Holy Ground

1

Keep it in your bedroom museum
We'll trash the place to keep it clean
I'll bury it with my dog in the yard
Paste it up on four little walls
Your attic and the hallowed halls
Echo with whatever we'll discard
They took our tree to the burning yard
We took our chances with counting cards
I dial and dial but you don't hear a thing
These aren't just words to toss around,
But we'll build a house to burn it down,
We'll carve it in your bedpost like it's scripture
Cause it's only gonna kill you if you let it,
But you're only gonna win if you're betting
Facedown on your bedroom floor
How sweet the sound, how clean and pure
Save it for a teenaged mausoleum
Hungrier than ever before
But i don't dare to ask for more
The years go by; dilute it with a scream
Scattered on the holy ground
We'll build a house and burn it down,
We'll carve it in your bedpost like it's scripture
Blink, you'll miss her
On your wedding day, won't you save me a card?
One day, we'll be
Living in the same old city
And i'll say "let's start a band"
And mean it really
You can kick a girl while she's down
I'm sure that i'll see you around
Don't tell me you've forgotten
How it feels to be an optimist,
Come here, won't you give me a kiss goodbye?
It never won't make my father cry
But it's only gonna kill you if you let it,
You're always gonna win what you're betting

She was finally allowed to go home. Or what was home— her DC apartment. She had bought it on a whim, opting to be a "homeowner" instead of a renter. She thought she'd be in DC forever— chasing monsters and spirits with John and Dana for the rest of her career. That wasn't the case. After the events in the desert, her and John hid out in a house somewhere for a month until they got the a-ok to return to society without being arrested. She was cold to him, and didn't regret it. It was so hard to get through everyday stuck in that place. So when it was time for Monica to return home, she gladly took advantage.

Sitting on her bed, she glanced around at her room. There was a thin layer of dust over everything— her phone on the bedside table, the rings scattered on the dresser, her dream journal tossed on the floor. Everything reminded her of her. The Polaroid Dana's mom had taken of them and William was taped above her bed. The one they shared often towards the end. Inside the four walls of her room surrounding her were countless memories with a woman she probably wouldn't see again. Her hallways felt empty, suffocating her when she stood in them.

Maybe it was never meant to be. It felt like it was, though. The voice in the back of her head had berated her saying it'd never work since about two days after she met Dana. With every story she was told about her life, from chats on the couch to car rides to laying across from each other— fingertip to fingertip, she knew someone or something was out to get Dana. Physically, karmically, cosmically.

With a shaky hand, Monica reached to pick up the dusty landline and dialed the number embedded in her brain. Over and over. When she heard the beep, she whispered, only so she could hear.

"Dana. I miss you. I love you."

She wouldn't get it. She was probably long gone with Mulder. Her house probably had the same dust sitting on every surface. It was probably a lost cause. It was like she had built this whole life— a metaphorical house that was so much bigger than her or Dana's apartments combined. It was lovely for the while they had shared it. A lovely, warm house. But when Mulder returned with all of the panic and upheaval, a match was lit. The house was burned down. Unsalvageable.

A sticky note floated down onto the floor in front of her. She picked it up— Dana's handwriting.

"Love you!" adorned with a heart and a goofy little drawing of their faces. She had it hanging on her bedpost. Her movement must've broken the grasp the adhesive had on the wood. She felt her eyes water and blinked with force. She was only going to be able to get through this if she didn't let it rule her life. She felt like she might die if she didn't push all of her feelings down.

It was later. Monica had paced around the apartment, dusting things off, for about four hours. The sky was dark. She opened the windows and lit a cigarette. Smoking was a vice she attempted to get rid of for Dana and William, but it wasn't worth it now, was it? The pull towards her bedroom was strong. She sat on the floor at the foot of her bed, clay ashtray beside her. She tried to remember Dana's voice. She still could. Her laugh. Monica took every opportunity to cherish their time together. She never asked for more because Dana was always enough. That's when the crying finally started.

Each minute without her— without having her one call away, or a 20 minute car ride, or even just knowing she was okay— felt like years. She focused on sobbing, screaming, the way her hand shook. It would dilute the pain of her absence. Maybe.

Would she ever be back? Monica knew Dana would lose her mind in this renegade marriage to Mulder. She envisioned a reunion one day. A big city— DC, somewhere else. Buildings line the streets. Up out of the subway comes Dana. She could feel her embrace. Her eyes flashed open again with a few deep breaths.

Monica stared out of the window, gazing at the cars passing. The last car ride she had with Dana felt off. Neither of them were their normal selves. Something was wrong. She found it impossible to provide positive commentary and words for a defeated looking Dana. When they stood in her living room, Dana looked up at Monica.

"Don't tell me you've forgotten how to be an optimist." The words coming out of Dana's mouth were sweet, but the delivery was desperate. Monica shook her head and kissed her goodbye. It felt final. She didn't want it to— she denied it. But it was the last time.

When she got ready for bed, a quick fall into an old routine, she thought of it all— what she had been through. Who she trusted. What she would do now. An overwhelming sense of sadness loomed over her shoulder. She couldn't let it win this time.