losttheright | (no subject)

It's over.

Thinking about it like that is probably strange and awful, Molly is sure, but right now, she doesn't care. The papers are all signed, Abigail is with Jessica — with her mother now, in every legal and emotional sense — and her belongings in the process of being moved over, and she's all but signed the lease on an apartment she's been eyeing for a while. Whatever should or shouldn't be the case, though, she doesn't feel conflicted at all. Mostly, she just feels relieved, a weight off her shoulders that she's been carrying around since Lee disappeared, or, really, since well before that. She was never cut out for the life she wound up in. Maybe the two of them together could have made it work, but she isn't so sure of that, either, with as much time as she spent waiting for him to change his mind and leave again. From the start, it wasn't right. She doesn't regret the choice she made, if only because she knows she couldn't have made a different one, but things finally feel like they're starting to fall back into place.

She may still be well and truly fucked in the head, but that's something to deal with at a later time. Right now, the relief outweighs all of it.

Finally alone, Molly considers going to a bar, but then pulls out her phone instead, firing off a quick text to Clarke. She may as well have a little company. It's less depressing than drinking alone. Everything's finally settled. :) Wanna come celebrate with me?

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"Yeah." The more Clarke thinks about it, the more that she is into the idea. There is something about filling up that physical space, even if it's just putting a coat of colored paint on the walls or making a patterned accent wall that makes her feel at all. It isn't like she's going to give up all of her ambition for other ventures to become a house painter. No, that would probably make her crazy to be beholden to the demands of other people. But this is Molly who deserves to have a space that is hers, right down to the moulding. "It'll be fun. You won't even have to help. You can just pick paint colors and talk to me. Or leave and come back to a tasteful surprise."

"I kind of like the tasteful surprise idea, actually," Molly says, grinning just a little at the thought of it. When it comes to decorating, she's good at settling into a place, at choosing artwork for the walls and places to hang plants, anything to make even the most temporary of lodgings feel like a home. It served her well back when she was living on the road, making each motel room more personal than just the generic bed and closet and desk. Anything beyond that, though, is more than her skill set applies to. Choosing colors for paint and carpets and throw pillows was something they always had people to do for them, back home, aware though she is that her upbringing wasn't exactly a conventional one. "Emphasis on the tasteful, I don't want to come back and have, like, dicks painted on my walls."

"Oh darn," Clarke says with mock disappointment as she snaps her fingers. It's over-the-top play acting of a gesture she's never actually seen someone do in real life, at least not in any seriousness. But it kind of fits the moment. "There goes my plans to paint a massive dick above your bed. To really set the mood."

Unable to carry on faking it for any longer than necessary, she breaks out into a laugh before shaking her head. "No, you don't have to worry. I'll definitely make it tasteful. It could be really cathartic."

She means that for Molly, but also a little bit for herself. There is something about filling up a blank space that puts her at ease. A lifetime of living in cramped spaces has made her wary of too much openness. It's hard to know what will be found.

"Oh, yes, because I definitely have a lot of mood-setting that needs to be done," Molly quips, rolling her eyes. The fact that she hasn't been getting laid with any kind of regularity isn't something she's bothered by in the slightest. It isn't just because Lee is gone, either; it's been ages since she woke up in an empty bed, and it isn't like there's been no one since. All things considered, she thinks she may have gotten over him a little too quickly, though whether that was from sheer force of will or because she wasn't feeling much of anything back then, even she isn't sure. The real problem is that she doesn't trust most people enough for that, able to count on one hand now the number of times she's gotten laid over the last year or so. There's nothing to be done to that end, though, and it's not like it's the worst thing in the world. "But other than that, you know, knock yourself out. Whatever you do, I'm sure it'll look good."