Post-Credits Melancholy

TW: brief mentions of homophobia and conversion therapy

The air reeked of despondency and buttered popcorn. 

Everyone else in the theatre had since left, not particularly keen on staying in the dimly-lit room any longer. But not them. The couple remained motionless, stoic faces illuminated only by the credits that crept up the screen. They dare not leave, for they knew that the second they did, it would be over. Their relationship would come to its close the second they stepped out the door and returned to the land of talking and fighting. 

But here, silence was mandatory, acting as the calm before the storm. A generic instrumental song provided the soundtrack for what was to be their last night together. Perhaps a romantic comedy would have been a better film, and maybe a romantic dinner would have aided their dying relationship more than their final meal of popcorn and candy. Nevertheless, it was over: the relationship, the movie. The flame had burned out as easily and as hastily as the projector had shut off. 

As the last of the white writing disappeared from the screen, a tear slid down Betty’s cheek. The brunette squeezed her eyes shut to prevent any more from falling, worried that the red-haired girl seated to her right would glimpse this moment of vulnerability and fragility. When the lights eventually came on, the women knew they had to deal with the inevitable. 

Before Betty could process it, the red-haired girl was standing, gazing down at her. “Betty,” she spoke softly, with a look the aforementioned could only discern as pity in her shining eyes. “It’s time to go.” 

“Just a few more minutes,” Betty pleaded, returning her gaze to the blank screen. 

“We can’t,” the redhead said as she gestured to the exit, where a young cinema employee stood impatiently. They glared at the couple as they waited for them to leave so the employee could do their job and clean the theatre. Betty hesitantly nodded, pulling her jacket on as she trailed behind the redhead. She sheepishly sent the employee a tight-lipped smile but they just rolled their eyes and brushed past the couple. 

They had caught the last showing of the night, and thus, the lobby was relatively empty. A few employees milled about, sweeping and finishing up whatever tasks were required of them before they could clock out and go home. Betty momentarily forgot her own issues and felt bad for them, specifically the earlier employee that now probably hated her guts. She was almost certain they went to school together but was unable to recall their name. Caught up in her thoughts, Betty fell behind, and the other girl’s longer legs led her to reach the parking lot much faster than the former. 

“Talia,” Betty called out to get the redhead’s attention. Talia slowed down but didn’t respond, but, at this point, Betty was used to it. They reached Talia’s car—a second-hand car that she had somehow convinced her parents to help her buy when she turned 18—and Betty pulled her jacket tighter when the redhead opened the passenger side door for her. Even though she knew how the night would end, she couldn't help the heat that crept up her neck. 

The radio played softly throughout the drive, more advertisements than music these days; some commercial for a mattress store, a back-to-school sale that was about to end, which celebrity had done something gossip-worthy that would definitely be discussed on the morning radio show. Talia pulled off to the side of the road, a few houses down from the brunette’s house. By now, Betty had come to expect it, but that didn’t mean it didn’t sting that her girlfriend didn’t want to be seen with her. 

“So,” Betty drew in a sharp breath, hand on the door handle, “this is it?” 

“This is it,” Talia nodded. She didn’t dare meet Betty’s eyes, opting instead to study her nails with an intense focus. “I’ll, uh- I’ll see you at school.” 

Betty almost scoffed at her words. “That’s it?” Her sadness was gone, replaced by a fierce anger unlike anything she’d ever felt. “Three months together and all I get is a ‘see you at school’? Did this summer mean nothing to you?” 

“You knew this was going to happen, Betty,” Talia frowned, confused at the brunette’s outburst. “You knew going into this that it wouldn’t last. That it couldn’t.”

“Doesn’t make it any easier,” Betty retorted. “I guess I thought that I was more to you than just some summer fling.” 

“What do you think will happen, Betty,” Talia turned in her seat to face her. “If we walk into school holding hands tomorrow?”

Betty frowned. “I don’t know. People will know that we’re a couple?”

“Exactly. It starts with just the students, sure. But it doesn’t stop there. My parents, my entire family, everyone in the community—they find out that I’m a lesbian. Do you know how bad that would be for me? They’ll ship me off; either to catholic school, or military school, maybe even conversion therapy if I’m extra unlucky.”

“I didn’t think about that-”

“Because you don’t have to,” Talia snapped. “Your family supports you in everything you do. They don’t care if you like girls or boys or anyone. All they care about is your happiness. Mine don’t.” 

Betty reached across the car and placed a hand gently on Talia’s arm. “I care about your happiness.” 

Talia shook her head, pulling her arm away from Betty’s grasp. “If you really did, you wouldn’t be asking me to throw away my future for a summer fling.” 

Betty slouched in the passenger seat. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.” Talia shrugged. “But it’s not your fault. It’s not even my family’s fault. I guess there’s nobody to blame.” 

Betty hummed in response. “Maybe we could be friends, you know? Even if we can’t be together in the way I want us to be, I don’t want to lose you from my life.” 

“Yeah,” Talia smiled for the first time that evening. “I’d like that.”

Betty returned the smile, before grabbing her things and wordlessly exiting the vehicle. As she watched Betty trudge down the street, fading into the distance, Talia turned up the radio. A fast-food advertisement, the new hit single from a band she’d never heard of, and what movies were getting a sequel. Just as Betty reached her front door, bathed in the gleam of the porchlight, Talia recognized one of the titles. If she hadn’t known it, she would have been concerned, because she’d just seen the film no more than an hour before. Starting the engine, her smile grew into a grin that could rival the Cheshire cat. 

Similar to the movie, the relationship was over—but it was the start of what Talia knew would be a beautiful friendship. Even the movies with the worst endings can have a sequel.