𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐈𝐃𝐒 𝐀𝐓 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐓 ― rafe cameron

σαράντατέσσερα ; 44

song of the chapter:
EVERGREEN (YOU DIDN'T DESERVE ME AT ALL) ; omar apollo

Footsteps behind her pulled her out of her trance, snapping her back to the present. Margarita blinked, her eyes refocusing on the waves below, but the moment of solitude was gone. She turned slightly, her body tense, half-expecting it to be one of the Pogues finally coming to explain their secrets or maybe even Rafe, tracking her down after their last conversation.

But when she glanced back, she saw a familiar figure approaching—a silhouette she hadn't expected to see here, in her quiet space. It was Hermés, her brother.

"Mind if I join you?" he asked, his voice soft, yet carrying the same confidence he always had.

Margarita's heart skipped slightly. She hadn't seen much of him lately, not with the family being busy, especially during tourist season. His presence here was unexpected, and for a moment, she didn't know what to say. She just nodded, watching as he sat down beside her, the silence between them lingering, but not uncomfortable.

Hermés didn't say anything at first, just looked out at the horizon the same way she had been doing moments before. The two of them had always been close, and even though he didn't know all the details of what was going on in her life, he knew enough to see the cracks forming. He always had a way of seeing through her.

"You've been quiet," he finally said, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.

She shrugged, pulling her knees closer to her chest. "Just thinking."

"About Margaret or Margarita?" Hermés asked, his voice teasing but laced with the same insight that always made her feel exposed.

She bit her lip, unsure how to answer. Margaret was the side of her that Hermés knew best, the quiet girl who had grown up with him, the one who shared family secrets and long conversations about life. But Margarita? That was who the world saw. And sometimes, it felt like Hermés could see through both.

"I don't know," she admitted quietly. "Maybe both."

"Both?" Hermés asked, his brow lifting as he turned to look at her more fully. His question was gentle, but it pierced through the walls she had built.

Margarita hesitated, her gaze fixed on the waves as she searched for the right words. She had never really spoken about this—about the duality she constantly felt, the push and pull between who she was and who she had to be.

"Yeah," she said finally, her voice soft. "It's like... I'm two different people, you know? Margaret is the girl who sits here on this hill and thinks too much. The one who misses family dinners and quiet moments." She paused, her fingers absentmindedly pulling at a thread on her jeans. "But Margarita... she's the one everyone else sees. The loud, fun party girl. The one people expect."

Hermés nodded slowly, his eyes studying her as she spoke. "I get it," he said, his voice thoughtful. "But you don't have to be two different people, Mar. You can be both."

"I don't know if I can," she whispered, her throat tightening. "Sometimes it feels like there's no room for Margaret anymore. Like, no one even knows her."

"I know her," Hermés said quietly, his hand reaching out to gently nudge her shoulder. "And I think other people would want to know her too... if you let them."

Margarita swallowed hard, her heart feeling heavy. She wanted to believe that, but the weight of being Margarita—of being the "it girl"—felt so ingrained in her life. Letting people see Margaret, the quieter, more vulnerable side of her, felt too risky.

"I don't know how to do that," she admitted.

"Why don't you know?" Hermés asked, his tone gentle but probing. He wasn't going to let her shy away from this, not when he could sense how much it weighed on her.