Theodosia (Burr Alston)
Princeton is rough. And for the legacy child of such a venerated alumni, it’s even rougher. Finals are happening but Theodosia’s got an off day before her last one (the easiest) and she is exhausted. Too tired to eat, sleep, or study. Too tired to entertain the fact that there was every chance that she had just bombed the finals she’d taken that day.
“Fuck this,” she swore, shoving herself out of her desk chair and ripping open her first aid bag. She’d never been more grateful for her father being a worry wart. No one questioned pills in a medical bag and no one searched it for alcohol either. She pops the top off of a small vodka bottle and starts drinking.
Morning finds Theodosia on the floor, surrounded by single serve bottles of liquor and a couple pill bottles as well (all still closed, as her drunk self could not manage the child safety features). She sighs deeply, headache throbbing behind her eyes. A knock at the door makes her wince.
“Theo?” a very familiar voice calls. “Are you in there?” Her eyes widen with alarm. The actual and ever loving fuck is Philip doing here? She quickly sweeps the mess under her bed, thanking God that her roomie had moved out yesterday, and opens the door. Philip wobbles in with a smile, still not quite used to the newest leg brace they have him in. He never complains though. She and Georges wish it wasn’t because he still believes he deserves the pain and struggle.
“Hey babe,” Theo greets, trying to sound not hungover. “What are you doing here?”
Philip’s nose scrunches up as though he were attempting to work out a particularly ornery sentence.
“Have you been drinking?” he asks. Sweat trickles down Theo’s back as he limps closer to her bed and runs his cane underneath. A couple of bottles, both full medicine ones and empty liquor ones, roll out into the center of the room. His eyes widen. “Oh, sweetheart. . .” he breathes. All of the emotions of the past couple days well up and Theo cuts him off.
“Don’t,” she snarls, face heating up with both shame and rage. Philip’s brow knits with concern and Theo’s temper flares further. “Don’t give me that look. Don’t ‘Oh, sweetheart’ me. I needed to escape for a while. So I got wasted. Tried to get more wasted than I was. I was too fucking drunk to get at the pills. But I didn’t walk in front of a speeding car or some shit. I wasn’t trying to die.” It’s a low blow and she knows it.
Philip doesn’t even flinch. Instead, he carefully clears his face and asks in a voice devoid of anything but seemingly professional curiosity, “What was going on yesterday then?” She stares at him, waiting for him to look up and meet her eyes. After a minute or so of total silence, he does. He is able to hide his emotions in a controlled voice and countenance, but the outpouring of unconditional love and concern she sees in his eyes breaks her, and for the first time since she turned thirteen, she breaks down crying with sobs that wrack her body, uncaring of who hears or sees.
Despite his injuries, Philip is quick to scoop her into a tight embrace and pull her up to sit on the bed. She buries her face in his chest, sobs turning into an unintelligible, hiccoughed answer to his question. He doesn’t let go, rocks them back and forth as she soaks his shirt with sweat and tears and snot. Eventually, Theodosia calms. Her sobs give way to quiet sniffles and her violent shaking downgrades to a fine tremor. She lacks the strength to remove herself from Philip’s arms, so he pulls her in tight, presses a kiss into her hair, and whispers, “I love you.” And Theodosia hangs on to those words with everything she has.