Chapter Text
Marcy wakes up with a scream tearing from her throat and her back and chest on fire. She tries to take a breath, then another, but both catch in her lungs. It’s like she’s dying, like her world is ending all over again, like –
“Marcy? Hey…”
Eyes wild, Marcy takes a second to focus them on the source of the sound. Anne stares down at her from her bedside, her own eyes wide and worried.
“Hey, you’re okay, you’re safe. Just breathe.”
Chest still heaving, Marcy shakes her head. No, she isn’t okay, hasn’t been okay for lord knows how long. She doesn’t know if she’ll ever truly be okay again. It’s a thought she tries to avoid, but it still creeps up on her on the most inopportune times, like now, when she is already raw and afraid.
She tries to focus on the second thing Anne said. Just breathe. And she tries, she really does. But every time she tries to take a breath, her chest seizes up. The air just won’t come, it won’t come. Oh god, she’s going to die, she’s going to die, she’s going to die and this time it’s going to stick–
“Marcy. Listen. Can you tell me five things you can see?”
Five things she can see - where did that come from? It almost startles her with its randomness. Any other time, she’d be able to recognize Anne’s ploy for what it is, but her mind is going a thousand miles per minute but instead of a flight of information like usual it’s just a repeat of the same thing over and over again. She’s going to die she’s going to die she’s going to…
“Can you hear me, Marbles? What are five things you can see?”
Five things she can see. Marcy looks at Anne. Her hair is hidden under a yellow bonnet – something that she’s been trying recently to try and tame her wild curls. She’s wearing a pair of purple pajamas with yellow stars all over them. Finally, Marcy meets her eyes. She looks tired – there are deep bags under them, like she hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in awhile. Maybe she hasn’t. Marcy hasn’t either.
“You. I see y-you.” Marcy stutters out.
“Good job,” Anne says, a smile blooming on her lips, “What else?”
Marcy looks behind Anne, at the wall. They’re in the “guest” bedroom at Anne’s house, which Marcy supposes is kind of her bedroom now. It’s dark, but she can still make out the color of the walls – a pale eggshell blue.
“The walls.”
“Mhm,” Anne hums, “And what color are they?”
“b-Blue. They’re pretty.”
“Yeah. Mom thought so too. Blue’s her favorite color. Okay, that’s two things. Can you give me three more? What else can you see?”
Marcy looks around. The room is practically empty save for some furniture - Mr. and Mrs. Boonchuy said she could decorate it however she wanted.
“The desk. Over there,” she points at it with a trembling, numb hand.
Anne nods, “Yep! And?”
Marcy looks down. The blanket still covering her legs is steel gray in color.
“My blanket.”
Anne grins, “Okay. One more…”
Marcy studies her hands. They’re paler than they were throughout most of her time in Amphibia – she hasn’t been going out much, aside from the doctor’s appointments. Her nails are chipped and her cuticles are damaged from her nibbling on them – a nervous habit she’s always dealt with.
Marcy lifts them up, showing them to Anne silently.
“Great work, Mar!”
Before all of this, Marcy might have preened on the praise. But now it just makes her feel guilty. She avoids Anne’s eyes. Silence reigns.
“Feeling better?” Anne asks.
Marcy takes a second to evaluate her answer. She can breathe easier now. Her hands are her own again. But there’s that familiar feeling along her spine, as sharp as ever. Like there’s something out there on the prowl, biding its time to attack. Her chest and back, while no longer on fire, are still aching. She shrugs and doesn’t look up. She can feel Anne’s eyes on her, but she doesn’t feel like looking up to decipher what they’re conveying.
Anne sits down on the edge of the bed. She reaches her hand out to Marcy’s own hungrily. As touch averse as Marcy is lately, she can’t help but let Anne grab it. The feeling of Anne’s hand holding her own shouldn’t feel as foreign as it does. But everything’s different now. It’s like Marcy’s body doesn’t know the things it used to, like it’s all brand new. It’s sharp and abrasive, like a new school uniform.
It scares her more than a little bit.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Marcy wishes she could talk about it. But she doesn’t even remember what the dream was about. Where the cacophony of fear flooding her brain a few minutes now resides a strange, all consuming blankness. Things are starting to feel a little far away. A little muted. Like she’s still here, still Marcy, but to the left.
“Marcy? Are you okay?”
Marcy blinks. What were they talking about again?
“Do you want to try and go back to sleep?” Anne prods. Marcy cah can barely bring herself to nod, far away as she feels. She lays back down, turning her back to Anne.
Anne sighs. “Goodnight, Marcy,” she says. Soft footfalls against carpet make their way to the door. It closes gently, with barely a squeak on the hinges.
Marcy turns so that she can stare at the ceiling fan. It turns, and turns, and turns endlessly.
She doesn’t sleep that night.