“It’s my favourite movie ever,” I confess, shifting myself a little so I’m more comfortable.
When it comes to Kiera Knightly and Matthew MacFayden, I need my 100% focus.
I press play and immediately, I’m immersed.
The chirping of birds against the stunning visual of the sunlit fields, just before the piano drifts in to reveal the title, pulls me in and consumes me completely. Suddenly,I’mElizabeth Bennett, sauntering through the meadow, nose stuck in her book. It’s no testament as to why I hold this movie so dear to me. The characters, the setting, the story, it hugs my heart completely.
To my surprise, Marlon doesn’t make constant comments, as the movie goes on. I’d almost expected that he would be insufferable to watch a film with, like he used to be when we were kids, hogging the remote to rewind to his favourite scenes.
“Soyou’retellingme,” he chimes up, through a mouthful of chips, “That Mr. Darcy just doesn’t like Elizabeth?”
I nod, humming in agreement. He soon quiets on this opinion when Mr. Darcy’s clear pining grows direly more obvious. Once the movie reaches the infamous Mr. Darcy hand flex scene, Marlon pauses.
“Okay, so explain this please,” Marlon says, “I always see people ravingonandonabout this scene.”
I clear my throat, inhaling deeply and my mind recalls all the theories and explanations I’d gathered online.
“Basically, the reason why this scene is so significant is because Mr Darcy’s hand flex shows us how affected he is by Elizabeth. You notice how throughout the movie, he’s had this broody composure?” Marlon nods at the question, and I continue, “He holds himself to be so stoic, emotionless, yet something as simple as helping Elizabeth onto the carriage, of touching her bare hand with his, baffles him.Unravelshim.”
As I finish my mini ramble, I breathe in deeply, and turn to Marlon to gauge his reaction. His eyes dance with amusement and intrigue, as he slowly nods.
“So Mr. Darcy’s guard is let down from something as little as a brief hand touch? Wow, I see. That’s definitely swoonworthy.”
I chuckle, endeared by his attention. I didn’t think Marlon would take this movie seriously. Once we reach the scene of Mr Darcy’s confession to Elizabeth in the rain, my stomach begins to churn with yearning. It happens everytime.
“I love you, “ I mouth along with Mr. Darcy, “Most ardently.”
Gosh, that confession gets me everytime.
As Elizabeth exclaims how Mr. Darcy is the last man she’d ever be prevailed to marry, I hear Marlon whisper, “That’s harsh.”
“Yeah,” I agree, “But he kind of deserves it.”
As we reach the ending, where Mr. Darcy proclaims that he is bewitched body and soul by Elizabeth (therefore bewitching me), I am curled fetally, my face contorted in a silent sob. Marlon shifts beside me, his leg brushing mine ever so slightly.
“So, everyone wants a Mr. Darcy, huh?” he says, and nudges me, a playful smile on his lips, “I’ve got to be brooding and mysterious?”
I roll my eyes, sitting up. It causes my leg to brush a little more against his, and I scoot away.
“No, you’ve got to be Matthew Macfadyen,” I joke. More seriously, I add, “But really, Mr. Darcy just didn’t know how to love properly, without prejudice, until he met Elizabeth. Even though, during her first confession, he basically insults her by implying he’s had to put aside his pride to pursue her, he eventually learns that it doesn’t matter. And he loves her unconditionally, even beyond her rejection.”
Marlon hums thoughtfully. He turns his body toward me.
“Or maybe I just need to spurt out swoonworthy lines, right?” he laughs, meeting my eyes. I laugh with him. That’s when he pokes my knee.
“How about you and Rafayel? How is that going?”
“It’s going good,” I say, yet my expression must beg to differ as his brow raises.
“Did he do something?” he asks, a little hard. I shake my head.
“Oh definitely not, I just -”
I search Marlon’s eyes. It’s so brown, and so warm. I know I am safe. That I can tell him anything.
“Even if we get together,” I continue, keeping my voice low, “How do I know he’ll stay? How can I keep him?”
Voicing my deeply rooted insecurities out loud makes me want to crumble inwards. I groan, burying my face in my hands.Fingers enclose around my wrists, and gently pull them apart. He’s smiling at me, his hands holding on.
