Chapter Text
T-10 SECONDS AND COUNTING…
“You speak Spanish right, hear you curse out that grouchy old nurse,” Marc hears footsteps approaching him, although he refuses to look up for his lunch. Another day another bland pre-packaged Kosher-approved meal.
NINE.
“Scooch.” The girl says as takes a seat next to him, “My roommate, she’s such a fucking racist she got soo pissed when my family stop by to visit she heard me speak to my mom in Spanish. She thought that I was talking shit about her, as if I’d ever give that honor.”
“You kinda are right now,” he points out, uninterested in psych ward gossip.
EIGHT.
“Yeah cause she’s getting on my last nerve,” she whines as she starts to tear apart her bread roll, “hey why is your food different?”
“It’s kosher,” Why is she still talking to him? Was he really the only other Spanish speaker in the ward?
SEVEN.
“You’re Jewish? But you speak Spanish?” She asks, not seeming to follow.
“There are Jews in Latin America,” sure, it was a small population, but they weren’t fucking unicorns. She simply hums.
SIX.
“Huh… So what are you in here for?” She follows up, her tone is the total opposite of everyone else who’d asked him that, deprived of the false sincerity.
“We’re not supposed to ask each other that,” and they said he was bad at social interactions.
“Didn’t peg you as a nerd. Fine, then I won’t tell you what I did,” she drops the roll she was playing with.
“I didn’t ask.”
FIVE.
“Guessing you won’t tell won’t tell me what you got then?”
“Nope. It doesn’t even matter, they keep changing it.” The resident psychiatrist just told him that she suspected that Marc had BPD, and had already scheduled a proper evaluation for when he’s finally discharged. She was too busy to give them the full assessment, she claimed. It seems like they are blindly throwing rocks at him, hoping one would finally hit. Marc was thrilled, of course, being officially diagnosed as crazy certainly did wonders for his nonexistent self-esteem.
FOUR.
“Why are you talking to me?” He questions her. Everyone else knew better than to get close to him.
“You looked lonely,” wow, he’s never heard that before. “Plus, I thought you’re kinda cute.”
THREE.
OH. His face burns red with embarrassment, he hadn’t been called cute since before R– since he was a kid. Curiosity gets the best of him and he finally lifts up his head to meet her eyes. Why are her cheeks so rosy, is she wearing makeup? They weren’t allowed their own product, Marc thought. Fuck, why is he so flustered all a sudden, it’s just some girl. Get it together, Spector.
TWO.
She must have noticed his sudden change in demeanor because she extends out her hand, “Marlene.” She smiles, dimbles dotting her side, with a closed mouth to hide her braces.
“Marc,” He takes her hand.
ONE.
“No touching,” a nurse calls out, apathetically, from the other side of the room. They both roll their eyes and smirk.
LIFTOFF.
62 MILES
“Tell me, señor, what do you want to do after high school?” the man with the big bushy mustache asks, clanking the cup as he sets it on the table.
“I think I want to go to college…” he says, fidgeting with his hand anxiously, scanning around the table for any sense of familiarity, unable to place where he is.
“That’s fantastic, college is a great choice. Illinois has some good schools, you’ll have many to pick from. What do you want to study?” Why Illinois? In the States? Were they talking about Illinois before? His dad had mentioned an aunt who lives out there so that might be it, yeah that makes sense.
“I… I don’t really know yet, I was thinking something like history or archeology–” he mutters, still avoiding his face, opting to stir the spoon around the teacup instead.
“Archeology? Did Marlene tell you already I teach archaeology at UChicago? I specialize in Mesoamerica, back when we used to live down there Marlene and Lucas used to come with me and play around the sites. I always hope one of them would follow in my footsteps–”
“Keeping dreamin’,” the girl sitting next to him interrupts in a cheeky tone.
“Fascinating field really, you would not believe some of the artifacts that my team has found. Any particular region you want to study?” The man continues, unfazed by the girl’s comment.
“I like Egypt.” He looks up, trying to suppress his smile. ‘I like Egypt’ was an understatement, to say the least.
“Oh you’ll love it, the ancient Egyptians had a truly fascinating civilization.”
“I didn’t know you wanted to go into archeology. I thought you’d wanna do something with space. I saw you reading that book about constellations back at Putnam,” Marlene asks, although Marc questions where she’d heard that from. Apparently, he told his dad that a couple of weeks ago but he hadn’t had the faintest memory.
“I don’t think I’m smart enough to do anything with space, it’s a lot of math,” Marc replies, swinging back and forwards without taking his feet off the ground. He’s trying to distract himself, mortified that his dad is talking to Marlene’s as they speak about all his “problems.” He’d even made a booklet with all his emergency contacts, his medications, his triggers. Marlene’s mother had suggested they’d wait outside, so they found themselves swinging on Marlene’s old childhood swing set, which they’d still had for some reason.
“You’re plenty smart just… forgetful.” She says, gets a little more air with each swing. The moon was out already, maybe it was pushing and pulling her like the tides.
“Everyone says that,” His dad, his teachers, his therapist…
“You should invest in some sticky notes or a notebook or something, maybe it’ll keep you focused.”
“Maybe…I don’t really want to study space or anything, I’ve always just wanted to go to the moon,” he changes the topic, subconsciously looking up towards the sky.
“Why the moon?” She couldn't hurt him on the moon.
“I don’t know, it controls the tides… it seems safe,” Marc always thought that if he could have a superpower like Captain America, it’d be to control the water. The moon could sorta do that, he finds comfort in that.
“I’ll go to the moon with you,” she blushes.
“Yeah?” He looks over at her, feeling himself getting flustered.
"Hey, did you know the catholic church has claims of the moon?" She teases.
"I don't want to go to the moon anymore," he groans.
“We should go to Houston.” She says in a carefree tone, looking away to hide her embarrassment.
“Why Houston?”
“The space center, I was reading about it in a magazine. You’ll love it!”
“Ok.” Yeah, that did sound fun.
3,945 MILES
“Let’s go, we gotta go right now,” He grabs her by the upper arm to pull her out of the store, squeezing firmly to signal the stakes of the situation. He abandons the basket filled with snacks and junk food to pull his cap down in hopes that she doesn’t recognize him. She was on the other side of the aisle, pushing a cart that seemed to only contain bottles of wine. As soon as he stops the exit, he makes a steady pass towards it.
“Hey– I’m not done– stop–” The girl protested, trying to compromise his escape plan, her sharp acrylic nails jabbing into his own hand.
“Sorry, I–” he loosens his hold, opting for her wrist as they make it closer to the exit. ‘Let go of her! You’re hurting her!’ a voice cries, banging at the glass screen from in his head.
“What the hell is wrong with you, Spector?” She snaps away from his hold once they’re finally out of the store, her sharp eyeliner matching the intensity of her glare.
“Sorry,” he says, flatly.
“That’s not going to cut it,” she hissed as she soothes her upper arm. The intensity in her eyes remained unchanged, it even seemed as if her dark hair was puffing up like a feral cat.
“My mom was there…” Why was he explaining this to her? He knew Marc liked her but was it really worth it?
“Oh? And what’s the problem? I’ve already met your dad,” she argued.
“It’s different,” he replies in the same monotone as before.
“Are you embarrassed of me, is that it?” Oh my God , is she seriously making the situation about her?
“No, can you st–”
“Then what is it?” she snaps, visibly getting more and more worked up. Was this what it's like for Elias when he snaps at him? he wonders.
“My mom is in there and ah– she’ll get mad. We don’t have a good relationship, it’s complicated. It has nothing to do with you, she’s kinda–” unsure of where to meet her gaze, or how to explain the rope their mother had around their necks.
“Oh,” Her demeanor changes in an instant, her eyes soften and eyebrows relax, as she extends her hand out, “Ok. Next time just tell me and we can leave,” he gives her his hand, “And if you ever grab me like that again, you’re dead,” she warns him with a firm squeeze.
Maybe he can see why the others like her so much.
4,819 MILES
“I can tell you’re upset–” Marc could be oblivious sometimes, but even he couldn’t miss her huffs and puffs.
“I’m not.” She interrupts, aimlessly pushing her pasta around her dinner plate. When she told him about the one-month anniversary date she’d planned, he hadn’t expected it to go like this.
“But I don’t know what I did. Can you please just tell me?” Oh G-d , he sounded like his dad.
“I've been dropping hints about prom all week and you still haven’t asked me. Like, I get it’s if not you’re thing but I still want to go and I wanted to go with you,” she confesses bitterly, transitioning from coordinating a ballet with her pasta to aggressively cutting through her chicken.
“Oh. I’m sorry, I thought– it doesn’t matter, I’m sorry,” he really could be oblivious. Marc was finding it suspicious how many times she referenced going dress shopping and getting her nails done and so on.
“Do you want to break up with me?” She panics, tears starting to flood her eyes.
“No, of course not! That's– I’m just bad at picking up social cues sometimes. I don’t mean it, it’s just– I’ll go to prom with you.” he blurts out, hopelessly trying to throw water on the fire.
“You’re supposed to ask me…” Right, he’s seen that in the movies.
He sits up straight, grabs her hand, and clears his throat, “Marlene, will you be my date to prom?”
“I’d thought you’d never ask,” tears fell down her rosy cheeks but she finally smiled.
It takes some convincing from his dad to agree to let him borrow the car. “It’s Shabbat,” he protests, “I won’t leave until like eight, it’ll be past sundown,” he refutes. “Your mother won’t be happy,” he warns, “I just want to do a normal teenage thing,” he groans. He caved in the end, as he always does whenever Marc pulls that card. Some part of him does feel bad about it, acknowledging that he is technically manipulating his dad into getting what he wants, but he doesn't care.
He’d already apologized to Marlene for showing up to prom late but she didn’t seem to mind.
She still insisted on the whole “Prom experience,” which meant he would meet her at her place, he would wait for her in the living room, making small talk with Dr. Alvarez. Marlene’s mother would retie his tie before giving him a kiss on the cheek, and it’d all be perfect.
When she finally makes her way down the staircase, she dons a pearly floor-length dress that stands out against her sun-kissed skin, with gemstone decorated her bodice like the stars in the night sky.
“Mira mi Princesa,” her mother gushes, as she takes Marlene’s rosy cheeks in her hands to kiss them. Yeah, she was a princess. More beautiful and more bright than any star in the galaxy. Destined to turn the monster back into a human with true love’s kiss.
“You look like starlight,” he chokes out, struggling to keep eye contact, feeling lunar moths in his stomach.
“I know,” she smirks as she gives him her hand. Catching the hint, he slides the white rose corsage up her wrist.
Marc knew he didn’t do well in loud crowded places; all the lights and noises were so overstimulating that it’d made his brain feel like it was about to self-destruct. He feels all his muscles getting tense and sweat dripping down his face and his breathin– they had to get out of here.
She must have already noticed because she just takes their hand to lead them outside.
She doesn’t say anything, just lets the cool breeze do its trick. He’d always found the breeze soothing; must be the reason he loved driving so much.
Marlene leans in close causing him to tense up for a second, then wraps her shawl around them, and rests her head on his shoulder. Her perfume did smell nice, he’d give her that.
“Marc?” She calls out when his shoulders finally drop, he just hums in acknowledgment. “We don’t have to go back in there.”
“¿Quieres bailar aquí afuera?” he asks, the jarring pop music was still very audible there.
“Sale,” with that she wraps her arms around his neck as he takes the lead as “Dreaming Of You” plays in the background.
He likes dancing, he decides. He likes Marlene too. Not like the other two do, but she’s alright.
5,784 MILES
“Certainly Rhapdosis was beautiful. But she was not haughty. She was gentle and shy. She barely remembered her life before she had been captured when she was quite young. The only thing she had left from her former life was a pair of beautiful red slippers–” one hand is scratching his head, sending shivers down his back, while the other rests on his chest. He quickly glances over, and oh gosh, why is he laying his head in her lap. Why is his hand drawing figure eights on her thighs and oh my days her shorts are so short. His brain is about to short circuit.
“Why’d you stop,” She asks, looking down with her wide chocolate brown eyes; the same comforting color as mochas she’d always order from the coffee shops they’d visit after they’d spent all afternoon loitering at the local bookstores. Her lips would always taste like chocolatey espresso, a perfect combination of bitter and sweet. Right, Marlene. Lovely! How could he possibly forget?
“Sorry ahh–” he chokes, eyes racing back to the book scanning for where he left off when he feels Marlene’s hand slide from his chest up to his cheek. Her soft hands held his face as her thumb strokes his cheek as she lends down to kiss him with her soft lips. He went to grab her hand, letting the book fall on his chest in the process, and kissed her back.
His head is up in the clouds, never in his wildest dream could he imagine spending his afternoon reading “The Red Slippers” to a pretty girl. He’d really lucked out that she approached him all those weeks ago at the cafe, and even luckier he hadn’t scared her away with his awkwardness.
She breaks the kiss and with a smile, she says, “I like it when you read to me.”
“Do you want me to finish?” He panics, unsure of how to proceed.
“If you’d like,” she merely says, resting her forehead against his.
“Or maybe, we could, um kiss some more?” He lends up, repositioning himself and sliding the book off his lap.
“Sure,” she pulls him back towards her.
6,123 MILES
“Marc? It’s almost 1 am…” she replies in a croak.
“Marlene, sorry I– I can’t stay here, I need– Do you want to go on a ride?”
“... Sure, what’s the worst that can happen? Where do you want to go?” she accepts, he hears her shuffling out of bed.
“Think we can make it to Milwaukee and back before our parents wake up,” he asks, knowing the absurdity of it all.
“Definitely,” ever the optimist.
He picks her up soon after, she must only have had enough time to change out of her sleepwear as her hair is tied in a loose bun and her eyes are droopy. Still, she always seems to expel an air of confidence and self-assurance. He admired that about her. A trait he desperately tried to portray, that of the strong protector, who doesn’t need anyone, even if it was just an act. If she notices his black eye, she doesn't say anything. Another thing he likes about her. Always just seemed to know what to ask.
Que mi madre se muera y (That my mother dies and)
Que mi padre la abandona, (That my father leaves her,)
A Dios le pido. (I ask God.)
…
Y que si me muero sea de amor, (And that if I die, it be for love,)
Y si me enamoro sea de vos, (And if I fall in love, it (my love) be for you,)
Y que de tu voz sea este corazón. (And that of your voice this heart belong.)
Todos los días a Dios le pido. (Every day, I ask God.)
Plays as they get on the highway. He decides he likes this song.
He remembers the drive down as if it was a music video, over-the-top cinematography and all. He remembers Marlene jamming out to “I’m Just a Kid” from their 3-month-anniversary mixtape. He remembers her using a cassette tape as a stand-in microphone as the highway lights shined a spotlight upon her. He remembers finally hitting 107mph down I-94 W. He doesn’t remember if they talked about anything or how exactly they found their way to iHop, but he does remember the overwhelming feelings of safety and joy and love.
As they sat across the booth from one another, as she worked on her sipped her sixth cup of coffee, without thinking he blurts out, “yo te amo.”
Te amo. Te adoro. Te necesito. Eres las estrellas que guían a los viajeros. El sol que renueve la vida. La luna que me acompaña en mis noches vacías.
Her rosy red cheeks blush as smiles, “yo también te amo,” she promises, with the moon in the night sky as the witness.
☾☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°
6,214 MILES AND THEY’VE PASSED THROUGH THE EARTH’S ATMOSPHERE.