The Messy Months [EDITING]

November - 4

Marcy was sure she'd been tempted before. But this tempted? Had she ever felt temptation like this? It seemed that every time Trym came over all she wanted to do was kiss him. Let him speak the fluent tongue language into her mouth. Thoughts like that kept poking at the back of her mind, and it was starting to freak her out a little. She bet if her mother were still talking to her, she'd be able to pick up on it already.

"Who'd you do it with?" That's what Marcy's mother would ask. She was a very blunt and forward woman, especially with her own daughter. "Who did you do it with, and why?"

Marcy remembered when her mother tried to ask her that at dinner, when she first started dating. When Marcy shut her down—something that was very hard to do—her mother brought it right back up a week later, when Donald came over for dinner the very first time. Marcy left the table red-faced and teary-eyed, and Donald followed her right up to the bathroom. They talked through the door and when Donald finally coaxed her into letting him in, he suggested they get purity rings.

Marcy's mom hadn't brought it up since.

So, maybe she had been tempted like this before. Maybe she'd felt this way with Donald. Maybe this was better than being with Donald. Marcy almost felt ashamed for thinking such a thing.

Almost.

"Dude."

Marcy looked up from her sandwich, meeting Bailey's gaze. "Hm?"

Bailey leaned forward, closely inspecting Marcy's mouth. "Mhm..."

"What? Is there something in my teeth?"

"Nah." Bailey sat back, crossing her thin arms over her flat chest. "I'm just surprised you even have teeth."

Marcy rolled her eyes, smiling wider before biting into her sandwich. It was actually getting hard to eat. It seemed the joy and happiness she felt inside couldn't help but be leaked out into the atmosphere—and become permanently etched onto her face.

Bradley came around the corner, latte in hand. He gave Bailey a glance, his shoulders tense. "What day is it?"

"Day eight," Bailey replied, just as stiff.

"Ah."

Marcy watched him walk away. "Day eight for what?" she asked, taking another bite of her sandwich, thinking she almost had a hold on her facial expression.

"Day eight of Mrym. Or do you prefer Tarcy?"

Marcy's smile sprang back into full life, even though she was sure she had lettuce in her teeth. "I like Tarcy, myself."

Bailey just laughed, looking down at her food. As quickly as she expressed her laughter, she sobered up. Marcy studied her friend, looking her over. "What is it?"

Bailey shook her head, picking at her food. "Nothing. Except..."

Marcy rolled her eyes. "Just tell me. You know you're going to."

Bailey snorted, looking up into her friend's eyes. "Don't you think it's a little sudden?"

Marcy nodded. "Yeah. But I also this it's a lot right." She stood up, gathering her trash. "You don't have to think we'll work. And if you want, I won't ask for your support. Just don't leave me hanging, Bails. Too many people have done that to me."

Bailey nodded, slurping at her drink. Marcy could tell the moment was over. Her friend and her feelings had retracted back into their protective shell. "Remember, I respect your opinion. But this is my choice." As she walked away, Marcy wondered if she was picking the wrong time to stand her ground. Was she being too harsh with her friend? Was she being stupid and not realizing that this totally wasn't going to work?

Marcy pushed all the thoughts aside, lighting up when she heard her phone beep. She'd received a text from Trym.

Happy day eight, dear. <3

Marcy felt her smile widen and she couldn't help but feel like yes, she had made the right choice. Yes, this was going to work.

Happy day eight. <3

On day eighteen of Tarcy, things started to go down hill. Trym got really busy with practice and Marcy's new job at a Chinese restaurant a block over from Bailey's apartment made her downtime shrink considerably. Classes started picking up, and though they had time together between that, they mostly just spent it going over their work and asking each other questions.

Marcy could feel the tension in her growing. Hardly talking to Trym made it hard. She couldn't tell if it was just her feeling like this or if maybe Trym was feeling it too. She was too afraid to ask.

"Hey, we should go out on Friday," Marcy suggested, scraping at the bottom of a take out container. Her job gave her a great discount the boys liked to use. She'd stayed at Trym's house, waiting for him to get back from practice so they could finally talk. "Just you and me. A night on the town."

"I can't," Trym said, sighing around his food. He took his time chewing and swallowing before explaining, "My group is going out of town for a game." He straightened up. "Hey, maybe you could come. I'd have time between practices to show you around. We could do tourist-y things together."

Marcy set her food container down. "That sounds like fun. I'd have to ask for some time off, and figure out what to do while you were busy, but—"

Trym slumped forward. "You don't have to go if you don't want to, M."

She stared at him. It bugged her how easily defeated he seemed to be lately. "I was going to say we could make it work."

He shook his head, tossing his trash beside hers. She took in their positions. He was sprawled across his bed while she sat at the end, back hunched over. Was this how couples spent their precious time together—apart?

She thought back. Her and Donald had never been this separate. She felt a wave of bravery—or maybe it was the rice shifting in her belly—and decided to change that.

Marcy twisted onto all fours, crawling toward Trym slowly and deliberately. He had his eyes closed, the faintest wisp of a smile on his lips. She gave those tempting lips a gentle kiss, her body sliding into place above him. She tested how close she could get to the thin line of temptation by lifting her leg to straddle his hips. Trym's eyes popped open.

"Marcy..." His voice sounded strained, and she hoped in the back of her mind that that was a good thing.

She took his hands and placed them on her waist, guiding them up her sides. "Trym...," she breathed, strangely enjoying his soy sauce breath. She kissed into his mouth, tasting his salty lips. "I've missed you..."

Trym rolled them over, locking her leg against his side. "I've missed you too." He kissed her deeply and warmly, making her insides collapse. She gasped for air when he pulled back. "But we need to slow down, okay?"

Marcy shook her head, trying to pull him down against her. She felt desperate and stupid, but she kept tugging, even when she knew he wouldn't budge.

"Marcy...please."

She stopped, her fingers curled into his shirt. He sat up, allowing her to wriggle out from beneath him and stand up. She grabbed her purse and jacket, making a dash for the stairs when he caught her arm.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going back to Bailey's."

Trym slid his fingers down her arm, his tips touching her wrist. "I thought you were staying for the night."

She shook her head, feeling like a robot. "Not tonight. Sorry."

He tried to catch her gaze, but she dropped her head to stare up at the basement door.

Stay.

Please tell me to stay.

Because if he asked, she would.

"Alright," he whispered eventually, his hand pulling back. "Good night."