Once inside, Marilyn's steps quickened, she was almost running now. She had no aim. She hurried down the length of the building, past Michael's still up-turned bicycle, oblivious of the radio, until she reached the wall and the window at the other end. Her chest was tight. She looked out at the backyard, then turned to face the garage, then back to the window. Michael was still outside, she couldn't see him. She was desperate. She couldn't calm herself down. She didn't want to face him, she just wanted to run away. She considered just leaving without a word – just going somewhere, no idea where, just away, and leave him and his bike to finish up alone. But she knew she couldn't do that. How much had he heard? Certainly enough. Obviously enough! So much that he had felt the need to come outside and intervene. So much that he had come outside and had been seen with her, with ugly-Edmond.

Is she your girlfriend? Man, look at you. You can do better than that!

Of course he could do better than her. Everyone could do better than her. How ashamed he must have been, having to stand up for her. He was a good guy. He didn't deserve this. He had stood up for her, even though she was ugly-Edmond. Even though she was a scarecrow with a bird's nest on her head. Even though she was the cause of his broken bicycle and his injuries. She wanted to get out, physically get out, and could not, because she didn't even know what exactly it was she wanted to get out of. Her breathing was erratic, she couldn't keep still.

Then she heard the door to the garage being opened and closed. Her long fingers gripped the windowsill. They were icy cold despite the warm weather. Through the radio's crackling song, she heard the soft sound of his sneakers as he slowly walked down the room. There was a clinking as the wrench was put down, then the softly tapping feet came closer. Marilyn closed her eyes.

"Who were those guys?" Michael's voice sounded puzzled.

Marilyn didn't answer.

"Are you okay?" Now there was worry in it again.

She mustn't cause a scene on top of it all. He had had enough drama for one day. He didn't deserve any more.

Trembling she turned. "They are my classmates," she said with difficulty and a petrified stare straight ahead.

He looked at her surprised, shocked even.

"Do you still want to go to school?" Her voice rose in pitch. As if looking down on herself, she realized she wasn't doing very well at not causing a scene, but somehow she was too far removed to do anything about it.

"In itself I still do want to, yes. But not particularly with those three..."

She felt like a wild animal caught between the wall and him. She started to move frantically in her confined space.

"I don't know what's the matter with them! I don't know why they are that way! I really don't! I didn't do anything to them!"

"Marilyn..." Michael came closer, making her space even smaller.

"I never did anything to them! I swear it on the Bible! I swear it on the Lord Jesus himself!"

"Girl..." He reached for her shoulder.

She shrugged his hand off. "No! Let me!"

But he wasn't to be shrugged off. He reached for her again and pulled her against his chest. At full height she was still one head shorter than him. He put one arm around her back and one around her head, holding her cheek to his throat. She felt his chin on top of her head.

She struggled against his hold. The pain, humiliation and shame she felt were insubstantial. She wanted to get away from them, but there was nothing she could do. Against them, she was helpless. The only substantial thing around was Michael, and so she fought him.

His arms were strong and hard. Her flexing muscles were no match to his. His chest and stomach were firm and warm and alive. The sensation of living closeness and the unexpected care were overwhelming. Her cold fingers clawed the shoulder area of his shirt. She started screaming, then crying wildly, her mouth wide open like a little child, wriggling against his strength.

And he just held her tight, calmly and easily.

Then she gave up. Her muscles softened, her grip on his shirt loosened. Her screaming subsided. Her knees gave in. It seemed like it was happening to someone else, as if she wasn't even there. She didn't care about it. Following the hold of his right arm, her head sank against his shoulder. Somewhere she registered him struggling to hold her upright and failing as her limp body was slipping from his grasp. She was going down and he went down with her, still holding on, undeviating while she cried bitterly.

Michael's breathing was slow and deep, his heart beat calmly in his chest. Finally, like a child in a mother's arms, Marilyn calmed, exhausted from crying, wrapped in the living warmth and the soft fragrance of the body that held her. She noticed his fingers caressing the back of her head. She had never had a cat, but she thought that was how a cat must feel being caressed in someone's arms. Her throat hurt from screaming, her head ached, and her eyes were sore and dry. Lids half closed she was looking at the light that poured through the window.

Soon she would have to return to her body and to the world. And there she would have to face Michael, miserable, destroyed and ugly as she was. She didn't want to, but she also didn't want to sit there resting against him until he told her to back off.

With an effort she forced some life back into her limbs and tried to sit up. This time he let her go, but his hands stayed in contact to her upper arms. Marilyn didn't look at him. Her head bend down, she focused on where his knees were lying on the concrete of the floor. She thought of the injury hidden under his pants.

"Are you a little better now?" His voice was low and gentle.

Marilyn nodded. "Yes," she whispered, and, "I'm sorry."

"Don't say sorry. No girl should have to cry like this. That's not right."

"Why did you come outside?"

"It was three guys against one girl. That was unfair. I can't stand people being unfair."

"Oh... Thank you..."

"It was nothing."

She kept staring at the ground, trying hard to memorize the pattern of roughness of the floor screed.

"Hey." Michael bent down, tilted his head to look up at her, and gave her a gentle smile.

Forced by his move, Marilyn raised her head and saw his shirt front, in places wet from her crying and widely stained with rubbed-off makeup.

"Oh, my God!" Her hands shot forwards, rubbing the cloth that covered his chest, as if she could wipe the makeup off it. Of course it was to no avail. Then she realized she was touching him and snatched her hands away as if she had touched a hot plate.

"What's the matter?" He was sitting utterly still, gently holding her by the arms, but obviously uncertain which of her eyes to look into.

"I... Your shirt... I'm sorry... I didn't mean to... I..." Marilyn closed her eyes and exhaled. "I'm sorry, I got your shirt all dirty," she said defeated. "Please, if you want I can put it in the washer..."

"It's okay. It's no big deal. Really! Hey, I'll put it in the wash tonight. Don't worry about it."

Marilyn was looking at the stains in despair, when she suddenly thought about her face. "Oh my God!"

"What now?"

"Oh Gosh, I must look horrible!" She ran her fingers under her eyes in a hopeless attempt to tidy up the smeared mascara that she couldn't see. "What a disaster!"

"It's not that bad. Come on, stop rubbing your eyes. You just make matters worse."

"What do you know about that?"

"Quite a bit. You'd be surprised," he answered softly. "Now, come on, let's go inside. You can wash your face, and then we'll put some salt in some water and get you a drink. Come on!"

Marilyn didn't quite understand the second half of what he had said, but she staggered to her feet. If nothing else, she wanted to wash her face as quickly as possible.

In the bathroom mirror, the disaster presented itself in all its glory. Marilyn's makeup had run or was altogether rubbed off in places. Her mascara was smeared, and her eyes were red and swollen. Now she had the protruding eyes fitting the toad that she was. She could have broken into tears all over again, but her eyes were sore and dry, and she was exhausted.

A little shaky she washed her face, but wasn't sure, if that made things much better. Her nose was reddish despite her dark skin, and her eyes were bloodshot and so dry that she could hardly open them. Her lids rasped across her eye balls. She cupped cold water in her hands and opened her eyes in it, in the hope that it would hydrate them a little bit, but it didn't help. With head and shoulders hanging, she made her way back to the kitchen.

Michael was sitting at the table. When she entered, he got up and pulled out a chair.

"Sit," he said encouragingly, patting the table top and sitting down again himself.

Shyly and facing down, Marilyn did as she was told.

Michael put her glass in front of her. It was filled with water. "Here," he said in a conspiratorial tone, "drink this."

Obediently, Marilyn reached for it. It was cold and covered in condensation from the refrigerated liquid inside.

"It's saltwater," he added quickly and somewhat apologetically, before she could sip at it. "It probably won't taste that good. But your eyes are dry, and it's going to help to restore – you know – tears." He shrugged a little helplessly.

"Okay," was all Marilyn said. If he had told her that there was potassium cyanide in the water, she would have said the same. And she probably would have drunk it even more willingly.

It actually didn't taste bad. Marilyn had expected something like accidentally swallowing seawater, but there was far less salt in her drink, and so it tasted oddly refreshing instead. She drank slowly without setting the glass down. Not because she was thirsty, but because she could at least hide a little bit behind it. Through the glass she saw Michael's distorted form sip at his lemonade.

When it was empty, she put it down carefully, trying not to make a sound, and kept her eyes fixed on the tabletop.

"Okay?" His voice was soft.

Marilyn nodded.

"Can you drink one more?"

Now she looked up. He was smiling gently. She just nodded.

"Okay. Good."

He filled her glass again and threw a pinch of salt from the salt pot into it. It sparkled wildly as the crystals hit the surface and began to sink towards the bottom. Marilyn watched them fall. "How do you know that?" she asked, not taking her eyes of the little, dancing pearls.

"Pardon?"

"How do you now that drinking saltwater helps to restore tears?" Marilyn had the feeling that it was helping, though she wondered, if she was just imagining it.

"Well, I have eyes, too."

"I didn't know."

Michael didn't answer, and when Marilyn glanced up at him, he looked away. "Somebody told me that would help."

"I think it really does."

"I know."

Marilyn kept watching him in silence as he sat at her kitchen table looking out the window. When he finally turned back to her, she found herself smiling softly. He returned it.

And when she picked up her second glass of saltwater, she wasn't sure anymore who was comforting whom.

Standing in the open doors of the garage Marilyn watched Michael push his bicycle towards the pickup, his lean body casting a long shadow in the golden evening light. Bill had gotten out and was awaiting him. They exchanged a few words but Marilyn couldn't hear them. Michael shook his head, and Bill looked over at where she stood in the shadow of the building. Then he lifted the bicycle up and laid it into the back.

He returned to the driver's door, while Michael went around the back of the car. As he opened the passenger door he smiled at Marilyn and gave her a little wave. Bill, too, turned and smiled back at Marilyn one more time. Then they got in, the engine started and the car began to move, slowly at first, then getting faster as it drew into the middle of its lane. Through the back window Marilyn could still see their heads; they still seemed to be talking. She hoped Michael would turn back one more time and look at her, but she couldn't tell, if he did. Then the pickup set its turn signal, turned the next corner, and was gone.

~~~~~

 Hey, y'all! :)

This took forever, again, didn't it? O.O I'm really sorry! But I think it's a very nice chapter, actually, so I hope it made up for the long wait that I put you through. :)

If you liked it, too, why not maybe leave a vote? :D

And what do you think will happen in the next chapter? How will the story go from here? :D Please tell me what you think in the comments! :D I'd love to know what's on your mind. Any other comment and thought is very welcome, too. Just fire away! :D

Last but not least, I really want to thank all for of you for reading, and I hope you have a wonderful day!

And please come back... :)

Much Love,

Birdie <33