Through Thick And Thin

ONLY YOU Part 3

Author's Note: Hey! I decided to continue writing this now that quarantine forces me to stay inside anyway, so I hope this can bring some happiness in these strange times. Also, I decided to make this into a full-length story called... Only You! So check that out, and hopefully there will be a new chapter up there soon. Stay safe x

One week had passed. Seven days. Yes, Cordelia had been counting. It was torture.

Misty had avoided her at all costs; scurrying from any room as soon as Cordelia entered it, taken detours around the garden to not speak to her and eaten dinner alone in the sitting room. The most she had gotten from Misty, conversation-wise, since the Doomsday in the Greenhouse (as Cordelia had began referring to it) was a brisk 'No' when asked whether she wanted to go for a walk, and 'I watered the plants' while taking a beeline out of the greenhouse, not even offering as much as a glance in the headmistress' direction.

Cordelia simply could not stand it anymore. She had been troubled with guilt ever since the fight, and had tried several times to apologise (though Misty always ignored everything she said and actually started conversations of her own before Cordelia had even finished a sentence). The first few days, Cordelia had been nonplussed at what had triggered the outburst. She knew it had something to do with Madison, of all people, but surely Misty could not believe that Madison and herself were in any kind of relationship. That would be impossible, everyone knew that. Surely.

It wasn't until she spoke with Zoe on the fifth day of the distancing that Cordelia finally realised how much damage she had caused the wild-haired witch. According to Zoe, Misty had been crying several times a day, and ever since the fancy-dress evening she had not laughed once. Zoe even ventured as far as to say that she could physically see her heart breaking piece by piece, day by day. Yet no matter how hard Cordelia tried, Misty would not accept any form of contact from her. She needed to act drastically, and that was why, for the last two days, Cordelia had been busier than usual, thinking and planning and hoping and praying.

While this social distancing had been forced upon Cordelia, everything had gone downhill. It was as though a light had been put out in her life; colours seemed duller, sounds had no depth and even the plants in her greenhouse seemed sickly - more grey than green. She had slowly come to the realisation that she ached for the blond-haired Stevie Nicks-fanatic more than she had ever ached for anyone.

Last night, Cordelia had had yet another one of her sleepless nights. She had gone down to the kitchen, poured herself a glass of wine and had walked into the sitting room to listen to some music. After a while, she found herself in the kitchen again, pouring yet another glass. This back-and-forth between the kitchen and the sitting room had continued until the bottle was empty and Cordelia decided to move onto something stronger, like bourbon. So there she was, head swaying on the white couch with a glass of Bulleit rapidly being emptied. She had, in fact, forgotten to put on music - her thoughts were already occupying her entire, limited concentration span - and now realised footsteps were interrupting the silence, walking into the room. Turning around, it took a while before her eyes fully focused on Nan standing in the doorway with an unreadable expression on her face (or perhaps she could have read it if she hadn't been drunk... who knows).

"Hey, Nan. Why're you up so late, isn't it like, what, 3 o'clock?" Cordelia tried to sound motherly and concerned, yet her slurred voice gave away her intoxication quickly. Nan sighed inwardly and crossed the room.

"I couldn't sleep, and your screaming thoughts didn't exactly help", she said in mild annoyance, and continued under her breath, "I don't understand how any of these bitches can sleep when there's practically an opera being staged downstairs." Cordelia had to strain hard to hear this last sentence, but even if she felt offended, her reaction time was far too damaged to give a witty reply. "Gee, how much have you been drinking, woman..."

"I'm sorry", Cordelia drew out the apology, sounding like a child who did not want to apologise, but was forced to, "you probably shouldn't've seen this." She tried faintly to hide the empty bottle of wine behind one of the throw-pillows and cover the bottle of bourbon unsuccessfully with the palms of her own hands.

Nan ignored this ridiculous display of Cordelia's sanity (or insanity is perhaps the more fitting word) and cut straight to the bone. "What's this about Misty?" She watched as Cordelia shrank and buried her head in the closest pillow in an unflattering, melodramatic way.

The headmistress mumbled something unintelligible into the pillow, before rolling her eyes and directing her speech at the young girl in front of her. "I don't know, Nan. I don't know what to do, she's just- she won't- I can't do this." A lonely tear started trickling down her alcohol-flushed cheek. "I don't know what's happening." Her face contorted into a mask of pain.

"She doesn't want to speak to you? She avoids you like the plague? You can't live without her. You love her. Etcetera." Nan looked bored with the whole conversation, and Cordelia wondered for a split second what it was like to listen to everyone's thoughts and always know what was on other people's minds. "It's hell, for clarification." Cordelia quickly stopped thinking about that, and first now, as the silence fell over the room, she comprehended the full weight of Nan's words.

"Oh, Nan, I don't love Misty, are you- you're crazy", Cordelia laughed and tried gesturing in an offhanded way, which instead resulted in a weird movement, a sort of greeting that you would imagine extraterrestrials used. Ridiculous. She quieted down. DidsheloveMisty? Try again, Cordelia. Do I love Misty?

"Oh my god, Nan, you're right, I love Misty. How did you know- I don't even know, oh my god, I love Misty, what do I do?" There was a relief in admitting it aloud, Cordelia thought. By saying it, she instantly knew that it was correct: She did love Misty.

But this woman who she loved with all her heart, refused to speak to her. What was she to do?