lovingly—it was true to an extent. Here with you. Here with Marta in her arms. Here with Gretl. Here with Liesl and Friedrich, Louisa and Kurt, and Brigitta. She was happy here with them—just with them. She felt—
"Do you love us?"
"Of course, I do," she crooned softly, suddenly feeling pangs of guilt stab against her chest. "I'm so sorry I ever gave you reason to doubt it," she pulled the girl closer to her chest.
"What about Father?"
"Well, I'm sure your father loves you, too."
"No, do you love Father?"
What? Panic seeped into her veins, and—
"Liesl said that Frau Schmidt said that father tried to telephone you many times, but you didn't pick up to talk to him. Do you hate him?"
"No, sweetheart. It's just that… I'm not the one who owns the telephone, the abbey does. Anyone can pick it up. And I think it would have been better if I hadn't talked to your father either. But no, I do not hate him."
"Then you love him?"
"I—"
"Because if you don't hate him, then you must love him, right? Because they're opp—oppy—oppyse—"
"Opposites, darling," she corrected gently.
"Because they're opposites. So if you don't hate him, then you love him?"
"It's not as simple as that, darling."
"Oh."
Silence.
He called? Many times? For what? For— Outside, the heavens continued to rage—rain lashing against the windows, flashes of lightning, booms of thunder. Why must the thunder be so angry? It makes me want to cry, Marta said once. Maria kept the girl closer.
"Do you think you can get some sleep now, Marta?" She whispered.
"I think so. But can we sing about our favourite things again?" The girl giggled softly.
"We can, but very softly. We don't want to wake Gretl, do we?"
"No," Marta grimaced slightly. "I'm glad she hasn't woken because of the storm yet. She's very loud when she wakes up."
Hearing it, Maria couldn't help but smile.
Softly, she sang to Marta—sang with Marta. Marta murmured the words under her breath quietly—the soft notes floating in the air, surrounding both she and her governess in a tender embrace. Silver white winters that melt into spring—these are a few of my favourite things. Marta yawned, head resting on Maria's arm. When the dog bites—
A beam of light came from afar—through the open doors of the girls' room, seeking the occupant on the bed. Behind the yellowed beam was a darkened figure—she knew that there was a figure. Obviously, there was, or who could possibly be holding the torch? But she wasn't sure—
"Oh, hello," she said quietly, gently, as the figure neared the window, turning the torch off. His face was clear under the moonlight. She found herself looking away.
"I—er—I looked for Marta and Gretl in Liesl's room," he admitted sheepishly. "I hadn't realized that they were here."
Silence.
"Is Marta asleep?"
"Yes."
"Ah."
"She was awoken by the storm and the power outage earlier, though," she said softly, arranging the covers over Marta and dear Mr. Snuffles. "But she—um—she managed to calm down a little and go back to sleep."
"I see. That's good," he nodded awkwardly.
"I think she's settled now," Maria stood slowly. "It must be around three in the morning now, Captain. I ought to head off to—ow," she grimaced as her calf hit the corner of the bed. She couldn't see very well, but she heard the quick patter of footsteps, and she felt hands—his hands—gripping her arms, helping her up.
"I—uhm—I can get up on my own, thank you," she said, slightly shaking her arms, ridding herself of— As quickly as she can, she walked to the door, yet she found herself— "Ah!"
As she bumped into the doorframe, she stumbled backwards—onto him. The hard planes of his chest against her back, his arms around her. Third arm of the clock moving—faster, faster, faster as they stood still—against time, pretending it didn't run, pretending for just a moment that— The second arm of the clock moving, and time seemed to— The first arm of the clock moved, and the sound of chimes and bells filled the hall—filling the room with its music. She closed her eyes.
"Please let me go," she pleaded softly as he held her tighter. I ask you to stay. I want you to stay. You are here to stay? Stay. "Please don't make this harder than it already is," she whispered, freeing herself. She walked down the hall, to her room, One foot in front of the other. One step after the other. Away. Away. A—
"Do you think that it's easy to?"
She turned. Stunned as his voice echoed—around her, through her, within her. The blue of his irises glowed in dark nothingness—and she was powerless, defenseless. Her towers and gates and walls, long demolished, in its debris and dust she had mourned. Standing here, with him, in the middle of the night, she had nothing left to protect her, and she felt his gaze go right through her—read into her every thought, running through every word that crossed her mind, understanding every emotion that passed through her eyes and bled from her heart. And it was in this moment that she had come to realize that in this darkness—in this circumstance—she could read him—plain and clear, as he read her.
"I've retraced my steps, turned back the clock fifteen times the past fifteen days to the night of the day we met, wishing I could find you here. There's this loud screaming in my head telling me that I must let go of you, but how can I? I cannot seem to be rid of you, no matter how desperately I want to."
"Don't. Please," she whispered—not being able to take it to acknowledge her epiphany. Not wanting to hear a single word because she knew that despite both their wishes, she would be compelled to stay—which, in every case, she can't. Perhaps she was a coward, after all, she thought. Selfish and cruel. But it would be the wiser choice. Forget. Forget. Forget. "Please don't."
Please go.
Quiet.
I want you to stay.
I ask you to stay.
You are here to stay?
She heard him sigh—his gaze still on her, then the sound of his footsteps—farther, farther, farther. She walked to her room slowly—moonbeams guiding her path. She paused suddenly, standing in the light—drowning herself in its silvery glow—attempting to catch a moonbeam in her hand, only to step out of the light and see it gone. Gone. Gone. Gone. She frowned.
Reaching her room, she closed the door behind her and climbed onto her bed, burrowing herself under the covers. The rain had subsided now, she realized, lessening to a drizzle, and eventually coming to a stop. But it did not seem to erase the damage it had caused—the destruction it had brought—the pain, the sadness, the devastation. It did not make it any less. Did not diminish it. Did not erase the fact that it was imprinted so boldly in her memory.
I want you to stay.
I ask you to stay.
You are here to stay?
Please go.
Quiet.
She woke once more, sunlight streaming through her windows. This room was not her room, she observed. She had been here before—and she finally remembered that she was back at the von Trapp villa. Right. The von Trapp villa—the familiar cream-coloured ceiling, the blue drapes (never again did she see green or patterned drapes in the villa), and that particular chair positioned right there. Only, no one had been sitting there when she last saw it. And now, Captain von Trapp was sitting there.
He was asleep. His hair was disheveled. A curl had fallen over his eyes, his shirt untucked, and his arm crossed in front of his chest. She found herself staring at him as he slept—he looked so peaceful. Not tortured. Not pleading. Not hardened—just as she had seen earlier today. Not—
Why was he here?
As if he felt that she had been staring at him, he began to stir, and she averted her gaze, pulled the covers closer to her chest, and closed her eyes, pretending to be asleep.
"I know you're awake," his smooth voice reached her ears, and she found herself opening her eyes so quickly, it hurt. She could feel herself making a face, and turning her head to face him, he laughed. "How are you feeling?"
"My head aches a little," she said truthfully. She hadn't slept too well last night, she thought—rather, early in the morning. And—She propped herself up against the pillows despite his protests. She raised an eyebrow, and he merely sighed.
"Erhm, would you like something to eat?" Shake head. Smile—attempt to smile. He merely nodded, yet she knew that he didn't fully believe her. And just as she was going to say something, her stomach growled. He let out a laugh, and she smiled at him sheepishly. "I'll go ask for some stewed apples, lo—Maria."
She could see that he was trying to restrain himself—eyes cloudy, fingers twitching at his side, posture stiff. He stood there awkwardly, staring at her curiously—with an intensity she knew she hadn't understood, with an intimacy that she had not grasped. She felt a tingle in her chest, as if… as if... in another life, in another time, she had known it—understood it, grasped it, felt it—lived it. The tingle turned into clawing. As if something had wanted to break free inside of her, yet some part of her refused to let it.
"Captain?" She asked softly, her voice wavering—faltering as she watched as his eyebrows slowly furrowed, and his eyes grew dim—storms arising, grey clouding the sky. She could not bear to look at him. How could she? She could not possibly. So she did not. "Why are you here?"
"You are recuperating, Maria, and someone has to—"
"No," she said firmly, surprising even herself. "I want to know why you're here," she said quietly, then, with courage she did not possess, she turned her head to look at him. Yet… she could not bear to see the familiar look in his eyes—the whirlpool of emotions in them, look of hope, the look of worry, the look of— "Captain—G-Georg, please," she whispered—pained, choked, teary, tired, softly.
Moments passed, and she realized that she had not understood what she was asking of him. She saw it in his eyes, and to see him this way... to see him this way had pained her to no end. It felt like being pricked by a thousand needles at once. Being submerged in ice cold water. As he held her gaze, she found that she could not breathe. Her breath stuck in her throat. Suffocating as she waited. She waited. She waited. Tell me, please.
"Because I love you. I do, I love you, Maria," he said softly. "Yet in some cruel twist of fate, you seem not to remember me, or how I love you—or how you loved me. I sit here, minute after minute after minute, watching you as you sleep, living for the hope of it all, trying to remember every moment we've spent together. Every word, every smile, every touch, every kiss—because though I don't want to, the memories are slipping beyond my grasp, and I—" he breathed—restrained, constricted, calculated.
"I don't want to lose you. I stay here because I love you—because I remember you, and the hope remains that one day, you'll remember me. I stay here because I love you, and I want to remember you, and I want you to come back to me," he whispered. She watched as she closed his eyes and not being able to look at her, turned away. Sensing unwanted air in the room, he nodded, and began to walk away, yet—
"Stay… please stay," she immediately caught his hand in hers, and as she did, she saw the world pass through her eyes—memories not hers dancing across her mind. Smiles and laughter. And touches and kisses. His arms around her, pulling her close. Dancing coming to a stop. The children around her. Trees and lakes and walks and— She awoke, breathing heavily. Heart pounding. Eyes stinging. Hands shaking.
It was difficult. So difficult.
The Maria in her dreams had been too late, she frowned bitterly. And she found that she had been wrong. So wrong. It was not easier to simply forget and start over. It was not easier for her to see pain and not know how to ease any of it. To pretend that things will be alright. As if one was not stuck in the past, haunted by ghosts and shadows that one doesn't seem to remember. There was no easier choice, she thought. There was only the harder path. The wiser path.
The wiser path.
Breathe.
You have to live the life you were born to live.
I cannot seem to be rid of you, no matter how desperately I want to.
Stay.
I can't.
A/N
Just one more chapter to go, yay!
Gosh, this chapter terrified me more than anything. It was seriously impossible to write because I couldn't bear to see them this tortured, even after attempting to numb myself via listening to Taylor Swift's coney island on loop (I thought I was numb, but nope!) Anyways, I really hope that it ended up making sense, and I hope you liked it!
Also, thank you so much for all the love you sent. You really do warm my heart so, so, so much.
Sending love :)