She was running late, always running late, a failing of hers, she knew it, but then she couldn't find her purse and once she did manage to locate it (underneath her blue corduroy jacket on the coat tree in the hall), she couldn't find her keys.
He looked up from his writing, and sighed, his brain flooding back to the times when he and Molly broke out into fights over her recklessness or her lust for danger. He found himself making excuses for her in his writing (again), but he was sure that he was right this time; she really was just running late, she hadn't forgotten about him, per say, just her purse... and her keys. Considering history, that was probably an ill advised position to take; god knows he's written enough on all the times he'd been late (and for that matter, the excuses she'd made when she'd gotten there) to write a book, but he was a routine man, and by now, there was nothing to be gained by changing that fact.
He took a breath, marked his place in the notebook he wasn't so much writing in as he was looking at the page and just thinks for a minute. He'd met Molly in middle school, and became a older brother to her; a very bitter, mot pointlessly over protective, sometimes annoying and sometimes comforting, older brother. It had been an odd sight, the sleep-deprived, would be writer and the runaway girl with hair like explosions and eyes like swashbuckling prates, but they were Molly-and-Ben so it was alright. He spent evenings writing, long hours pouring over details and twisting words to paint pictures of his life. High school came and went, and when they graduated, she had left to London. Ran away – and everyone had expected it, because even Ben couldn't hold her down, though he's tried. He'd gotten published, once, twice, when he had aimlessly went on facebook and typed her name in, found she was still in London, bought a plane ticket, and sent her a message telling her to meet him there at a coffee shop he'd always wanted to go to. An here he is, Ben-minus-Molly-going-to-be-married-writes-books, sitting as Molly walks in, thirty-seven minutes late as usual.
As a writer, he must notice thing; and notice he does. She looks the same- nothings changed, and for some reason this bothers him to his core; god knows he's changed, because she was part of him, in a way that when she'd left him, he became just-Ben and he though she'd become some sort of just-molly, but she looks like Ben-and-Molly-but-Ben-just-went-to-the-bathroom-he'll-be-right-back. He stands, not knowing why his heart's skipping so many beats it's a miracle he's alive, walks away from her, and something vital shatters because a friend like Molly wasn't supposed to be denied, no one was supposed to say no. He glances back and she has this exhausted and defeated look on her face, searching for him but giving up after a while; everyone gives up on her, sooner or later, and its nothing new to her, even though it's Ben who did the giving up this time.
He knows, somewhere deep in the far away, silver cabinet of his mind, that he will write about this, but his hands shake as he reaches for the keyboard on the flight back. He comes home, back to Pittsburgh; nothings changed, except he's in different pieces than the ones he left in, and it's okay, in a strange, disjointed kind of way. In the end he writes of her, pieces of Molly he never intended to cast out to a crowd of people who'd all to readily believe him. But he still writes. It's a sort of therapy for him, spilling out the story of Ben-and-Molly (but not Ben3 Molly) for everyone to see, and he puts all the little pieces of them together in a book; their history is written in another persons words, but he's sure she be glad it was him. His fiance (marry-me-marry-me-marry-me), ridiculed for being in love with a man who is so "obviously" obsessed with another woman, doesn't care what they say, 'as long as he write a damn book about me too.' She's brilliant, really, Luci is, and he's working on her book next, it's only fair- Molly started his writing, but Luci's his muse, Molly was his best friend and his 'Watson', once, (once, but once rarely lasts) and Luci's his queen.
Ben-and-Moll, Ben3Luci; He knows the equations, he knows his life. He wrote it, after all.