Chapter 20: back to reality

Marshall was happy. He smiled at the first sight of sunlight as he stretched in his somewhat clean sheets. He was out like a light after he came home from the charity, and kissed Fionna goodnight there. It was a Monday, and he was still ingrained to hate Monday's since preschool. Yet he couldn't be mad if he tried. Breakfast and getting dressed was a breeze, and walking to work was even better. Marshall knew with every step he was closer and closer to Fionna. It sounded cheesy to him, but it was the truth. He wanted to make her as happy as she made him without even trying. She knew he was completely enslaved to her, he practically pledged himself like a boy scout the other night. He had managed to remember to ask to swap numbers, and had texted with her all day and in to the night. Marshall was experiencing something he hadn't felt in years. Puppy love.

He came closer and closer to his shop, and passed by hers as usual. She was at the counter writing some things down. She wore a long white skirt, almost 50's style to match her shop, along with a short sleeved button up tied around her waist. Both her skirt and shirt had flowers that appeared to be painted on. Marshall stopped in front of her store and bit his lip as he tried to decide whether or not he would go in. He didn't see why not. It wasn't like going in to her house, or her bedroom (although he wouldn't mind that). The sign did say closed, but when he turned the handle it easily popped open. An old fashioned bell rang as the door opened and shut behind him. The room had a distinct floral smell along with a certain kind of sweetness. It wasn't the flowers, it was too artificial. There was also a trace of fruit which implied the used of air freshener.

"Sorry, I'm closed right now, come back around 10," she spoke softly, not bothering to look up from what she was writing on. Marshall was surprised by the sound of her voice. She sounded almost…sad. He brushed it off and came up behind her to wrap his arms around her waist. He felt her stiffen and pressed a kiss to her neck in attempt to pacify her. Fionna relaxed once she recognized the feel of Marshall's hands and mouth on her body and closed her eyes as he kissed her jaw.

"Good morning," he murmured. Fionna sighed and turned around to face him and wasn't surprised when he instantly kissed her. His lips were soft and addicting as always, yet she somehow managed to push him back slowly. She looked down and away, gnawing on her bottom lip.

"What's wrong?" Marshall asked. Fionna was silent for a moment and took a deep breath.

"Marshall…I really like you," she started. He smiled.

"I really like you too," he said and hugged her waist tightly. Fionna ignored how much she adored the way he held her and cleared her throat.

"I get that, you told me that a couple nights ago," she reminded him. He chuckled.

"Yeah, sorry for being so sappy. Something about you brings that out of me," he spoke softly and leaned in to kiss her again. She pushed him back again, and guiltily looked him in the eye.

"Sorry," he appeared to not be offended by her denial, and simply enjoy holding her instead. Fionna sighed.

"Marshall…I did some thinking," she said, her voice sounding more weak that sad now. His smile faltered, and was replaced with a concerned frown.

"What's wrong? Did something happen?" He asked. She shook her head, paused, and then nodded.

"What happened?"

"I just…I was thinking last night. A-and I dunno, Marshall…" she didn't want to say what she had to.

"Don't know what?" He asked, starting to look confused. She wasn't making much sense to him.

"I-I dunno about us…" she said shyly, feeling her eyes start to water. Marshall blinked, and just noticed her puffy red eyes, her red nose, and overall disheveled appearance. He instantly felt bad for her.

"Shit, Fi, don't feel bad about that," he cooed and rubbed her back affectionately.

"If it's too soon, it's too soon. Don't worry about it," he assured her and pulled her in for a hug. Fionna shook her head as she buried it in to his neck.

"I-I'm sorry, I just can't do this," she muffled in to his shirt.

"That's okay, it's fine. Don't worry," he hushed. She started to weep against his chest and she wrapped her arms around his neck. Marshall pitied the girl wrapped in his arms as she tried to control her sobs.

"God…why do you want to be with such a mess?" She asked. He assumed it was probably rhetorical, but he answered anyways.

"You're not a mess, you're just human. You should go easier on yourself," he told her.

"All I've done around you is cry…I'm sorry," she cried.

"Shh…it's okay to cry," he assured her and rubbed her back gently.

"God, I am so sorry…I'm so sorry…" she whimpered. Marshall didn't know how to reply as she sputtered an endless string of apologies and sobs.

"Cake?" Marshall spoke as soon as the other line stopped ringing.

"Hey, Marshall," she answered. He glanced at his clock. It was midnight.

"How's Fionna?" He asked eagerly.

"She's asleep, and she told me what happened today," she informed him.

"Yeah…I feel like shit," he muttered.

"She feels bad too."

"I know, and that's why I feel bad. I just want her to be happy, and if that means not being with me…I'm fine with that," he sighed and leaned back on his bed.

"You really like her. She said that's what made it so hard."

"I didn't mean to."

"I know."

"Is she going to work tomorrow?" He asked.

"No. She's taking a few days off because I'm forcing her to."

"That's good. You're a good friend to her."

"I try."

Marshall chuckled and was silent for a moment.

"Do you…I can't help but be curious, but do you know what brought this up? It seemed like she was pretty happy by the end of the charity thing…"

"I don't know either, all she's said is how guilty she feels. When I ask her about it, she would just shake her head or something."

"Do you think it's anything to do with left over guilt from that one guy?" He questioned.

"Hmm…maybe, she did recently talk about him. She usually can't talk about him much without crying."

"Okay…call me if you need me, okay?" He said.

"Okay. Get some rest, Marshall. I don't want you falling on your face when you're in the middle of a tattoo," she sassed. Marshall breathed a chuckled.

"Got it. G'night," he smiled.

"Goodnight, lover boy."

He hung up his phone and laid on his back for a moment. His eyes traced the stains on his ceiling from the floor above him. It was always dirty, and he couldn't be bothered to clean it. Moments passed as he debated falling asleep or going to the kitchen and grabbing a beer to drown his miseries. The conflict in his brain was too much to think about. It had gotten to the point where he argued with himself so much his mind went blank. He wanted to be angry, yet he couldn't manage for any longer than a minute. Normally whenever he had to deal with things like this he would pick someone up for the night to forget about her. But this wasn't normal. He could feel in his chest the weight of the pain he tried so hard to deny.

The young artist sat up from his bed and combed his fingers through his messy hair. A sigh escaped his lips and he forced himself to stand up and walk to his kitchen. His brain was telling him to just go to sleep, and avoid staying up for as long as possible. For some reason he ignored himself and popped open a cold can of beer. The sour smell instantly dumbed his senses as he allowed the drink to sedate him. Within three sips he was reminiscing in her laugh and her smile. With no direction, he lazily paced around his apartment and glanced down at the sketches he had scattered around his coffee table. Cheap pencils and pens littered the un-crumpled papers and underneath the table, and eraser crumbs were swept to the edges. The last thing he drew was a bluebell. It wasn't his best, but it was his first time trying that species of flower and was using a reference from Google images. He sipped his beer again and sat down to examine his drawings more closely. His brain was stuck going back and forth between his drawings and little things she has said to him. He thought of how he could improve his line work, yet at the same time he thought of how many times she insulted him. It was only when he picked up a pencil and started working on a fresh sheet of paper did his brain start to get along with itself. He had no idea what he was drawing, all he knew was that he needed a distraction. His phone went off when he had gotten started on the details but declined the call without even looking at the caller ID. He had a good idea of who it was, and he didn't really want to talk to that person anytime soon.