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Coconut Trees
by Anton M

Chapter 8: What Happened

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Darcy slid his hand under most of her clothes, and Elizabeth let herself sink against him. She'd missed him, his scent and warmth and care, and it was a wonder to feel his body against hers again. The circumstances could've been better, but they were here, both alive, and she didn't know what she would've done had Darcy died in the plane crash she survived.

"I never knew. I never thought of it."

"When would you have known? Your schedule was pretty tight and I never studied around you."

"Why did you never tell me?" Darcy asked against her ear, and it was easy for Elizabeth to close her eyes and imagine that they were in his apartment, wrapped in each other.

"I couldn't have."

"I would've understood."

Darcy squeezed her back. She slid her hand to rest on his chest, and she could've sworn her heart tightened when he put his hand on top of hers.

"I don't have a diagnosis."

"Why not?"

Elizabeth hesitated, and they listened to the voices of the other survivors, whispering, laughing, chattering away. The sounds felt surreal, but the wind had, thankfully, died down somewhat.

Finally, letting out a breath, Elizabeth said, "I'm scared."

Darcy pushed her hat away from her eyes, and his lips brushed against her ear. "Why?"

Elizabeth had missed the care in his voice.

"If it turns out I don't have it, then everything everyone's ever said about me is true."

"That's not possible."

"It very much is," she argued. "There's so many people who have dyslexia whose lives are barely changed. It feels like… I should've been more normal, more capable. I keep hearing of people overcoming it and yet I… I don't know how."

"Your parents failed you, Elizabeth. You were never given the means, and anyone else's experience with mild dyslexia should not invalidate the severity of yours."

"But what if I don't have it? What if I'm just stupid?"

"Elizabeth, you are brilliant," Darcy whispered. "You have the best memory of anyone I know. It makes arguing with you quite frustrating because you always remember when I contradict myself." He paused, squeezing her. "I don't know how to apologise for giving you a hard time. I never realised how much I hurt you."

"You were no different from everyone else in my life."

"Two wrongs don't make a right. How can I make up for how things ended between us?"

They'd argued over Elizabeth's studies. Darcy thought she failed her exams on purpose. He thought she'd recklessly chosen a degree she didn't care for and maybe that's why she couldn't get better grades. He did not filter himself well when he was stressed or tired, and he'd made careless comments to Elizabeth.

Once, he had stepped into a gas station where Elizabeth worked, with his father, and Darcy was so taken aback by her presence that he behaved as if she was a casual acquaintance to him. In the evening, it grew into their first real fight – in Elizabeth's eyes, he was ashamed of her.

They survived the fight, but Elizabeth discovered that the Darcy she knew became a different man around his father, a high class man from a wholly different world of proper manners and etiquette. When Darcy took Elizabeth to one of the events where behaviour was of utmost importance, she carried herself admirably but did not enjoy the experience, and her admiration for Anne grew a thousandfold for being able to stand the posh crowd for so many decades.

Darcy introduced her to his father, Mr. George Darcy, and the senior Darcy almost behaved as if Elizabeth didn't exist. To Darcy's credit, he stayed loyally by her side and enjoyed her company as much as ever, but his relationship to his father was a tricky one. Anne, who wanted Darcy's father to remain in his life, encouraged his relationship with his father, but Elizabeth did not like who Darcy became around him. He became stressed and tight-lipped, even rude, and sometimes it took Elizabeth several hours to get him out of his head after they met him.

Darcy met her family, too, and his instant dislike of her mother was only paralleled by Elizabeth's mum's admiration for what a high class man she'd caught. Her comments about making sure Elizabeth got knocked up – because how else would a man like him stay with a girl like her? – did not fall on deaf ears, and Elizabeth was sure she would die of shame. Darcy did not mention it, but she felt his disapproval deeply.

It was not all Darcy, making mistake after mistake, that caused issues between them. Elizabeth had a habit of seeking reasons for Darcy's behaviour where, sometimes, none existed. Darcy did not actually often comment on anything relevant to Elizabeth's intelligence, it was just that Elizabeth was so used to seeing it and looking for it and being self-conscious of it that sometimes she saw disapproval where none existed. She saw his comments in a light that suited what she feared his intentions to be rather than what he actually meant.

All of this contributed to their break-up and yet, it had not been even close to the catalyst.

When they first started dating, Caroline had pulled away from them both, but slowly, she became friendly again with Elizabeth. Elizabeth welcomed it. She had no ill will towards the woman, and they got to know each other better. She thought her harmless crush had passed and she enjoyed getting to know Bingley's sister.

Darcy and Elizabeth had dated two months and a week when Elizabeth arrived at his place after a long day of school, having received marks that made her further doubt her (ability and) intention to finish her degree. She'd found a free course for amateur photographers and spent four hours, three evenings a week, desperate to learn the skills she wanted. She was dead tired and she really, really needed to pee.

Darcy was straddling a barstool when Elizabeth let herself in with the key he'd given her a week before. He watched as she slid off her shoes.

The sight of his soft smile washed away her bad day. Resting her hands on his thighs, she pulled herself on her tiptoes and kissed him. He held her against him, his grip firm but tender, and she could drown in the scent of him.

When it was just the two of them, they were incredible together. They had chemistry like nobody's business, and she didn't know happiness like this existed.

He held his forehead against hers, smiled against her lips and covered her hands on his thighs. "I love you, you know."

Her stomach somersaulted as he, for the first time, said the words she felt. She grinned and blushed under his gaze, and she really, really needed to pee.

Not missing a beat, he slid his arms around her, trapping her against him, and brushed his cheek against hers. "Would you say yes if I asked you to marry me?"

She might've flown away from the knowledge that he wanted that with her, but it was combined with the sheer shock of being proposed to, two months in, and knowing that they both had a long way to go to be ready for that step. She didn't not want to marry him, but to say that she was ready would've been a lie.

Her emotions mixed, and, happy but stunned, Elizabeth cupped his face and gave him a firm, happy kiss before she whispered, "Give me two seconds or I will pee my pants as we talk."

He grinned against her lips, and – glad that he didn't take her lack of reply as a rejection – Elizabeth ran to the bathroom to relieve herself. She stood in front of his mirror after washing her hands, thinking, grinning, observing their toothbrushes together.

Darcy was an intense guy to date. He did not hide what he wanted or how he wanted it, and he was not scared to say things. He could come across as rude and harsh to relative strangers, but he cared deeply for those he loved, and he did not, apparently, care about the speed of a relationship. With all his flaws, Elizabeth loved him like she'd never loved anyone, and she hoped to convince him that they both needed time to take a step as serious as the one he was testing the waters for.

Yet, when she returned, the light in Darcy's eyes was gone, and he stood, stiff as a board, in front of the counter.

"Who's Richard?"

"What?"

"Who's Richard?"

"I don't –"

He held out her phone to her with messages on the locked screen.

"Open it," Elizabeth said. "I have no idea who you're talking about. I have nothing to hide."

Darcy did as he was told, and he opened the messages. When he pressed play, one of the audio recordings started playing, and it was Elizabeth's voice… saying suggestive things she'd never said to a person she'd never met. She blinked at her phone. It didn't make sense.

Darcy's face looked ashen as he locked eyes with her, but he quickly averted his eyes and slid the phone closer to her. Her voice, Elizabeth's voice, was still talking, and yet it wasn't her. Whatever audio recording Darcy was playing, Elizabeth had never said those words. Nothing made sense.

He scrolled upwards, and there were messages, long messages, conversations she'd never had saying things she'd never said, and Darcy paused on one of them. Later, when studying the messages, Elizabeth learned that she – or whoever it was, pretending to be her – claimed to want to live on Darcy's money while, supposedly, loving and wanting to be with Richard. She had no clue what the hell was going on.

Who the fuck was Richard?

Darcy pressed her lock button and stood back, sliding the phone to her. "I think you should leave."

"Darcy, I swear to you, I've no clue who that is or where these messages came from. I've never seen them before in my life. Please believe me."

Even she had to admit that sounded a lot like the dog ate my homework, and she knew her face was white as a sheet. She was scared. She would lose him over this if she couldn't figure out how to prove it wasn't her, and she didn't know how to. It was her voice. How the fuck was it her voice?

"The least you could do is admit it."

"I –"

"Never mind about my question," he said, clearing his throat. "Or that other thing. Clearly, I didn't even know who the fuck I was dating."

"Darcy, I promise I've never, ever –"

"Please leave. I can't look at you."

"Darcy, please listen to me –"

"Why would you do that to me!" he shouted. "Is this where you've been all these evenings? You couldn't have broken up with me first, knowing what you know about my parents?!"

Elizabeth had nothing to say. She wouldn't have believed herself, either, and it broke her to see him believe the worst of her and not be able to defend herself.

"I wasn't even your first, was I? That must've been really awkward for you. Did you laugh about how inexperienced I was behind my back?"

Elizabeth felt sick to her stomach, and she failed to hold back her tears. His pain was brutal to experience and not be able to soothe, knowing that this is where they would end things.

She didn't know how to make it better, but when he, in his anger, started saying unkind things to her, she responded in kind. Their fight escalated. Brutal words were shared, more with the intent to cut than anything, and they both unravelled some old arguments that had never truly healed. He said things about her education and her mother, she said things about his judgement of her and his relationship with his father. After half an hour of shouting, Elizabeth started putting her stuff in her backpack, wiping her face dry in her shoulder. Darcy watched in silence. She knew his eyes were simmering with tears but he did not move to wipe them, and she did not dare look at him.

She wanted to believe that they would've survived this other fight, this unraveling of old arguments, but she wasn't sure. He was broken and she didn't know how to fix it. Maybe tomorrow, she'd figure out what the hell happened and try to talk to him.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. The door clicked shut after her, and she heard his cry before a glass shattered. She jumped at the sound. Realising that she was still holding his keys, she quickly unlocked the door, placed them on the floor inside, and shut the door.

Elizabeth leaned against the wall of the hallway until a neighbour passed. She gave a teary attempt at a smile before taking one last look at Darcy's door and turning around.

Their break-up was the last day she saw Darcy before they both boarded flight 9122 together. She'd often wondered what it would've been like to see him again, but she certainly hadn't imagined this scenario.

"I didn't believe you," Darcy said.

"I can't blame you."

"I can."

He started coughing, and she leaned against the back of the chairs, taking her weight off of him. He pulled her against him after he was done, and she couldn't help but let herself relax against his body when she was sure his coughing fit was over.

"Had the roles been reversed, I don't know if there was anything in the world you could've said that would've convinced me it wasn't you."

"But I cut you off. I blocked you. I even blocked Bingley. I never gave you the opportunity."

"I can't blame you," she repeated.

"Did you– did you try contacting me?"

"Yes," she replied, simply, not elaborating on how many days she'd hovered by his apartment complex, hoping to see him, how many error-ridden emails she'd written him, how many messages she'd sent. She even considered contacting Anne, but it felt like a bigger risk given what Darcy thought she'd done.

"How long did it take for you to believe me?"

"Too long," he said. "Months. It was only after my mum passed that Bingley told me. But you were gone, and you didn't reply to anything."

"I took off to Northern Ireland for an internship as a wedding photographer's assistant. I was –" She didn't know how to describe how heartbroken she was after they broke up. "I was… trying to focus, and – learn to get to know myself. My parents gave me a week to move out when I could no longer hide that I dropped out, and I… Jane and Bingley were ready to take me in, but I had this really kind teacher who recommended me for this internship and I… I really needed time away from everyone."

"Your parents made you move out?"

"Yeah. I had an agreement with them that I could stay home as long as I was studying, and when I could no longer hide that I dropped out, they made me hold my end of the bargain. It's fair if you consider it."

"Elizabeth," Darcy whispered, horrified. "That is not fair. You are their daughter as much as your sisters. Do your sisters have these conditions?"

"No, but they are… good at things. School, grades, a promising future, all the stuff that matters to them. They don't need incentives to stay in school."

"I should've been there for you. I would've taken you in."

"You blocked Bingley, Darcy, just to make sure you didn't hear a thing from me. I'm not saying I blame you, but even if I ever considered coming to you, you would've never taken me in."

Darcy squeezed her against him, and his voice was full of pain. "I'm so sorry."

"You are not at fault," she replied, pausing. "How did you find out that I was telling the truth?"

"Bingley told me a few days after my mum's funeral. He was pissed at me, obviously. I'd never cut him out like that before. He was disappointed that I wouldn't trust him to not talk about you, and then he proceeded to do just that. I would've thrown him out had he not been so… right about everything. But he kept his word – it was the last time he brought you up in a conversation."

"Did you ever speak to Caroline after what she did?"

"A few times," Darcy said. "I'm not sure if she thought that she'd have a shot with me, with you out of the way, or if she thought it was a fun experiment to run on us, but she didn't know that you told Jane, which meant that Bingley knew, and then I knew, after he told me."

"What did you say to her?"

"I said – many things. I was pretty ruthless. I made her cry."

When Elizabeth hesitated, Darcy put his mitten-clad hand on her neck and asked, "What?"

"I'm conflicted," Elizabeth replied. "On the one hand, you can be – brutal, and I feel for anyone who cannot earn your forgiveness, but, on the other… I made her sob when I figured it out, and I almost feel she deserved it."

"Making her cry is not a big enough punishment for what she did," he said. "How did you figure it out?"

"I didn't, at first. That first night, I –" Elizabeth took a breath, not eager to elaborate the level of pain she felt for herself and for Darcy. "I didn't understand anything. But then, the next morning, I started going through the messages, they were only sent on three nights, all of them when I was at Bingley's, and she'd always been there, and I'd sometimes fallen asleep because I was… exhausted. But to use an audio deepfake… I realised that after I remembered my discussions with Mr. Hurst. He works in a company writing code for machine learning. I refused to believe it at first, because she'd started to be nice to me, but then the next time I visited Bingley I could tell by the look in her eyes that she expected something. A reaction. An announcement of our break-up. I tried all available means of reaching out you, then, but as you know –"

"I blocked you."

"Yeah," she whispered. "Did you move as well?"

"No, I… used the inner courtyard. It opens to the opposing street."

Elizabeth would've smacked herself on the forehead had she not felt so content and warm in his arms. "Of course."

"How did she open your phone?"

"I probably googled something around her and I've never hidden my lock pattern from anyone. Didn't even occur to me."

Elizabeth tried to move away when Darcy started clearing his throat, but he held her firmly against himself and did not let her move away. She loved his safe grip on her and she felt infinitely precious when he started running his hand back and forth on her back.

"Do you ever wonder how things would've gone had she not done what she did?" Darcy asked.

"Sometimes," she said, wistfully. "But I think the outcome would've been the same."

Darcy's hand stilled. "Why do you say that?"

"She incited our break-up but the rest of it we did ourselves. If it hadn't been that night, for that reason, it would've been another night for a different reason."

"You can't believe that."

"I do," she replied, with the kind of confidence that comes from having mulled over a sore topic for two years. "You should be with someone you're not ashamed to be with."

"Elizabeth," he whispered. "I was never ashamed to be with you."

She believed that he believed his words, but she did not.

"I know that there's not much to be proud of when you date me. I don't have a – fancy career or a degree. But maybe – maybe there is someone out there, even for me, who would not be ashamed to date me."

Her voice got quiet as her throat closed up. She bit the inside of her cheek. Whatever had instigated their break-up, the cold, hard fact of her lack of education would've driven them apart either way.

"You were always so clear about only wanting to date a woman who had a degree or was pursuing one, and… I think you should have that."

Her self-preservation did not allow her to ask him if he had a girlfriend, a fiancée or even a wife because she didn't think she could take his answer just yet, especially when her life was dependent on his body heat. But she wanted him to know that, in spite of her hurtful words to him when they broke up, she wanted him to be happy, even if she couldn't be a part of it.

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