Amy flung the door open with more strength than she planned, before scrambling after the knob to stop it from colliding with the wall. She looked into the room after she finally calmed the door; there was no one there.
Korvus be praised, now calm yourself, Amy.
She needed to be calm, now more than ever, or else they would notice.
So she took her steps — one at a time — slow as the energy buzzing through her allowed.
She opened her room door. After she heard it click in place, she darted to her single wooden wardrobe, flung open the door, and poured out the contents.
She picked up a log-brown bag, the first one she could find, and started forcing in clothes. She didn't know how long she would be gone; she would need to be away a month at least. Long enough that they'd call off the wedding. So she needed quite a bit of clothes, maybe even the whole wardrobe.
There was a knock at the door. Amy looked up from the heap of clothes on the floor to the knob slowly bending lower. She picked up the bag, threw it in the wardrobe, then closed it, and by the time she looked up again, the door was already open. It was Mr Fitz.
"You're back," he said. He looked down at the pile of clothes and his brows knitted. "Are you looking for something?"
"N-no." She stuttered.
He held her eyes for a second. "Okay."
Before turning around and walking out the door.
She took a deep breath. She looked out the window; the sun was almost completely gone.
Not that much time left.
She bent down and continued forcing clothes into the bag. She wouldn't be able to take everything. Cassian would be here soon. He was serious when he said he would leave her behind.
There was a knock on the door, and why was everyone knocking today. They never did before.
Amy picked up the rest of her clothes and pushed them into her wardrobe with the bag on top of the pile.
There was another knock.
"Amy?"
"Come in," she replied, looking around the room one more time.
Mrs Fitz walked in slowly. She had a look to her, one Amy couldn't quite place.
"Can we talk?" she asked as she closed the door behind her.
"Okay."
She stood there before pacing around and finally resting against the wardrobe.
Of all the places in this room.
It was only a matter of time before she started fiddling with the handle, and then she would open it. And her clothes would fall out, and the bag. Amy felt a knot form in her stomach as she thought about the possibility.
"Sit." Mrs Fitz gestured to the bed. Amy complied.
"I said some things yesterday."
She paused. What if Cassian came by the window now? How would she explain it?
"I meant some of those things, most of them, in fact. But there were others—"
He's a friend from work.
Would she even believe her?
"—others that I didn't mean to say."
"Okay."
Mrs Fitz looked at her and sighed. Then she started pacing again — Korvus be praised — but this was taking too long.
Maybe she could hurry her up. Amy looked to the window, hoping to catch Cassian before he did anything.
"I'm sorry."
Amy froze and turned her head back from the window. Her lips parted slightly as she locked eyes with Mrs Fitz. She didn't remember all the conversations they'd ever had, but she was sure.
She'd never heard her say those words before. Not once in the thirteen winters she'd known her.
For a second, she was a different person. No longer the grouchy, unfeeling woman she knew her to be, but something more vulnerable.
"Don't look at me like that. Say something."
"I… I don't know what to say."
"Maybe it's alright? Or I'm angry, but I'll still forgive you."
"I'm not angry." For all her flaws, Amy could never stay angry at her.
Mrs Fitz smiled, and then she was laughing. Why was she laughing.
"When you were younger, maybe seven winters, you had this doll you used to play with."
"I don't remember that."
"Don't interrupt me, child." And Mrs Fitz was back, but only for that moment.
"As I was saying, you had a doll and you would take that thing everywhere. Nearly drove me mad with it. Then one day, I come back home, and I find you perched on a tree, like a cat, with the doll in your little hands. I don't call out to you — instead I walk up to the tree slow as I could and I pull you down."
She was making a face as she narrated, raising her hands up, like she was reliving the moment.
"And then I hit you. I didn't know why, but I did.
I took the doll from you and you start whining, but I wouldn't hear it. You keep crying, for days, weeks even, but eventually you stop."
"One evening, I ask you how you got up there, why you even went up there, and you look at me and say — with the most innocent look in your eyes —"
"You say, 'I heard you say you wanted apples, so I wanted to get apples, and then I fell asleep.'"
She smiled, slow and gentle.
"It was an orange tree. But I didn't tell you that. Instead I just told you to never climb trees again. I said that for the same reason I didn't call out to you when you were asleep on that tree. Because I was afraid. But you're not a child anymore, so I'll say what I should've said now"
She walked to the bed and sat down, placing her hands on Amy's.
"I — we — love you. And even if at times I may do things that you don't agree with, know that it is never meant to hurt you. We don't have any children, only you. So I'll be damned if I ever do anything to hurt you."
Amy looked into her eyes. Mrs Fitz had tells — her eyes were firm when she lied, cold as iron, but they moved around, as they did now, when she wasn't.
What was this. Amy didn't know what to say to her. Didn't know how to react to this swelling in her chest.
Mrs Fitz stood up, rubbing her hand over her right eye.
"Now," she sniffled, "get ready for dinner. I'll cook, but only today."
She turned her head and looked at the wardrobe.
"And why are you leaving your clothes lying around," she said as she walked out.
The room was quiet now. What was this throbbing in her chest.
Was it fear? Or maybe it was her body finally calming down.
It had to be, yes. The result of her body being on a knife's edge and now finally relaxing.
There was a shadow by her window, and as she turned her head to look, she knew what it was. This aching, throbbing thing.
She didn't want to leave anymore.