It was hard at the beginning. But once I got back into it, it was smoother. It felt good. It gave me confidence to find myself again. I think my first attempt was to get something I didn't have, something I dreamed of, but now, it's about what makes me happy, what brings me pleasure with the experience I now have.
I was so inspired while on the road back from Bristol. I read my outline and I wrote the whole drive down. As soon as we got back to the flat, I took refuge in Mace's study. I've been writing for hours every day to produce something I can show Edith before we leave for the United States. I want to give her a draft. I've already roughly written about twenty chapters. I'm correcting it all. We'll see if she enjoys it enough for me to keep on going.
I've taken most of our time off to write and I've completely shut Marcel off. My head has been in my story a hundred percent. Marcel likes to tell me I'm "method-writing". He explained to me that it's like method acting, meaning an actor will immerse himself so completely in their character that they won't ever come out of it until they are done shooting their movie.
Now, I'm writing an emotional scene and the character experiences loss and missing somebody. So I sent Marcel to Simon's flat to get my things to move me in eventually, but mostly for me to have clothes before leaving the country in a few days. I promised him to be done with it by Saturday for the event at the dungeon. It leaves me only tonight to correct the last six chapters. Tomorrow, I'll go to the office to meet with Edith and give her my manuscript to review. Marcel is supposed to come back later during the day. We'll move me in quickly with the essentials, and get ready for the event. Sunday, we have to pack for our trip, because we leave on Monday.
Seeing the late hour, I decide to give myself a break and get something to eat at the same time. I turn on my cell phone and see texts from my man.
Him: How's the writing going?
Him: I've put all of your clothes in a bag. I put your little black dress to the side, knowing you'll wear it tomorrow.
Him: I thought I had a lot of books. You put me to shame.
I smile at the screen and look at the blinking bar on the screen.
Me: My brother is not too sad you are moving me out?
I put down my phone waiting for an answer and took a bite of my tomato sandwich. I don't have the time to swallow that my screen lights up with Marcel's picture. I wipe my hands on my jeans and take the call by putting it on speaker.
"Hey, my love." I greet him with a very light heart, a smile drawing itself on the corners of my mouth.
"I will never get tired of hearing you say that."
"Get used to it. How are you?"
"Good. I texted you all day. How have you been?"
"It's going somewhere. Hope I'll be done soon. How's my brother?"
"He's good. I'm so happy he works nights. I get a little time to myself." He lets out with a soft chuckle.
"He's a chatty fellow, ain't he?" I smile at the memories of living with my brother over the summer. We had a very nice time. We had never bonded like that before.
"That's one way to put it... I miss you. Tell me you'll be done tomorrow."
"I won't stop until I am. I haven't eaten all day, I was taking a break. I haven't much left to review. It's only a rough draft. I'll visit your mother tomorrow to let her review it to be entirely yours tomorrow night. Think you'll get back late?"
"It depends on your brother, but I've packed all of your clothes, your books, your pictures, your makeup and shoes. Are the sheets of your bed yours or your brothers?"
"They're mine. They're silk. They cost me a lot."
"They're really nice. We should get some. Is your bed a queen size?"
"Yes."
"Then, we'll use them. I didn't think I'd enjoy them that much. They're so soft."
It's the silliest thing, but I bought it once I moved in with my brother as a treat. Now that I think about it, it will be nice to sleep into my own set of sheets after spending most of my nights in hotel rooms.
"So you slept good last night?"
"I did. The bed felt empty though. Can't wait to be with you tomorrow."
"Better have a great night of sleep then, because we haven't had sex in a while. We'll have to make up for it."
"I'm not to blame for it."
"Well, you are the one putting me to work."
"Touché."
"How's my brother, really? I'm sad I can't be there to see him myself. I thought we could have stopped by my parents."
"He's good. Maybe a little overworked. Ronnie stopped by the other night. I cooked for them, we had fun."
"You? You had fun?" I repeat, clearly not hearing this right. He had fun with my brother and Ronnie all by himself? He is really a changed man.
"You think you are funny, don't you?"
"How was Ronnie? I haven't talked to her in a while."
"She's good. I think she was coming over to crack on or something. She wasn't expecting me."
"That must have been funny for you. Are they an item or are they just still fooling around?"
"I wouldn't know. They have chemistry. I felt that. It was Simon's night off, I thought I'd thank him by cooking. He isn't blessed with gifts in the kitchen, let me tell you that much."
"That I know. I loved living with my brother, but not for that reason."
"Any second thoughts about moving out?" He suddenly becomes a little hesitant. But it charms me. I feel very grateful.
"Not in the slightest. Are you having second thoughts?"
"Not at all. I've never been more sure of anything. Seeing you work so much this week, I preferred having you next to me than not at all."
"I've taken over your study."
"I think there's enough space to add another desk in there. We could work facing each other."
"I'd get distracted too easily." I tease him, but the idea of working right in front of him pleases me a lot. I'll have to give more thought to it.
"You wouldn't. I tried to distract you all week with means of nudity and you didn't even look at me."
"It's not because I didn't look that I wasn't tempted. I know a lot rides on the line here. I want to prove myself to your mum, and to you, but more certainly, I'm proving myself to myself. All my insecurities are at rest now. I'm writing another story that I truly enjoy. It's different, but I'm proud of it. I just hope it's good enough for your mum."
"Don't put too much pressure on yourself. If she doesn't like it, you can still keep working on it and send it back. Or you can seek another publisher."
"You'd let me work with another company?"
"I would be disappointed in my mum's choices, but I believe in you too much to let your work be unpublished. It's not because it wouldn't fit my mum's criteria that it wouldn't be perfect for another publisher in London."
"Sometimes, I can't believe how supportive you are. How much you believe in me. It's still somewhat new to me."
"This goes both ways. I know how much I appreciate your constant trust and support in me. I would be extremely selfish not to act the same way. You make it so easy for me to do so."
"It's a shame you're not walking around me naked like you did all week, because I wouldn't turn you down right about now."
"How dare you tempt me right now?"
"But I miss you."
"And I have blue balls."
"Then do something about it."
"The thought did cross my mind to masturbate in your bed, but I thought I would hold it in to put on the greatest show tomorrow."
"It's up to you... But... Tomorrow, I wouldn't want you to last only 20 seconds out of desperation." I mock him a little, and he immediately knows what I'm referring to.
"It only happened once, and it wasn't like I came before you." He retorts to my mockery. It makes me smile, but a notification at the top of my screen takes my attention completely out of this conversation.
"It's only a testament to your hand job skills." I can feel his smirk through his voice, but my blood freezes in my veins as I read my notification.
You have a new email from unknown contact, logankent
My heart stops for a moment. I don't understand how or why he would write to me personally. I tap on the notification to read the email quickly.
"I have very good memories of that day. It was the perfect way to wake up."
***
From: logankent
To: gracyhemmy
Object: The Articles
Greetings Grace,
I read the articles you've written about me. I'm ever so thankful to have been painted in such a great light. I was impressed to see your French so fluent. You were, overall, one of the best surprises on my last trip to London. I made sure to get a copy of your novel before I left. I look forward to reading it.
I hope to have news from you.
Logan
Friday, 17:38 EST
***
"Grace, are you still there?" Marcel asks, stopping me from rereading the email.
"Yes..."
"Are you OK?"
"Yeah, I just got the weirdest email..."
"From whom?"
"Logan Kent."
"OK... How did he get your email?"
"I don't know, I've never given it to him. He gave me his card, but I didn't do anything about it."
"What did it say?"
"Nice things, really. He's thanking me for the articles that I wrote about him."
"That's nice."
"Yes, it is..."
"How do you feel about it?"
"I don't know– a bit excited, a bit caught off guard. I wasn't expecting to have news from him." I let out and pushed my plate away from me. I've lost my appetite. I let silence overtake this moment between Marcel and I. We were having so much fun, but somehow I can't seem to focus on anything else than this email. "I feel like he could be a great asset to us, and it could be friendly. I, surely, can learn a great deal from him. But the whole dream situation makes things awkward. If it wouldn't have been for what happened in Liverpool, I wouldn't feel like the professional relationship we established was inappropriate. What do you think?"
"I think you are old enough to know what's right."
"What do you mean?"
"It means that yes it bothers me a little, because this is so fresh. But if you feel like working with him and learning from him or writing to him feels right to you, then it's OK. I will support you. You don't need my support, nor my blessing. But I'm OK with it if you are."
"How is it not freaking you out?"
"It's not. I'm a bit jealous that he wanted to write to you so much that he seeked your personal information. But I don't doubt your intentions. We talked about it at length. I think I can try to manage my jealousy."
"I don't even know if I want to entertain this. I don't even want to respond to him right away. I wouldn't know what to say... He says he's bought my novel."
"Start by thanking him." Marcel says softly, reassuring me that he is really here for me and that he has the right intentions at heart. "Thank him for buying your book. It's incredible to know that our work has crossed the ocean, isn't it?"
"I didn't even think about it. Are you sure you are OK about it?"
"Grace, I'm packing your stuff to move you in with me. If I had any doubts about you at all, I wouldn't be doing any of this. I trust you, and – from across an ocean – I trust him."
"Why do you have to be so far away when you say such romantic things like this?"
"Because you need to get your head back into your writing. We will make it worth it tomorrow, I promise."
"I love you."
"I love you as well. Now, eat a little something, put the kettle on, and get back to work. The sooner you get back into it, the sooner you'll be done."
"Thanks for calling me. It was nice talking to you."
"Thank you for taking the time to answer. I'll see you tomorrow. I'll call you on the way."
"Alright. Be safe."
It takes everything in me to hang up. Suddenly, I feel empty. I didn't before, even though I was still all alone in Mace's flat. I throw my sandwich in the bin and put my empty plate in the sink. I walk back to my computer and sink against my chair. I don't think about Logan Kent for a second, my heart is too taken missing Marcel right now. The weight in my chest keeps me from focussing entirely on my work. I have six chapters left and I don't have the energy or the heart to give my best. I write the bare minimum and leave it at that for the night. I'll go over them in the morning. It's past midnight when I get to bed, completely knackered. I feel so drained that the emotion overtakes me and I cry a few tears as I hug Mace's pillow to my chest. Sleep doesn't seem to find me, so I make a mental list in my head. I think about him and everything I am thankful for about him.
The last time I picked up my phone from the nightstand to check the time, I had a notification.
Him: Goodnight, my love. X
It was all I needed to find some inner peace, and let myself fall asleep.