Wanderlust - A Felinette Fanfic

Now

Another week has passed since that night. Félix has been coming home more often drunk that not. He reeks of stale beer. It doesn't smell good anymore. Marinette used to like it when he came home every Friday after he drinks with Nino because he was inebriated, yes, but Félix was still there. This Félix in front of her isn't someone she knows. And if she focused hard enough, Marinette can almost smell another on him. Something sweet. A perfume that isn't hers. Camille is already sleeping, and she's fixing his couch. "Did you at least dinner?" She asks in a clipped tone.

He groans, rubbing his head from the headache. "I think so," he comments, standing up and stretching. He looks at her and finds the annoyed, cold stare she's been giving him, and if he's being honest, it doesn't phase him anymore. It's normal now. He's used to it. He walks out of the kitchen with a cup of tea, sipping it slowly as he sits on the couch, avoiding her gaze. He feels bad. He promised her he'd never cheat on her. And yet there's this gut feeling inside of him that she doesn't love him anyways, so what does it matter that he's finding relief elsewhere? They don't sleep together anymore. They don't talk anymore. It's all so dry. "Did you?"

"Yes." She swallows the lump in her throat. The more she stays by him, the more she notices the little things. The undone tie. The unkempt collar. Tousled hair. She takes a deep breath as she averts her gaze, reaching for the envelope on the coffee table. "Rose came over earlier. Lavillant. She was a friend back in France, I told you about her. She's getting married next week. Here's the invitation," she says, handing it to him.

He hums, taking the invitation and looking over it. "Ah, I think you introduced us at our wedding. Yes, I remember. Very cheerful," he chuckled dryly, crossing a leg over the other. "Are we going?"

"We probably should," she replies, as if that was answer enough. It wasn't. But she's not sure if she wants to see someone enter marriage so happily, and she'd be reminded. Of her own that was once happy, that was once made strong by their vows that were now broken. She's almost sure they were, anyway, all that she needed was just definitive proof.

He nods, leaning over to press a light kiss on her cheek. "Just let me know. Goodnight, Marinette," he says, and then climbs under the blankets, laying down. Guilt creeps up his body, staying in his heart, knowing he made a vow and he broke it. 'Stop making promises you can't keep,' he heard his mother's voice, and closed his eyes tightly, as if it would stop the guilt. It didn't. It overcame him, knowing he'd slept with another woman that wasn't his wife. He cheated. He hurt her. And he didn't care enough to hide it. Before she left the room, he decided to tell her. The guilt was too strong. "Wait."

Marinette stops. She looks over her shoulder, and looks at him in scrutiny. Whatever it was he wanted to tell her, she isn't ready. She can't be ready. She never was ready. "What is it?"

He sees the cold look in her eyes and presses his lips together. The words get caught in his throat. "I..." he says, heart racing, in the worst way possible. "I'm sorry," he says, tears beginning to fall from his eyes. He wipes them away only to make room for new ones. "I'm so sorry."

She sees him break apart into pieces. And she does too, slowly but surely, these cracked pieces of her kept apart by the thinnest of threads, pulling and pulling, until she falls apart at the seams. Her chest tightens, possibly a futile attempt to keep herself together. She swallows the lump in her throat, and her feet weakly takes her to him before she could even register the motion. Every step she took felt way too light. It all felt surreal. She sits on the couch beside him, legs kept to herself, hands folded atop it. She asks the first thing that comes to mind. "Does she love you?" She doesn't feel angry. She cries at the realization.

He watches her walk over and only cries harder, shaking his head. "No," he whispers, keeping himself on the side of the couch, keeping his hands to himself. Her expressions break him even further. She knew. She knows. "It was a hookup. I... got drunk. But I could still feel, and make decisions. I don't blame the alcohol this time. I thought it would be easier to forget. I miss you, Marinette. I don't-" he sobs into his arms, "I don't know what's happening between us, but I hate it."

She cries harder. Her shoulders tremble and her lip quivers, and she curls in on herself, hands balled into a, nails digging onto the skin of her palm. It hurts, It begins to nick and bleed, even, but it doesn't compare to the hurt that now washes over her. She's not angry. Just hurt. And sad. She did this. It's her fault. "I'm sorry," she whispers, and she hates that her voice is so frail, So weak. "It's all my fault. I'm not the same, Félix. I should've let you go. Before we got here." She hiccups. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

He watches her, pain and guilt crashing down on him, and suddenly maybe this wasn't a good idea. He sees the blood and gasps shakily, scooting over to her. "Don't hurt yourself, Marinette. Don't blame yourself for this," he whispers, taking her hands off of each other and holding them gingerly but firmly with one hand, cupping her cheek with the other. "I'm sorry for hurting you. Stop blaming yourself," he shakes his head, crying harder as well. Her words cut through him like a hot knife. 'I should've let you go.' He didn't want her to let him go. That's what he was trying to tell her. That's the opposite of what he wanted. But he's gone and broken everything between them, and so he doesn't have the ability to ask for that.

His touch doesn't bring her comfort. Not when she thinks how it's touched another. Undressed another. Caressed another and made another feel good while she's left wondering if she's ever enough. All of it, all the words, they come rushing out. "I can't love you the way you loved to be loved, Félix," she whispers, trying to push him away, pushing him away, pulling away. "You don't deserve all this, you don't-" she sobs, "you don't deserve me. I don't deserve you. You deserve better. I just hurt you. I pushed you to make this decision. I should've stopped being so selfish. I should've stopped thinking I could do more. I'm not enough. It's not enough, Félix. My love for you. I can't love you enough to make you stay and it hurts."

He shakes his head but backs away, giving her space. He doesn't deserve to touch her, not now, not ever. He buries his face in his hands, biting on his lip so hard it bleeds. The metallic taste fills his mouth as he cries, mixing with the salt from his tears. "You're right. I don't deserve you. I am... I'm a lying, cheating, drunk for a husband. Not a worthy father, either. I hurt you like this. It's all my fault, Marinette, stop blaming yourself," he begs, his voice breaking. "I still love you, but I'm afraid you don't love me anymore," he whispers, his throat dry and cracked and hurting and pain is all he feels. "All I wanted was for you to come back to me. To talk to me. We promised, Marinette. We promised to tell each other if something was wrong? How can I fix it if you can't tell me what's broken?"

"Because I'm not broken, Félix!" A voice yells, and Marinette realizes too late that it was hers. She stands up from the couch, and she worries that her volume would wake up Camille. Camille. Camille, their daughter. Their child. The person she's supposed to love, but everytime she looks at her, she's reminded so much of Félix and all the could have been's. "I'm not broken," she convinces herself. "I love Camille. I do." She repeats over and over again. "And I love you too. I love Camille because I love you. I'm happy like this, I am." The baby begins to cry from the room, and Marinette can't find it in her to console the baby. Can't find it in her to put the baby before herself. She's too weak, too tired. Too broken. "I'm not broken," she whispers.

He looks at her and shakes his head in disbelief, standing up. "I'm taking her to Alya and Nino's, and then we're talking this out, okay??" he says, more of a statement than a request. "Give me at least that."

Marinette looks up to Félix, biting her lip. The look of disbelief, she mistakes for disappointment. Anger. She doesn't know. But she nods. She hugs herself and she nods. "I will," she says, lowering her gaze.

He nods, walking into their room. He picks up the baby and sighs shakily, kissing the top of her head. "I'm sorry, my love. I'm trying to fix it, okay? Mommy and Daddy will be okay. I pro-" he paused, closing his eyes tightly as he lets out a soft sob. "I hope."