white knight syndrome
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xvii
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It's much easier to think someone's the answer but people can't be answers, they're just more questions
— Alyssa, The End of the F*king World
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"You have my number, you can call me if you ever want to talk about what happened."
.
.
.
Her anxiety still exists despite her revelation. Her anxiety is always lingering, hovering like a pesky fly. It doesn't magically go away just because it's acknowledged.
Therefore, she's nervous.
Elsa. is. nervous. She's not the sort of person who does this. And by 'this', she means 'make unplanned phone calls'. She's not the kind who randomly invites someone out of the blue and has a chat.
No. If anything, you'd catch Elsa practising her speech in front of the mirror for a good hour, listing down what to say during conversations, tensing when her ringtone rang — a rare sound.
Elsa likes control and planning and order. Her social anxiety leaves her awkward with surroundings and people she barely knows (it took her practically forever to trust and befriend Lottie).
'Meet up'? — what a foreign concept.
Yes, she's gone out, many times with Anna to the grocery store; with Mulan to the movies; with Tiana and Lottie for lunch, but not this. Never this.
(The only other recollection she has with strangers in social settings she never agreed on is with Hans, when he was by 'her side' or whatever. But, he's not anymore. He's —)
"Elsa?" A voice calls out.
The memory comes to her suddenly; of the late hour, of finding Anna asleep on the couch, waiting for her big sister to return. Elsa remembers the way she had shaken Anna lightly by the shoulder and then Anna's eyes fluttering open in surprise.
"Can we talk it out?" Is what Elsa had said to the caller on the other line. It made her stomach turn.
Not because she had let the offer hang in the air as she clung onto the cool metal of her phone; not because it took a lot of fucking guts to be the person to reach out and ask, but because — Elsa had realised she used the exact same words Anna had said to her after she returned from the beach. The question had popped out of Anna's mouth as her freckled hand reacted, rubbing the sleep away from her vision.
It unnerves Elsa despite it being spoken without thought. All this to begin a conversation with Meg.
"Yeah, sure, I'm down with that." Meg answers on the other line.
"Thanks," Elsa replies, hopeful that she didn't need to swallow any falseness. "You can decide on the time." She says, wanting to play it cool.
"Is three PM okay?" Meg asks after a moment.
"That sounds good." Elsa grins, meaning it.
"You can decide on the place then," Meg tells her.
Elsa's smile never wavers. "Okay," She replies, her voice at ease.
.
.
.
And so, it would be at three.
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She's hit with a dizzy spell the moment she enters the shop and it doesn't get better when she takes a seat; all the words on the menu pretend to mean something and dangerous ideas gather. Her head spins and her stomach churns, the feeling of anxiety gathers and pools and stays.
The evils whisper to her, telling her to cancel. 'Maybe it's best if you go.' It said.
Elsa feels like running.
But then a new voice enters her head, asking if she should do it. If she could leave; leave as easily as Hans had, and that makes her stay.
She's so tired of this. She's so fucking tired of the panic and the blind terror that makes her feel like a fool.
Taking in a deep breath, Elsa bites down on her lower lip — hard, incisors sinking — and tries to empty her mind. She's going to calm down. She's going to sit and stay and face her fears. She will have this conversation with Meg. They will exchange words, damn it!
When she releases all the hot air in her lungs, she pushes the darkness that clouds her mind too. If she spends any more time overthinking her options and waiting too much then the opportunity might be gone and she will miss out on so much that could've happened.
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Elsa's sat somewhere she's familiar when Meg arrives — at a small tea shop that has its cakes and pastries presented by a big glass window, and tins of teas on the wall for customers to read and choose.
"Hey,"
"Hi." Elsa replies, returning Meg's greeting with a small smile.
Meg is as kind as she was the day she stumbled upon an intoxicated Elsa; she doesn't even hesitate in reaching over, touching Elsa's squared shoulder the same way she did at the clothes store. Elsa maintains her grin at the lingering heat, not flinching from the sudden contact.
"So, what shall we do now?" Meg asks as she takes a seat from across the blonde and picks up the menu facing her.
"Erm, have tea?"
"Not what I meant, you know that."
Elsa stares, taken aback by Meg's statement. Then she tells the brunette, "I thought we could ease into this slowly. I wanted to be polite."
"There's no need for pleasantries. Let's jump in. Let's have that talk. Let's have that discussion." Meg puts down the menu on the table, her purple eyes squinting. "Seriously, tell me what this is all about. What are you planning? Is it payback?"
"Payback?"
"Revenge," Meg rephrases.
Elsa's mouth forms into an 'o'. No. No. That's not what she means nor wants.
Meg recognises the genuine alarm Elsa is expressing; the shocked look is enough of a signal and Meg doubles back.
"Do you want to talk shit about him then? We could do that — or, do you want to scratch his shiniest car? Throw eggs at his house?" Meg muses then lets a curse slip under her breath, "But, damn, I don't know where he lives. Do you know his address?"
He's taken me there, but ... Elsa thinks. "Not exactly."
"Hmm, he does keep to himself." Meg states before shrugging and concluding, "Then I guess we'll just have to settle on talking shit about him."
Settle? On talking behind Hans' back?
Elsa chews on the bottom of her lip and resists the urge to fiddle with her blue headband, the one that pushes and tidied her long blonde bangs away from her face. Her hair is loose, falling over her shoulders, and she wonders if she should braid it, like that night at the party. That is, until the memory of him strikes her once again and Elsa forces her fidgeting hands to her lap.
A sinking feeling pools in her gut, and Elsa reaches over and lifts her cup of tea just so she would have something to do.
"What makes you think I want to do just that?" Elsa asks.
"Is this not the direction the conversation is going?" Meg asks back. "I figured you had fallen."
Huh? What could Meg mean by that?
"Fallen?" Elsa utters back the same time a waitress approaches Meg for her order. The daily special and drink options are recited before whatever Meg fancies is jolted down into a notepad, leaving Elsa with a bit of room to think.
Fallen ...?
Fallen in love?
"Yeah, fallen," Meg speaks up, pulling Elsa back to the present. For a moment, Elsa fears her suspicions are confirmed. But then, Meg continues, "Fallen for the oldest trick in the book: bitching to friends."
Oh!
"I'm not ... bitching. " Elsa says the last part quietly, her eyebrows scrunched together.
"Venting, then — whatever you want to call it."
"But, it's not that."
"Isn't it?" Meg asks.
Elsa pauses in thought, wondering if she needed to rant. Does she? Maybe just a bit. But, can she really 'settle' on it? Is venting all they can do? Can Elsa be satisfied to leave it at that?
No.
Certainly not.
Straightening her posture, Elsa replies, "It isn't." while shaking her head for extra measurements. Fire runs through her veins, fueling her. She can't lose sight of her motivation now.
"Alright, if that isn't it, then tell me what Joe did." Meg encourages.
Elsa's mouth tugs into a frown. How is Meg still misunderstanding her? "We're not here to talk about what Hans did,"
This earns a raised eyebrow. "We're not?"
"We're here to talk about Hans himself. I need you to tell me about his character."
"You need me to tell you about Joe?" Meg repeats, her tone still laced with confusion. "Sorry, but, I don't follow. I'm going to need some context here."
Context ...
A sharp inhale of breath fills her chest. Elsa freezes.
She knew it would have been inevitable to not explain what happened, she also knew that talking about the night's horrors would not come easily. She figured she was ready. And yet, when the sensation hits, she found she could not utter a single word. The memories come flooding back before sentences can squeeze out of her throat.
In her mind, Elsa recounts Hans' behaviour and the poison that dripped from his mouth; the feeling of gloom and doom as she just stood there, toes in the sand, and took the horror; re-living that trouble of his and her self-worth.
And then she's recalling the incident of when she was eight and Anna was five; the day everything went to shit; the source of her heartache. She's so consumed by the past that she forgets — for one moment — she forgets where she is. Elsa feels pressure building from behind her eyes, then —
A warm hand reaches over and clasps onto Elsa's clenched fist, holding her. Pulling her. "Elsa?"
Then, they're back to the present, back to the main reason they're here. No momentary distraction is not enough to keep her yesteryears away.
Elsa blinks, the foggy glaze melting. Her tea is still cooling and Elsa stares at it like her glare would will her drink to chill faster.
It does not work. So she steels herself and retracts her first onto her lap.
"I want to confront Hans on what he said." Elsa begins her explanation, pretending she hadn't just gotten lost in thought a second ago. "I think I know him, but I could be wrong and I could lose my bravado."
"Um." Meg hums. She pauses, not knowing what to say. "Um, okay. Joe can say cruel words, I can see why you would want to arm yourself to the teeth, but …" Meg sounds both perplexed and not convinced. "I still don't quite get how that relates to what happened?"
"I —" Elsa swallows. Elsa feels the need to flinch. Or at least, pull on her sleeve anxiously; exposing her pale arm the same way she should expose her heart. "I need to know about Hans. I want to tie up loose ends."
"Loose ends?"
"Yes. I need answers."
"Answers?" Meg's purple eyes search for some purchase. "Answers to what?"
"Of why Hans is the way he is. Of why he acted so horribly." Elsa replies.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Timeout." Meg raises her hands and forms a 'T'. "So you need answers from Joe himself to tie up some loose ends that you're currently dwelling over, but you come to me for said answers? I'm barely a bystander in all this, Elsa. Why are you talking to me about this and not him?"
"I'm going to confront him. I'm going to talk to him, I really am, I swear." Elsa reassures. "But I need your help. And, I can already tell that you're going to back out — however, know that it has to be you."
"Why?"
"Because you understand Hans." Elsa says, and tells herself that this is her biggest need: to have this discussion.
"Except that, I don't. Not really." Meg answers. Elsa's insistent expression falls and Meg's own face scrunches up, as if a dull ache is pulsing behind her temple. "Confronting Joe isn't like taking a test. I can't prep you about him. I mean, gurl. What kind of answers do you even need —? Wait, he didn't tell you why he did what he did?" Meg asks, genuinely surprised.
Elsa reels back. "I, I mean, he said he likes 'fixing things',"
"And?" Meg prods.
And? Elsa repeats, blinking. "And … that's it."
Meg throws her arms in the air. "Well, then, that's an answer, isn't it?"
"N — No. No, it's not." Elsa begins shaking her head again.
"What do you mean it's not the answer?"
"I mean, it doesn't explain anything." Her voice is thin, like ice on a frozen lake. "I just — I can't wrap my head around it. I don't believe —" Read as 'won't believe'. Elsa won't let herself believe it. "I can't accept it."
"Why?"
This moment feels like deja vu. It feels like they've had this conversation before — of Elsa asking and Meg denying. Meg looks ready to dust off her hands from any traces of dirt and call it a day.
"Why? " Elsa echoes. The feeling of restlessness builds suddenly and the need to explode consumes her.
Meg nods, "Why do you want this to be more than what it is? Is there even anything to understand?"
Elsa finds herself mute, her fingers digging into the fabric of her skirt, the same way they did with Anna's old t-shirt that was wrinkled and crumpled from sleeping on the couch. Oh, how she wants to be the opposite of quiet! How she wants to cause a scene, slam both hands on the table and scream. It would be so easy!
It is fortunate that the waitress chooses to return from the kitchen right then, setting down a cup of tea in front of Meg.
While formalities are being exchanged, Elsa tries to reason with herself. The last thing she wants is to be something disgustingly full of rage. She will not go on a monstrous rampage, but she will acknowledge that she's angered.
Elsa swallows, her throat feels dry despite gulping down tea minutes ago, but she pushes forward. "Because he said a few things about me, and it didn't sit right."
"About you?" Meg echoes.
"Yes, about — about who I am."
Meg leans back against her chair, considering the limited knowledge Elsa was willing to tell her. "Okay …" The brunette says. "Did it not sit right because he was wrong, or because it struck a nerve?"
Elsa's face twists. She blinks once, then twice. "Is there a difference?"
"You can't tell?"
"I —" Elsa picks up her drink then sets it back down. The conversation is starting to feel like pins and needles pricking at her. "I, of course, I can. Um, both … Both, I guess."
"Alright."
"So," Elsa presses on. "You can see why I need an answer then?"
Meg tosses two cubes of sugar into her hot tea and stirs. The clinking sound almost imitates the tick tick tick-ing of time. "Not exactly."
"Okay. Okay. Uh." Elsa passes a hand through her pale hair. "Look, I, it's … it's not enough. What he said to me; it's not enough and I'm … mad. I'm mad but I don't want to hurt him. I don't want to sink low like him. I don't want to be like him, but he — I'm —"
Her voice, along with her anger, is rising. She isn't sure who her fury is directed at. It's certainly not at Meg. But maybe it's towards herself for getting so involved with this whole thing.
Elsa sputters. "I'm a mess. I'm confused. And what he did to me, it wasn't just the bad parts that don't make sense to me. It's everything else. None of it made sense. But he … he told me everything. He explained it like he was some cartoon villain plotting a wicked scheme, and yet, I still can't see it. I can't see why he'd do such a thing."
The last part should have come out louder, like a boom of thunder, but Elsa lowers her voice.
Meg pauses, her teaspoon is held between her dainty fingers. "Oh, Elsa …"
"No." Elsa stops Meg. "No. I don't need sympathy or pity or … any of that. I just need answers and … and you can see it, can't you? You can see why I'm … like this."
Meg does offer a reply.
"So, will you tell me?" Elsa squeezes her hands close to her chest. It's frustrating that she asks for confirmation even when she's demanding.
Meg's purple gaze flits to her drink in consideration, then to Elsa. "Look, I'm gonna be straight with you. I know you came to me for answers, but, um, not to discredit Joe — or, maybe I do want to discredit him — I don't think explaining why he is the way he is will do much to ease your nerves."
"Why not?" Elsa asks, a little impatient.
"For one, I can't confirm anything." Meg states, "Not with Johansen Westergaard. I wish it was that simple, but Joe isn't an easy person. He changes like the weather. Who knows what goes on in his mind."
Elsa begins to bow her head in disappointment.
"Can you tell me what he did?" Meg asks a second time.
"He admitted our friendship was a lie. Then he said all those cruel words about me after." Elsa says.
"Are you trying to decipher the 'after' part?" Meg guesses.
"Yes." Elsa bobs her head, her head still down.
Meg lets out a long hum. "Logically speaking, I can see why you don't believe him. He was a bad friend. You want to think all of it was a lie since he intentionally said all those things to hurt you. But, he probably meant every word he said. Just because he's a bad person, doesn't mean he can't say something that isn't a lie or make a point that he wants to get across. Honestly, I …" Meg pauses. "I'm more befuddled about you."
Elsa finally raises her head, questions dancing on her features.
"I don't get why you cling onto him." Meg says once she read Elsa's inquisitive nature.
"I don't — I'm not clinging." Elsa stumbles over her words, though they seem false.
"Yes, you are. The first time we met, that man left you alone in a parking lot when you were drunk and could barely take care of yourself. Granted, the area was safe. Eugene isn't a moron to park his bus in a mug-able area, but that doesn't excuse the fact that you could have gotten hurt. And, you should have been mad at him the second you sobered up to this fact. But, instead of that, you went to look for him when he was dubbed 'missing',"
How does Elsa even respond to that?
"Joe's action rattled you, I understand that. You're upset. It probably feels like a moment of betrayal." Meg continues. "But, you're still chasing him — and that doesn't make sense. If you said he already told you the answer, then what else is there to cling onto?"
Again, Elsa remains silent.
"Now I'm wondering if you really mean what you said." Meg barrels through. "Not to give him credit, but — I think you're chasing after him because he woke something in you that you've never confronted and you, for some reason I can't understand, attached your realisation to him. And because of that, you're afraid to let him go."
There is an instrument of awareness in Meg's tone and the words knock into Elsa's skull, leaving a terrible sensation. She hasn't felt this repelled since the beach.
She tries to fight it. "I'm not chasing. I'm not as bothered about this as you think I am —"
"Oh, come on, Elsa. If you weren't as bothered about it then you wouldn't be talking about it in such depth." Meg pushes forward, causing Elsa to stare wide-eyed. Like a fish gaping.
Meg studies Elsa for a minute before taking a sip of her tea. She gestures for Elsa to do the same. The blonde does.
"I can only do so much. And from what I can see, advice won't be much help." Meg says, her voice now gentler. "I know you're trying to understand Joe to give yourself some clarity, but I can't define him. To be frank, Joe doesn't even know himself, so how am I supposed to know who he is? How are you supposed to know who he is? You're going to spend forever trying to dissect this question. Is this really what you want? Or need?"
Elsa knows sometimes, what she wants isn't what she needs but …
"What other direction is there?" The question flew out of Elsa's mouth before she could take it back.
Meg doesn't reply. Not at first. She crosses her arms and lets the time tick tick tick by, then another sigh escapes her lips.
"Okay, so —"
With that single delivery, Elsa knows she will not be coddled or babied. This will be a fair hearing. Meg isn't afraid to call out on bullshit when she sees it. It is both scary and a relief.
The brunette is going to be real with Elsa and get straight to the point. There will be no soft talks of "You're not to blame," nor "Everyone has issues. Everyone has something they're struggling with," nor "I'm sorry Joe said all those things to you, he's an asshole. Don't listen to him. Don't take anything he says to heart. He's just saying things to hurt you, he shouldn't have."
Elsa knows she's enabled this part of her for too long and she's not going to let her mind wander around to try to think of some excuse. Summer doesn't last forever and she doesn't have all the time in the world.
"Let's disregard that part." Meg continues. "Let's say I tell you about the ins and outs of Johansen Westergaard, what then? What are you going to tell him during your confrontation? How are you going to prove him wrong?"
The question causes a shift in Elsa's view. It was as if Meg grabbed something in Elsa and forced her to face the facts.
Elsa doesn't provide an answer.
"You haven't thought that far, have you?" Meg asks.
"... No." She was going to base her confrontation on the given facts.
"I'm not going to beat around the bush, I don't think your problems are about Joe. Not entirely. I think this is bigger than just some guy. Bigger than your fixation on Joe. I initially thought we could have a quick chat to make you feel better. I figured I'd throw in some life-advice, some jokes, then wrap up the day. But from what you've shown me, it's more convoluted than that. You sound unsure of yourself, Elsa. Like you're just floating around and don't know where you stand. Do you even know what you want?"
It occurs to Elsa that; this is the third time someone's asked her what she wants. Somehow, she doesn't want to make an excuse nor stay silent to avoid the question.
"No. Not really." Elsa says, her cheeks pink from embarrassment.
"If you don't even know what you want then whatever I tell you isn't going to satisfy you. We won't solve anything today. You're looking for an answer, but it doesn't lie within other people." Meg says then gestures at Elsa. "Tell me about yourself."
"Myself?" Elsa asks back slowly, feeling queasy.
"Yeah, you're wound up about Joe because he spoke accusations about you, right? He obviously said something bad that made you pissed off. A flaw maybe?" Meg asks, though no reply is needed because — "But, even you can't answer that because you were so busy trying to define him."
Elsa's cheeks coloured. It's true. She didn't have time to pin-point truths about herself.
"So, I want to know what it was." Meg continues. "I want to know what's wrong with you; why you're like this."
An urge to cry out 'nothing is wrong with me!' rises up her throat, but it never leaves her lips. Elsa simply sputters.
Oh. She came here to talk about Hans Westergaard and his misdeeds, but Meg is really hammering into Elsa and her core.
"Has anyone ever mentioned that you kinda go into this strange spacey zone?" Meg asks. "I've noticed it way back, before your fallout with Joe. Have you ever talked about it? Or do you not trust anyone enough to tell them?"
Elsa stares at the table and her barely-touched tea. Her fingers curl and uncurl underneath the table, closing into fists. "I trust my friends and family."
"So you've told them?" Meg presses on.
"No."
"Why not?"
"I don't —"
"You don't know?"
"No, that's not what I was going to say." Elsa shakes her head, feeling her hands tremble. She's always had some trouble articulating herself. "I don't —" I don't trust myself. "I don't think I should be around them unless I'm perfect, unless I'm in control; so I seldom show my imperfections to them. Not unless I can help it, but I …" Elsa pauses to suck in a breath. "I haven't been in control for a while. It's gotten worse since I lost my job. I mean, it wasn't even a real job. It was just an internship, an opportunity, but — I feel like I lost more than that. I feel ..."
I feel like I lost a friend too.
"Disoriented? Is that what you feel?" Meg says, insisting for Elsa to elaborate.
"I — Yes. I suppose."
Meg nods understandingly and says, "You're so used to controlling every aspect of your life that you're now spiralling from it going off."
"… Yes." Elsa repeats.
Is she that predictable? That readable; like an open book? Though Elsa's only spoken with Meg thrice now, she wonders how Meg can say these things about her.
Elsa doesn't know how to feel about Meg's boldness. Is it unwelcomed? Should it be?
"Why?"
"Why?" Elsa repeats, her eyebrows furrowed.
"Yeah, I'm leading us back to my main question: Why are you like this?"
The familiar urge to flee from another social gathering strikes Elsa once more. But it stops just as quickly as it came. Fleeing would mean she's still running from the same fears, wouldn't it? And Elsa's seen what that's done to her. She might lose another friend from all her running.
"I can't answer that." Elsa says after a moment.
"You can't?"
Elsa fumbles, trying to find a way to rephrase her words to a softer tone. It's not that she can't answer per se. It's just …
"I don't have an answer for it. Not yet. I don't know the meaning."
Meg hums, "I see. You might have some soul searching to do."
Elsa bites her lip. "I might."
Elsa went into this wanting Meg to provide solutions to solve her issues. It seems Meg is doing just that. Just not the ones that Elsa thought she needed to meditate on when she stepped into the tea shop.
"Do you still want to confront Joe?" Meg asks after a moment.
"I still want to prove myself. I know I'm right."
Meg lets out a snort and raises her cup.
"Do you think it's a wise idea?" Elsa asks.
"Well … it's not easy to disregard what Joe says, especially when he wants to be stinging." Meg admits. "But, if you still want to talk to him, go for it. You seem to really want to sit his ass down, so I know nothing I say can stop you."
Elsa nods then drains the last of her tea. She knows she'll have to understand the source of the pain to decide.
No one on earth can know you one hundred percent of the time, but it doesn't mean they can't know a part of you. Maybe Hans did speak some truth, and maybe he did speak some wrongs. Either way, if Elsa wants to correct him on those wrongs, she'll have to speak to him in person.
But, even if she does confront him, there's no guarantee to know if his opinion will change.
(Would that still matter to her, though? If she knew and came to terms with what she believed in?)
Finishing up the last of her tea too, Meg adds, "The way I see it, there are only two ways you can go about on this, and it all depends on if you believe in what Joe told you or not. You can hate him if you want. You can decide to be angry with him. You can forgive him. I don't know what type of person Joe means to you or how he acts like when he's with you, you have to piece that yourself. It's something you have to realise about him; interpret and define what he means to you."
Reaching forward once more, Meg extends her hand for Elsa to hold and Elsa accepts the gesture.
Meg pats Elsa's hand. "You can call me anytime and we can discuss whatever's on your mind. Just know that I'm not the answer."
Elsa nods, smiling.
"Though, by the looks of it, it seems like you know what you want,"
"Sort of," Elsa replies, and it doesn't lie with Meg or Hans or anyone.
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Notes: Loool, I also forgot to post this chapter on fanfic net! This was due three years ago! My God, I'm just updating everything on 25 August 2023.
— 18 July 2020