Chapter Text
‘Marisol and Graham, please pack your things and get ready to leave the Villa.’
Marisol stands frozen, staring at the letters on her screen, disbelieving and not wanting to believe. It doesn’t make any sense, how could it be over already? It’s too soon, it can’t just be the end, not now. It’s - it’s not fair! She never got a chance - she never took her chance…
Graham’s arm wraps around her shoulders, attempting to pull her into his side in some sort of comforting gesture that really isn’t necessary, least of all from him, “It’s alright, babes. Let’s just -”
She shrugs him off, ignoring his words with eyes still trained on the light flowing from her screen. She keeps her eyes on those printed letters so she doesn’t have to meet the haunting ones that she knows are staring at her, and turns, striding into the Villa for the last time. She marches into the dressing room, fighting against the tears building behind her eyes as she grabs her suitcase, heaving it across the room out of frustration, a crash sounding as it hits the wall.
Her face is contorted, a perfect picture of anger and hurt as she grabs whatever clothes she can find, throwing them in the direction of her case and ignoring the rest of the world, including her partner somewhere in the Villa that she wishes she didn’t have to worry about. She scoops products and bottles into her arms, striding over and dropping them on the pile of clothes, not caring if they break or shatter or spill, not caring at all.
A knock sounds on the doorframe, “Hey,” a familiar voice greets, a low hum from across the room. And Marisol wants to run to it, to wrap herself in it for all of eternity and forget the rest of the universe. And then she gets even angrier, because she could have, she could have all this time, but she’s an idiot and a coward and she ruined everything.
“Hey,” she greets back through a clenched jaw without looking; she doesn’t know what would happen if she did. She folds a shirt just to keep herself occupied, staring at the fabric intensely.
Violet walks further in the room, stopping at Marisol’s side, “Want some help?” she offers, her voice pitching up as she crouches down next to Marisol.
Marisol shakes her head, hair flying as she jumps up, nearly running across the room to put space between herself and Violet. She grabs a pair of her heels that sit nearby and faces the wall, swallowing thickly to steady herself. She takes a brief moment to slow her pounding heartbeat before hesitantly walking back to her case, eyes downcast.
“You sure?” Violet stands to meet her, towering over her with concern stitched across her features.
Marisol’s eyes snap shut and she drops the shoes on the pile of mess. She drags her hands through her hair and heaves a deep breath, “Look…” she turns to face Violet, hands falling to grip her arms as she takes in the crease between her brows and the frown on her lips. “I might never get another chance to say this, but I have to. I really, really have to, okay, Vi?” Violet nods slowly, encouraging Marisol even as confusion flickers across her face.
“Okay…” Marisol sucks in another breath, her chest rising and falling until she can get the words out. “It should have been you,” she forces out. “It should have been you, from the first day, even. And - and I tried to ignore it, but I can’t, not anymore. It’s… it was you and I’m just the biggest idiot,” she laughs self-deprecatingly, “I’m the biggest idiot and I’m so sorry, but I just… I need to tell you before I never see you again. So…” she steps back, letting her hands fall back to her sides as she awkwardly rolls up on her toes, heels crashing back to the floor. She smiles nervously, fidgeting with a bracelet and turning back to her suitcase, tossing in and organising her clothes.
Violet stands frozen, watching Marisol anxiously glance out of the corner of her eye as she shoves fabric into her case, nearly trembling as her nerves skyrocket inside her small frame. Violet steps forward before she knows she’s even moving, slipping her arms around Marisol and pulling her into her embrace. She settles into her hold, turning enough to bury her face against Violet’s shoulder.
They don’t separate, they don’t move closer, they simply stay frozen for a long time, until a shuddering breath shakes Marisol, kickstarting her muscles into action as she coils her arms around Violet, fisting her hands in the fabric of the back of her dress. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers against her.
“Don’t be. It’s okay,” her voice husks. “Let’s just get you packed right now, okay? You’ve gotta go with Graham,” the taller woman murmurs into ombre hair.
Marisol shakes her head, pulling back enough to collide their dark eyes, “No. No, it’s not okay. I don’t want to go with him - I don’t want to go at all - but definitely not with him. I - I should have listened to you and I’m sorry,” she insists, her voice dipping low.
Violet’s hands rise from around her body to cup her face, “I know, and I get it. But we can’t change things, okay? So let’s just get through right now.”
Marisol nods reluctantly, the tears she’s been fighting since the text finally starting to escape. She buries her face against Violet again to hide them, arms tight around her waist and sniffles sounding from her. Violet rubs her back, fingers weaving in her hair as Marisol works to stabilise herself.
She pulls away after a moment, wiping under her eyes to clear them of the few strays that escaped and pulls in a deep breath. She looks up at Violet, offering a small smile of reassurance, before finally turning back to her suitcase. She kneels down, grabbing clothes and folding them, tucking her shoes in, and securing her bottles and containers of products.
Violet joins her on the floor, sorting through the pile meticulously, passing each item to Marisol once she folds them. It’s quick work, which is almost a depressing thought, that after all the time spent here, all the memories and drastic changes to her life, everything can fit into a small suitcase, folded up tight.
She zips it shut when they finish, but she doesn’t stand. She stares at the closed case, every heart-racing second of the Villa, every reality-shattering moment, every world-ending revelation is held within something so mediocre and inconspicuous.
Violet’s hand lands on her back, tracing slow circles on her spine, “You okay?”
She forces herself to nod, to stand, to grab the handle and to walk out of the dressing room for the last time. She forces her feet to move, to lead her to the bedroom where Graham’s sitting, waiting. Violet’s palm finds her shoulder, squeezing before she leaves her to join the others at the front door, offering a comforting smile before turning away.
Another deep breath fills Marisol’s lungs before she steps inside, grabbing Graham’s attention. He looks over, smiling when he sees her, “You ready to go?” he stands, taking hold of his bag.
She forces a smile, “Yeah,” and a nod, turning before he can even join her. He rushes to catch up, slinging his arm around her shoulders again, and she forces herself not to react, not to cringe away from him, but she still can’t force herself to lean into it, to embrace it.
The others are gathered by the door, talking quietly amongst themselves. Violet’s with Henrik, her head bowed as he says something to her, his arm around her back and his mouth by her ear. It almost hurts Marisol, to see her so comfortable with him, even after that brief moment in the dressing room.
But she supposes she has no right to judge, not after everything she’s put Violet through. Not after Graham and Rocco, not after ignoring her and leading her on. Not after she refused to accept the truth, to put herself out there, to just be honest for once.
“Well!” Graham calls, pulling all eyes to him, and Marisol can’t force herself any longer; she steps away. She doesn’t run or cringe, but she puts enough distance to relax, to avoid his touch. He doesn’t seem to notice or maybe doesn’t care, spewing some more words that she can’t hear until everyone’s swarming them with goodbyes and farewells.
Marisol’s focused on the floor, unable to register the words falling from everyone’s mouths, and only reacts when Graham starts walking forward. She follows, her eyes still downtrodden as her steps lead her closer and closer to a final goodbye.
Arms wrap around her before she can leave for good, squeezing tight as a face buries in her hair. “I’ll see you soon, yeah?” that familiar voice hums in her ear, and she falls into it, finally. Finally, leaning into the body around hers until she has to force herself to walk away.
But she feels lighter, like maybe she’ll end up with another chance after all, like maybe this isn’t the end she thought it was, like maybe she finally took her opportunity.