His lips are warm and inviting. They mould mine with a very soft tenderness that both surprises me and pleases me. I feel physically good in his arms and under his control, so I let myself go and enjoy this moment. It lasts not more than a few seconds, but this kiss feels good. But good doesn't mean that it feels special. My bond with him is special and he is very special to me, but I don't feel the sparks as I do when Marcel kisses me. It's good and it's sweet, but it isn't Marcel.
Realising that, I part from him gently and look into his eyes. They stay closed for the time he parts from me, I look down at his lips. They are a pretty shade of dark pink, just as I remember, but I don't feel an envy to kiss them again, not like I did in the past.
He doesn't say anything, and so don't I. I stay seated by his side, but I don't mould into him like I did seconds ago, and I do not keep my hand into his. He got what he wanted, and it made me realise what I truly wanted.
We finally arrive in the heart of Edinburgh. I insist on paying the taxi and I let him guide me to a bar. We walk about five minutes around my hotel to find something suitable and we settle on something called The Voodoo Rooms. The big black doors and the front sign appeal us enough to get in. By looking at the closing hours on the door, it's maybe an hour before the closing time of 1AM.
I look up at Ash to get an approval of the bar, but he puts a hand to my back to guide me inside. The ambiance is very warm and fun. The place is pretty crowded, but not at full capacity. It's not a very big bar, but it seems to go quite deep out back.
Ash and I settle on the first places we see on the corner of the bar. It takes a few seconds before the barman comes to see us. Ash orders a pint and I decide to do the same. I lean on the counter and look at him. He notices my stare and smiles widely to me.
"What do you think is happening right now with Sophie and Lucas?" I ask him and it makes him lose his smile quickly. He didn't think I was thinking about that at all. His surprise shows.
He takes a moment to think about it, and in the meantime our beers are served in front of us. I take my glass and sip the super cold bronze liquid. I feel it sliding down inside me smoothly. I put down my glass on the counter of the bar and look back at Ash. I lean on the counter and rest my head on my hand.
It doesn't take long once I'm in this position to feel sleep taking over me. I fight it to look at Ash. It's our last time together, I can't be disrespectful to him and fall asleep in his face. I can hang on for an hour. After that I'll feel free to end the night and go to sleep in my room at The Balmoral.
"I think Lucas needs a good reality check on what he wants in life. All he knows is that he wants to perform his music on stage. Is his addiction worth losing her? I don't know..." He concludes with a big sip of his beer to avoid talking too much about it.
I lean more comfortably my head against my hand and look at him. His eyes find mine, but they don't stare for long. He seems to be avoiding something.
"If Lucas has an addiction, then why did you take some? It's easier to forgive somebody who has a problem, but if you are aware and conscious of the consequences... I don't get why."
"And I don't get why you always come back to that." He exclaims with a frown, looking at me with severe annoyance, but ultimately looks down at his glass.
I sigh deeply. I didn't want to upset him, I wanted to understand him better. I guess I'm not going to see him again, or at least for a very long time, so why bother...
I straighten myself on my stool to look straight ahead and take my glass to drink the liquid the most I can in one time. I put it down, almost empty, and get down the stool next to Ash. I put a hand on his shoulder and rub it tenderly.
"I'm sorry we part this way. I don't know if or when we'll see each other again. I know I can't give you anything you want, and I'm sorry. Just know that I'll always remember you as the man who opened my eyes to a happy life full of adventures." I smile to him, even though he doesn't look at me.
I sigh again when I realise that he doesn't and won't look at me. I look down to my purse hanging from my shoulder and take some money to pay for both beers. I put it on the bar and put my glass over to hold it there. I turn one last time to look at Ash, but he seems very upset still. It breaks my heart that it's my fault.
"I'm sorry for hurting you. I didn't mean it."
Without any resistance, I turn around and make my way out of the bar even though we got in a bit more than ten minutes ago. I didn't mean to offend him in any way and I have apologised for it. I won't stay there drained of energy with everything I've been through today and the little sleep I've had last night. I'm sad to leave Ash. I will miss him. I don't know if he's going to text as much anymore... I doubt so. At least, this time with him tonight made me realise how unique my bond with Marcel is and how he is the only one to make me feel fireworks as strongly. I can't let things like this between us. I need to get to the bottom of his father's murder.
As I am walking back to The Balmoral, I take my phone out of my pocket and dial my brother's number. This late, I'm not surprised he doesn't pick up. I get into the hotel and walk through the empty lobby and get into the elevator when I leave the message.
"Hi Simon, it's me. I was wondering if you could do me a favour. Look for a criminal file on Marcel Wright. There are things I need to know." As I say that, I realise suddenly that maybe he's not allowed or he doesn't have access or I don't know. So, I need to give him a source of motivation. I decide to gamble everything on his overprotective side. "He's my boyfriend. His father got murdered, I need to know if he did it."
-
After a very good night of sleep, maybe too short but revigorating, I have brunch with Cynthia and William. I don't really feel like talking, so I listen to them talking about what they've been doing this weekend. They mention visiting Holyrood Abbey, the National Museum of Scotland, and many other touristic venues I haven't heard of. They make this city sound so enchanting. It brings me so much happiness to see them so enamored and happy. I never really had the chance to spend as much time with them as I did in the last couple of weeks. Even though we've been together two or three times in that time, it's more than in the last two years combined.
"You should have seen her in the Abbey. She couldn't stop disturbing people. Many people hushed her." William smiles widely as he tells me the highlights of their trip.
"People were not understanding." She returns a smile to him and then look at me to explain herself. "I fell on the floor, of course I let out a little surprised scream."
"It was far from little. It echoed like crazy." Will cuts her mid-speech to make fun of her.
"Oh shut up, Will!" She replies right back, not losing her smile and looks back at me to finish her story. "After that, I wanted to hide, so we walked deeper into the Abbey to visit the confessionals and the chambers, but we got lost. So I started asking around for the way to entrance. People weren't pleased I was disturbing them."
"They were praying, Thia."
It makes me smile to hear my brother call her by that nickname. I've never heard it before. It's pronounced Thea, and it's absolutely charming. The way they interact with each other is beautiful, it's so simple, almost effortless. William has his arm on the back of her chair, and I have noticed that for a part of the time we've eaten, her hand was resting on his thigh. He always puts his hand to her back when he is talking to her from this proximity.
Unfortunately for everyone, I have to leave them to get ready for the last day of this convention. I wasn't supposed to participate again today, Edith didn't force me to, but I feel like I need some major good publicity after ditching journalists yesterday after the whole Paul/Marcel situation.
I head to my room, and change into a cute blouse with my usual black pant suit. I put on the same pair of heels I've had all weekend. I love this look. Even though I'm more of a casual person, looking this elegant and elevated gives me such a good confidence and esteem of myself. I feel like I belong, like I am worthy.
I walk to the bathroom to brush my teeth and notice for the first time something shining under the light next to the towels on the shelf by the sink. I spit out the toothpaste and rinse my toothbrush to put it in the plastic bag I have carried it in in my luggage.
I lean towards the shiny bracelet-like thing and reach for it. It's Marcel's watch. How could he have forgotten his Rolex? I take it closer and observe it. I've never realised how old it seems. I see lots of scratches and the wristband is clearly worn out. For me, it only shows how much he really cares for it to always wear it despite the aesthetics.
Without really thinking about it, I put it on my wrist and get ready to head downstairs. I get to my stand in the conference hall and look around me. Lot of authors are sitting at their stands, but surprisingly, half doesn't seem occupied. Again, acting on impulse, I take a big pile of my three-chapter book and walk around the hall. Every author writing in the same genre as I am that I see, I stop to chat. I introduce myself and my publishing house and offer the writer a copy with a passionate resume about the story and how much it means to me. Some are very appreciative and others barely look at the cover. I don't let it affect me, I have everything to gain by doing this. It's the best publicity for me, a newcomer.
There's one author that is occupied being interviewed, but I wait to absolutely meet. She's American and she has written the most compelling stories. Maybe I should let Sophie read them. I'm sure she'll love her books.
So, the second she is free, I charge towards her stand and sit on the chair next to her to make sure nobody keeps me from having a moment with her.
"Anna, it's such an immense pleasure to meet you." I let out and quickly wipe my hand on my trousers to offer it to her to shake.
"Nice to meet you too. What's your name?" She smiles immediately and shakes my hand. She is absolutely radiant.
"I'm Grace Hemingway, I'm the new writer for Wright Books. I'm sorry to come in so unexpected, I wanted to introduce myself. I was wondering if you would do me the honour of reading this excerpt of my story. My editor and I worked very hard on making it the best it can be."
"What about the rest of it? Is it written yet?"
"Yes, it is. But we couldn't print the whole book for this weekend, so we manage only to print the first three chapters."
"It's a great publicity stunt."
"I thought it was."
"What if I like it, can I read the rest?"
"Of course, yes! It would be amazing! It would be a dream, really."
"Why don't you tell me what it is about?" She rests both of her elbows on the stand and leans more towards me, seemingly interested.
I get more comfortable as well, and starting to think about my story makes me undeniably think about Marcel. My heart starts to race and I feel giddy. We have had so many great moments bonding and mostly arguing about my story, but I cherish these moments nonetheless.
I tell her about my story and the importance of the relationship and the miscommunication that leads to a better understanding of each other in the end. I talk so passionately that I don't see the time fly. I draw similarities with one of her stories. It's exciting to be talking about it with somebody other than Marcel or Edith. I don't think anybody asked me about the story of my novel. Not my family, not Ash, not even Sophie.
"What's so magical about it? You've told me what it is about, but what makes it so unique, what makes it different from everything already out in the market?" She asks me, and it shocks me a little. I don't know how to react to her question.
Is she feeling competitive towards me, or is it only to know the worth of my story? I get a little too carried away with my thoughts. I'm sure she simply wants me to build up the excitement about my story. But at the same time, the answer to her question sparks into my mind so easily, it makes me happy to realise exactly how my story is magical.
"Because it's real." I simply answer, and my whole body seems to ignite. "I was in a very abusive relationship when I wrote this book. I fantasised about what a dream relationship would be like, one like my parents had when I grew up, but with the good, the bad and the ugly. A relationship facing real issues, but with their own different values and morals. It's a very character-driven story. And what's magical about it is that it somehow became real. I still can't quite believe it sometimes. It turns out that the man I was working on my story with was as wonderful and had as much depth as the love interest in my story. After the abuses I've been through, I never thought such a wonderful man could exist or even fall in love with me."
"It sounds like you're very in love with him."
"I am." I respond easily, a warm smile on my face. I look down and away, realising that the world keeps turning around us.
"I'm sorry about what you've been through, I can't even begin to imagine what your relationship must have been like. I'm very happy that you seem to have found a better match and found happiness. I'm very excited to start reading. Let me give you my details, you can send me the whole story." She reaches out and puts her hand on top of mine a second before taking the Sharpie in front of her and look for somewhere to write it down.
I look around without finding any sheets of paper, so I hand her another copy of my book and make her write her email address on the first few pages.
"There you go. I look forward to reading your work." She still wears her trademark smiles. She has very white and straight teeth. It illuminates her entire being. She's really beautiful in addition of being so smart.
"It means the world to me. I really hope you'll enjoy it." I tell her as I get up, understanding it's my time to go. I don't want to impose myself too much.
We say our goodbyes and I walk back to my station with the brightest smile plastered on my face. Once I get there, I immediately put the book she had signed with her email address in my purse to not lose it.
I see Edith from afar and our sight cross. By her surprise, I can see she wasn't expecting to see me today. I wasn't planning to, but since I wasn't present yesterday afternoon, I feel like I have a reputation to build.
I talk with a few people and a couple of journalists come to interview me, but it's very superficial, they don't ask any question of content. I feel like they don't really care that much since they don't know me. I don't take it personal, they have a job to do and so do I. It isn't until Edith brings a woman to my stand that the conversation becomes interesting.
She introduces us quickly, but it doesn't take much to realise that this journalist is a big deal. I also understand how close they seem. It's when Edith leaves us that I take this opportunity to break the ice with Shelley Prinston, editor in chief of the Arts and Entertainments at La Presse.
I invite her to take a seat next to me, exactly where Marcel had sat yesterday. My heart jumps a little thinking about him again. I think he would be proud of the job I have been doing today. I know I am, I'm sad I can't share it with him...
"You seem pretty close. How have you met?" I ask her, facing her entirely, crossing my leg over to give her all my attention.
"We've been friends since Cambridge. We lost touch because I moved back to Montreal to be with my family after my degree. We've always kept in touch." She tells me as she takes her phone out of her purse and sets it on the table to have her hands free to take her pen and notebook out of her bag as well.
"How's Montreal? I've always wanted to go."
"It's a recurring joke that there's always construction happening." She smirks and lets out a laugh. She looks up at me, her notebook ready in hand. "But it's very welcoming. It's a very artistic city. People are so open-minded. It's a great place to visit."
Her questions are thought through, and she is so genuine and caring that I seem to answer everything with ease and candor. Time flies and I find myself drawn to make her understand me in order to enjoy my story. After all the psychoanalysis I've done with Marcel on my story, I realise how we can appreciate more the story with a little knowledge of myself first.
She questions me on my early life, my relationship with my parents and my brother, anything to hint her on the genesis of the story. It doesn't take long for her to hit the jackpot when she learns about Steeve. And for the first time, I don't feel ashamed, I feel happy and proud to share what I've been through and most certainly how I got out of this sick and poisonous relationship.
"I heard that you didn't have the fairytale relationship in the past, did you?" She narrows her eyes, flipping the page of her notebook full of notes, listening to everything I have to say.
"No, and I haven't."
"How did you get caught in this relationship?"
"I've been bullied for most of my life. I've never seen myself as worthy or enough, let alone pretty. I thought I would never be worthy of love. It had become an abstract concept for me."
"Why do you say it had become an abstract concept? What was love for you before?"
"I have always idealised my parents's relationship. I wanted the dancing in the living room, sleeping in front of the fireplace kind of love. But, growing up, I never felt deserving of that. I was the fat ginger outcast, how could anybody ever fall in love with me? So last year of secondary school, I decided to work on my self-esteem a little. I changed my colour of hair and this guy that had bullied me my whole life started being my protector. I was seeing in him a chance at love I had never thought of myself deserving. And he took advantage of that."
"How did he take advantage of you?"
"For almost five years, he manipulated me and blinded me to how deserving I am, as is everybody in this world. But since I was still fat but not longer ginger, he made me feel like he was the only guy that would ever love me, because nobody could ever love a girl like me." I stop taking, realising how deep this conversation is getting. I don't feel as if I'm speaking to a journalist, but a therapist, and this might be exactly what I need to thoroughly deal with my relationship with Steeve to fully move on. "I was going to university full time, I worked full time and I had home duties to do since I was living with him."
"That is a pretty sick way of living. You didn't have any time to yourself?"
"I thought I did, yeah. When I was cooking dinner or even working, I had a break and I could think about life and what my fantasy would be like."
"This fantasy is your story?"
"Exactly. Any time I could, I would sit down with my portable computer and write what I would have wished Steeve had told me that morning instead of not saying a word to me or jumping to my throat because he was so often hungover. Or how sad I was to have been forced into sexual favours with his friends. It was sick, but it was the only time I got attention and felt valued even if it violated me in so many ways. I didn't know how wrong it all was. I was so cut out from the outside world. I was barely seeing my parents, maybe three times a year because my brothers never liked my boyfriend. I was in and out of school, because I had to work right after to pay the bills. Money was tight. My only real relationship was with the people at work. And since I had no idea of how manipulated and brainwashed I was, they never knew anything. I wasn't complaining, because Steeve never let me. He always let me believe I was lucky to be treated like a princess the way I was, when I was in fact treated like a whore, getting only a little love when he wanted sex. Those were the bad times. We had good times when he held my hands and stuff, and it was those moments that kept me hanging."
"What changed?"
"I got this book deal. I never would have gotten it if my friend Ronnie wouldn't have sent the book to many publishers. I got lucky somebody believed in me. It freed me from my past, and I got to take a look into the real world. I got to see what my life could be like, and who I could become. Who I was really deep down inside of me. I had an affair while I was still in my relationship. Never in my life would I have thought it was OK to cheat, but I discovered what pleasure was really like, in a sensual, erotic and personal way. I slept with a drummer I had just met, and in that short amount of time, he made me feel more than I had ever thought myself worthy of. He opened my eyes to a whole new world of possibilities."
"You had the spiritual awakening you needed to realise your self worth."
"Yes, but not quite. I knew I needed to break up with him, but Steeve was still all I had ever had and knew. My editor psychoanalysed my book and made me realise that it was a big cry for help. My protagonist is constantly searching for a saviour, a guardian angel. And my editor became my saviour and my guardian angel. He took me out of that relationship without even letting me refuse his help. He couldn't stand that I had endured this kind of relationship, even though he doesn't know half the trauma I've faced 'in the name of love'. I owe so much to this man. He turned out to be just like the fantasy I had written about, without even knowing him."
"He seems very invested in your life, something which you needed at the time, but doesn't it cross a border of professionalism?"
"Maybe, but we fell in love. He's shown me to embrace who I am. He's challenged me in so many ways, I have learned so much about myself. I have felt misunderstood all my life, but not with him. We are so alike. I can look into his eyes and see him think, I can know how he feels."
"But aren't you scared that your adoration towards him be the result of all the good he has done for you and that he'll use it the same way Steeve did?"
"To fall into the same pattern, you mean?"
"Exactly."
"I'm terrified of it, actually."