【 dear ex lover 】
abigail laker-quill wore her heart on her sleeves; maybe that's why it was so easy for pope heyward to shatter it.
pope heyward x fem!oc
ex lovers to lovers
obx s1-2
book 1
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chapter one; MY HEART WILL GO ON.
ABIGAIL LAKER-QUILL does things without reason. Hell, we all do ━ but it's different this time. When she was little, she swore off drinking and drugs because wow, she did not wanna become her deadbeat asshole of a father.
Every drink she was offered was kindly declined with a sweet, although forced smile, and perhaps if the person looked a bit closer, they'd see the trauma and apprehension deep within her eyes. The various shades of grey and green and brown melded together in a chocolate melt that would crumble under the weight of the sun.
The sun, her past.
Perhaps Abby should've put more thought into what was happening, or what she was about to get herself into, but sometimes Abby doesn't think. Why doesn't she think? Well, she doesn't really have an answer to that because she didn't think about that either.
But how the Laker-Quill teenager ended up drunk in John B. Routledge's front yard was a story Abigail didn't know how to tell, because at the end of the day, she hadn't been thinking. She wasn't thinking about what she was gonna do, or how she got there, or her intentions by visiting the property.
It all started out simply enough; she had awakened from her sweet slumber to find Agatha's destruction just beyond her doorstep, which further led to her cleaning up the Quill property with James, and later heading into the innermost part of Outer Banks and checking up on the inhabitants.
That's about where Abigail's recollection of the day's events end. She can distantly remember her feet hitting the sands of the boneyard, and then the red solo cup between her fingers ━ she remembers anxiously tapping on the material, but she doesn't remember drinking it, and maybe that's when it all became a blur.
The voices, the images, the everything ━ it all was gone, meshed into one sticky memory she couldn't wipe away because it clung to her brain like Elmers Glue.
Whatever it was, whenever it was, and whoever dropped her off at the Chateau, she wasn't sure. What she did know was that she was aimlessly stumbling around the Chateau's front yard, her legs feeling like jelly, her brain mushed, and she could make out the sound of her own voice singing Celene Dion's My Heart Will Go On in a sickly off-pitch tone and a scratchy undertone.
Why was she singing? No clue.
Why was she twirling in John B's front yard? No clue.
Where were her shoes? Shit, she's got no idea.
And why the hell was John B laughing at her?
Fuck if she knows.
"Once more, you open the door," Abigail cries out through a resounding burp, stopping to gruffly cough and smack at her chest. Her eyes close, and her voice becomes squeaky, "and you're here in my heart."
