I leave Edith's office with an enormous weight lifted off my shoulders and a pure sense of happiness. She loved my story!! It's such a relief. I thought she would despise me forever. I admit she maybe doesn't like me more with the scene I have just caused in her office, but I feel confident about everything I said. It's like I saw her for the first time, and it got me to understand Marcel better. I am happy to have had that talk. It ruffled some feathers, but I think she respects me now. It was something that had to be done.
I head for the bathroom, noticing that the receptionist isn't at her desk. I think I'm better to head downstairs to use another loo because, with her pregnancy and all, I don't want to rush her in any way. Plus, it gives me the perfect excuse to go see Soph.
I take the elevator to the main floor and head directly to Sophie's desk. It doesn't take more than a smirk her way for her to understand that I have something to share with her. She follows me to the bathroom, and she closes the door. I told her all about my meeting with Edith and how it related to our dinner conversation last night. I talked to her about that too and finally admitted Edith's love for my book. I get all excited, and so does she. She is excellent support.
After a few minutes of chatting, she feels the pressure to go back to work and lets me finally go pee, but she stops me right before leaving. She looks at my chest and down my cleavage. I do the same.
"What happened to your chest?" Sophie asks me with a worried yet curious grin on her face. I look down and notice the redness of where Ratchett had used the fork and all of his electric tools on me. I really should have covered that up. It reminds me of the big ecchi I have on each cheek of my bum. I need to react, quick!
"Allergic reaction to my solar cream." I purse my lips to the side as I look down at the redness on my chest.
I freaked out yesterday when I got out of the shower with Marcel, and I looked down on my body. It was covered with these tiny red dots following the pattern of Ratchett's fork on me. Marcel quickly calmed me down and made me realise it was nothing going to the clinic for. He also made me turn around and look at my bum in the mirror. I had and still have two big and purple ecchi's on my bum. I felt proud to have proof of how fantastic that night was, right until Kate showed up...
Once she is reassured, she leaves me alone in the restroom to use the loo. I do my business and head back upstairs to tell Marcel the great news. I find him talking to the receptionist. He sees me when I get out of the lift and follows me in silence to his office with a stack of papers in his hands.
Unfortunately, the air is still chilly between us. It has been like that since this morning. We've barely talked to each other. He's been very distant. I've informed him about the Ronnie and Steeve thing, but other than that and briefly answering each other's questions about my story, we haven't talked at all. Not about us anyway or what happened last night.
I love him, but I feel emotionally cold for some reason. I don't know if it's to protect myself from the next roadblock in our relationship or if it might still just be the Kate issue. Even though I told him I didn't want to talk about what happened that night in the dungeon, it still weighed on me. Not what happened itself, but Kate. It's so out of my control his relationship with her that it makes me freak out. He tells me he loves me and chooses me, but the second I try to expose the manipulations she does to him, he gets defensive and protects her. He made it pretty clear that they have a long history, and he couldn't throw that away. He values it still a lot. That hurts me. It hurts me a lot, actually. I feel like I can't compare. He has known me for months compared to the decade he's been obsessed with her.
"Can I take you out tonight?" He asks me as he sits nonchalantly behind his desk.
I look at him a moment, trying to figure out where his train of thoughts might be going. Do I want to go out with him tonight, though? I don't really feel in the mood. I've been worrying too much about everything. It exhausts me.
"Please?" He adds, and I look up at him.
His gaze almost burns me alive. It's so intense. I feel wrong to be thinking so selfishly. Maybe he is under a lot of stress as well, and I didn't even care a second about the worries he might have.
I sigh and nod. I look away, feeling sad about the unfortunate situation we find ourselves in. I hear him move, so I look up. He takes off his glasses, throws them on his desk and gets up to walk to the seat next to me.
"Talk to me."
It is a demand rather than an invitation, to which I oblige, but I take my time. I take his hand and stare at it a moment. With my finger, I trace the outline of his hand and close it to peck it gently. Before I know it, his hand grips the back of my neck to pull me in a close embrace that warms my heart.
His hug tells me everything I need to know. It feels so good. I feel comforted and understood. It feels so good to be in his arms. I needed that without even realising it. My heart seems to burst with love and pure bliss. I've missed it, the way he wonderfully makes me feel.
"I've missed you." I let out his ear, controlling myself not to burst into sobs from exhaustion.
My heart races in my chest in this instant, forgetting my worries to feel good in his arms. I trust him with everything I have. But he chuckles at my comment.
"Then you shouldn't have turned me down last night." He lets out what he thinks is a funny comment or a lesson for me, but I get offended by that. I immediately part from him and frown. "What now?!"
"You clearly don't understand, do you?!" I let out with the same arrogant tone he had just used.
"Then enlighten my obvious ignorance, Grace, because you haven't talked to me all day, and when you finally do, it's to yell at me." He gets offended as well, a severe frown on his face.
He steps back from me and rests his back on the opposite arm of the chair. He wears a confused and challenging fire in his eyes that have quickly replaced the loving yet usual cold stare he had seconds earlier.
"You are so guarded all the time, Marcel. The last time we had a moment like the one we've just shared for a second—where you took me in your arms, and I felt all your love—was at the dungeon when we were sitting on the red leather couch. At that moment, I felt like I saw the real you. You were letting me in. You were letting go, and it was beautiful, and it was so simple. You just looked at me, and I felt you, your love, passion, and tenderness. You were beautiful, and I knew just how we were meant to have our paths crossed. I was meant to love and be loved by you. And it's just--" I shake my head as I can't finish my sentence, getting lost in the emotion.
I try to collect myself and go straight to the point because I have been known to have lengthy rambles. I sigh and look up at Mace, searching for his eyes into mine. Once I have them, I see precisely the point I am trying to make.
"But you are so cold and guarded, Marcel. I'm trying to make you see things my way. I'm trying to help you find the fifteen-year-old naive little boy that reads Jane Eyre and recites Romeo & Juliet to his first love because I feel like it's the last time you felt confident about yourself." My tone is sweet and delicate. I want to say more, but it is evident that I have upset him.
"You don't fucking know what you are talking about. That boy is gone. He didn't know anything about the cruel reality of life. He wasn't confident. He was scared. That's not who I am anymore. I've grown, and I'm more confident than you'll ever be." He lashes out at me and gets up to run from this argument, which I won't let him do.
"That was mean, Marcel! And you know as much as I do that you're lying to yourself. You are scared, and you're hiding. I'm trying to help you, but you shut me out all the time."
"You don't try to help me. You try to change me and the way I live my life. Stop seeing me as your little rescue project because I'm not!" He yells back at me, but I don't let him affray me as I get up and follow him immediately.
"I'm not trying to choose the way you live your life. I'm just trying to make you understand that I am giving you all that I have to give." I reply and stop fighting. I step back and look at him. If he wants to fight this, he'll have to do this on his own. I don't want to invest myself into another meaningless argument that won't change anything anyway because he is too fucking stubborn. "I love you, Marcel, I really do, but I don't want to keep fighting for a man doesn't even want to fight for himself."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"I'm just trying to paint the canvas."
He looks puzzled, and that's what I want. Marcel thinks a lot. I know he will think this through, and if he doesn't, I'll have my answer. I would have failed to his mother's hopes...
I sigh for what seems like the tenth time in minutes and walk to the chair to take my purse and go. But before I open the door, I look at him one last time.
"I can't play games like this anymore, Marcel. You have a problem, whether you admit it to yourself or not. Your past poisons you. Even your mum told me so. And if you don't want to help yourself, you will have lost us both."
"You talked to my mum about this?!"
"Of course I did. We're worried about you. But I am done patching a wall you spent your entire life punching."
He looks at me in silence until I take hold of the handle and open the door.
"You're leaving?" He asks in a softer tone as if he finally realises that I can't put up with his fights anymore. He finally knows what it feels like to be the one on the other end of his running away.
"I am. Your mum loved the story, and she's really proud of our work. I want to celebrate."
"What about our date?"
"I don't want to anymore, Mace. You don't make me feel welcome anymore. I need some time to myself."
"But you had last night. How much time alone do you need?"
"As long as it takes for me to recover from all the stress you put me under. I never know on which foot the dance with you. It's emotionally draining to always be on my guards to not upset you."
"I'm sorry..." He looks down, and I feel genuinely bad to leave him like this. I soften my tone, but I really want to be alone right now.
"Anyway... My brother is coming to visit. I want to clean up the flat before he gets here. I'll see you tomorrow at nine."
And on that note, I leave him alone in his office and head back home.
-
Even if Sophie suggested that I wait for her and we head back to the flat together, I wanted the calm and the quiet. So many times, when I was living with Steeve, I found myself alone. I loved it. Every time I was by myself, it meant I was free of Steeve. I now feel sad that I am repeating the same pattern with Marcel. Even though he isn't fundamentally mean, he drains me from inside.
He said earlier that I'm making him my rescue project... He isn't wrong. I'm not trying to fix him because I don't see him as broken in the first place, but something is definitely wrong, and I want to help him. He is a prisoner of his past. Something, a memory, someone, is holding him there. It's maybe a defence mechanism. He's been so used to living with his pain that he found comfort in living in it. Maybe trying to break free scares him. I don't know...
The second I get home, I change from the formal clothes I always wear to work at Wright Books. Marcel and Edith always being classy and on point made me want to update my wardrobe. I put on leggings and an oversized Elton John tee. I wrap my hair up in a messy bun, ready to get my hands dirty.
I've already washed the kitchen and the bathroom when I see all the spider webs on the ceiling. I take a mop and wet it with cleaning products to clean the ceilings at the same time. It's Sophie that reminds me, the second she gets home and laughs at my determination, that I have always had cleaning anxiety. I was the only one cleaning our flat in Manchester, so I've never realised my habit to clean when I'm anxious. Steeve has never helped, not that I can recall.
"Tell me the truth..." Sophie seriousness worries me a second, and I decide to stop what I'm doing and join her on the other couch where she has been watching me since she's arrived home. "Was he really that bad?"
I sigh and take a second to think about it. Despite the low lows, Steeve and I have had some good moments. It wasn't always that bad. Now I'm older, and I realise that I could have helped Steeve the way I try to do with Marcel. Maybe Steeve wouldn't have been so violent. For him, it's like there was no other choice. When he was hurting and needed a boost of confidence, he always felt bringing others down would help him feel better about himself. But it wasn't always like that.
"No, he wasn't always. Since I was always at work or at Uni, I didn't have time for many friends. I had Ronnie and him. So we did everything together. Every year, we would save for a special trip we would do together. It was always during my spring break. It was a slow time for him at the business, so it was the best time to miss work. We went to Dublin and Glasgow. I loved our trips because there was only him and I. I didn't really like how he behaved with his friends. He was the Steeve I knew in school, the one that was bullying me. I think what made him bad was that he cared too much about what people thought of him. When people were around, he had to be cool, mean or gentlemanly. That's why he was exceptionally mean when the boys were there. I think he felt threatened. He never really had good esteem of himself... We connected deeply on that. The difference is that I didn't feel the need to throw him down to feel better. Anyway..." I chuckle and lose my smile, looking down at my mop and how dirty it is.
"It's just... I've never really known my cousin. My family moved here, and we kind of stopped going back to Manchester. My father always thought my mother's part of the family was too snob and superficial. If you say that Steeve cares a lot about what people think of him, and it changes the way he behaves, I think I absolutely understand why. It wouldn't surprise me if his dad acted the same way. When I was young, whenever I was misbehaving, my parents would threaten me that they would drop me off at Uncle Gerry's because he was that frightening, big, hairy and dark man. You know what he looks like, you can understand."
"Oh my God, yes. As a child, I'm sure he can come off as that scary."
"I was always terrified..." She smiles and chuckles a little at her memories, but the air becomes silent, and she suddenly looks up at me. Her gaze is intense, and I get all the seriousness of her thoughts now. "I think I know how I can get him to stop trying to get to you by your friends."
She definitely has my full attention now, but my cellular phone starts to vibrate. It's Marcel. I don't know what to think about it. Part of me wants to hang up and keep the conversation with Sophie, but she literally tells me to answer his call.
"He came by my office before I left. He was feeling terrible. He really wants to talk to you. I have never seen him like this." Sophie responds with a preoccupied grin that I mirror instantly. She cares about Marcel's feelings? It might be serious.
Did Marcel really feel like this? Did I really hit a nerve that bad in my speech? I was so on adrenaline, I don't quite remember what I said. She gets up from the couch with a smile and heads to her bedroom, closing the door behind her. I look down at my ringing phone and sigh.
"Hello?" I let out, and the second I hear his voice, it's like my worries leave me to make me enjoy this moment with him, and I get more emotional than it needs from me.
"Oh, Grace! I'm so happy you picked up." I swoon completely onto the couch and lay in a fetal position. My heart feels so happy to hear his expressive tone. I can't seem to find anything to respond to that, so I keep silent. "I just wanted to say that I'm sorry."
I frown to myself to hear him. He has nothing to apologise for. Yes, our argument got out of hand, and I didn't want to fight, so I left, but I don't see any reason to apologise. My heart beats a little louder that he doesn't let his pride stop him.
"What are you sorry for, Mace?"
"That I have driven you away."
"You haven't driven me away. It's just... Sometimes it feels like you are just so far away."
"I'm not doing this on purpose, Grace."
"I know, and I love you the same. It's just hard sometimes."
"I know it is. I see you, Grace." He says tenderly, and it makes me react suddenly. I straighten myself on the couch and look around in sudden panic.
"What!?"
"Not literally. When you said that you had seen me, I understood. I see you the same, Grace. It's so easy to read you. But it hasn't been that easy recently. I can see you close up to me, and I hate that."
"I didn't really realise..."
"I miss you too." He says to me, and it pains my heart.
He is right. I was so caught inside of my own head that I have never stopped and thought about the fact that I was doing the same thing I was blaming him for. I feel so sorry.
"I really want to see you." He says sweetly, and it makes me smile. I really want to see him as well. I shouldn't have walked away from him. I would really enjoy that date now. "May I come in?"
I get up on my feet and walk to the window to see the street. He is here? I see him get out of his car and look up at the window. The second our eyes cross, he smiles at me. As simple as it is, I smile back at him, but it makes me exponentially happier. I nod to him, and I see him immediately walk to the front door. I get all excited and giggly. I feel like a schoolgirl. It makes no sense. An hour ago, he made me feel emotionally drained. Now, it's a new start. He makes me realise why I fell in love with him in the first place.
I walk to the door and open it to him before he is even at the top of the stairs. I take advantage of his small height from the stairs that keep us apart and throw my arms around his neck. I hug him tightly, and he stops climbing the stairs to embrace me back. We don't say a word. I take in his love through his hug. It feels so warm, and it reinvigorates my entire being.
"It feels so good to have my little Gracy back." He whispers and nuzzles his nose against my neck.
I rest my cheek at the top of his head and smile. He just called me Gracy. My brother always did, and I hated that. I think I hated it mainly because they were always using that nickname when there were nagging me. Now, Marcel uses it as a most powerful sign of tenderness. How can I not love it?
"She is always here when you want her."
I step back from him and take his hand to lead him inside the flat. Sophie sneaks out of the bathroom and looks at us as Marcel closes the door behind him.
"Oh my! You drove here quick, Marcel." She lets out expressively with a giggle, speaking now to me. "I was wondering where you suddenly went."
"And I think I'll be leaving again," I respond, mirroring her grin.
"Where?" Marcel asks instantly.
"Didn't you want to go out tonight?" I turn around and look at him, seeing a shadow of a smile that contents me greatly.
"I did, but now that I'm here..."
"Marcel, are you suggesting that you want to stay here?! With me around!?" Sophie taunts him with a large smirk on her lips.
"Yes, Sophie. If I may."
"Ouh! If you may? I don't know, I'll have to think about it..." She keeps joking, so I glance at her with a brow high for her to stop her games. "Yes, you may, but only if you pay for the takeaway I'm about to order us."
"Sophie!" I exclaim with an uncomfortable smile and a surprised grin that she has the nerve to ask him that.
"What!? The lad is loaded. His mum is head of the company."
"That's her money." I retort to her, but I see through her masquerade.
"Then look at the watch on his wrist. Is that a Rolex?"
"It is," Marcel answers calmly. I think he knows she is theatrical. Marcel is so generous, I'm sure he doesn't mind, but I feel uncomfortable to ask that of him.
"See!?"
I look at Marcel and start to laugh when I see the smirk drawing wider on his lips. He nods to Sophie and takes out his phone from his trousers.
"What do you want to eat, Sophie? I'll make the call."
"You're going to call as well, thank God. I hate calling people." She exclaims, and it makes me laugh. I can relate to that.
Marcel asks us what we want to eat and the number to call and leaves the room for somewhere quiet. Sophie walks me to the kitchen and sits at the table a bright smile on her lips.
"The more I know him, the more I tolerate him." She lets out, and it makes me burst into laughter.
"Fuck off! You love anyone who buys you food. Don't say you just 'tolerate him' because I will tell him to sing you another song to make you realise just how you 'tolerate' him."
"I was drunk. Don't ever hold a drunk person's words against them." She jokes, and I smile. I know she likes him a lot now, so it's nice to tease her about it. I know how hard it is for her to step on her pride. She has that in common with her cousin.
I look at the hall and see Marcel still talking on the phone, reminding me that she had something to tell me as Marcel was calling me.
"What was your idea about Steeve?"
"What idea?"
"You told me you knew how to make Steeve stop harassing my loved ones." I look at her straight in the eyes, and I see her trying to remember.
"You do?" Marcel joins us and sits at his usual chair around our round table between Sophie and me.
"Well, she did. She's trying to remember." I inform him and look back at her. I try my hardest to spark her memory. "I was talking about how his entire behaviour changed depending on the people we were with. I was his stupid fuck toy when we were with his friends, but I was a goddess when we were with his parents. He--"
"I remember!" She lets out in a hurry and leans towards us to share her idea. "We just have to expose him. If he cares that much about what the world and his parents think of him, we need to expose him for the jerk he really is."
I look at Marcel and then back at her and lean back against the back of my chair, thinking this through. I nod and start to smirk, finally feeling like my worries fly away.
"That is a brilliant idea! And I know just how to do it."