Marcel is setting everything up and I'm sitting at my display looking at him blindly. He's told me my appearance is scheduled in forty five minutes now and that most of the work is already done. "Most by me," I was tempted to add. But I don't seem to find any enthusiasm at all. I feel an immense sadness nesting in the pit of my stomach and it makes me sick. And I feel even sadder because I should be enjoying myself right now, but I'm not, because the circumstances are making me sad. It's a vicious cycle I can't seem to get out of.
What would help me? Certainly not Marcel, even though I see the effort he is making. I just needed some time to heal.
All I see when I look at him is the man that bumped into me at Kate's house. The one that had written all these horrible things about me. The one that I had vowed to love and to help at all cost had betrayed me in the most horrible way. He says our love is true and that he still loves me... But the truth is... He has lost everything. He lost his playmate, the one he has always been hiding behind since his father's murder. He finally knows who's responsible for his death. He's lost himself, and he's lost me. My guess is that he only wants to hold onto something he knows not to lose everything.... I think.
To occupy myself, I take my colourful pens out of my purse and absentmindedly take one of the books displayed next to me. I open the first pages in search of a blank canvas for me to draw a little something. I look around for inspiration. I hear a man whistling from somewhere, a few rows down. It makes me think of a bird, and my hand slowly starts to sway on the very first blank page of my novel. A little green sparrow appears after a minute or two, and it slowly brings my mood up. I love to draw. It's been a while since the last portrait I made... I can't remember who was my subject. I think it was my granddaddy. It had taken me a whole day, and I had given it to him as a birthday gift. I haven't seen it since his death. I don't know what grandma has done with it...
I get this desire to draw him again, but having nothing to draw him from, I focus on Marcel instead. He walks around the table to take the last box, and my eyes linger on his facial traits. He has a beautiful nose. My hand absentmindedly starts to dance on the blank sheet of paper. He walks out of my sight and I continue drawing his eyes from memory. They are still perfectly clear in my mind. I could never forget those eyes... I've adored and felt so scared of them at times. He has such depth, I feel like I'm drowning in a sea of mixed emotions when I look at him. He's often been very cold and guarded, haunted clearly, and yet I've known them to be so beautifully expressive as well.
I decide with all the space I've taken from defining his nose, to only draw his upper face. He wears his glasses today. It somewhat brings me joy. It's like he's the same man I've always known... but I don't know if it's a good thing or not. Have I really known the real him?! At all?!
He walks by the table and kneels to the ground. I immediately stop drawing and close the book. He takes something from his brown leather satchel and straightens to face me.
"Do you want something to drink? I'm heading out for tea." He kindly says, but I shake my head. He insists. "It's the company paying, not me. You can take advantage of the perks, you know..."
"A latte. Thank you..."
He nods slightly and steps back slowly. I let go of his gaze. My sight drops on his hands holding his wallet before he turns around and leaves the store. I'm surprised to notice the scars on his hands.
I had forgotten about that, or at least I must have gotten used to it. Somehow now, it has struck me. His knuckles were scarred and they were pinkier than the rest of his skin. I've never asked him how he got them. In a fight? At the gym while he boxes?
Anyway... What do I care?
For a while today, I felt really good about myself. The people I've talked to, the readers I've met have all given me hope that my work meant something for others than myself. The first half an hour was hectic, but after that I had a few people here and there. It was enough to keep me occupied. Marcel was actually being really supportive. Either he has hated everything he's done and he did it because it's his duty or he has really changed. I don't know yet what to believe. It will maybe become clearer with time.
He stays behind to gather the promotional stand we've set up earlier and brings it to his car in a few trips. I decide to sign the copies we leave behind for Waterstones to sell. I walk slowly behind Marcel once he's gathered the last item. Once we get outside to his car, I wave softly without a word and head the other way. I think about taking a cab, but I think I might enjoy the walk. I haven't booked myself an hotel, but I really want to stay on my own tonight. I need to be on my own. I want to refresh myself, restart and reboot, find some kind of way to get out of the sad and negative head space I've been in today. I don't know why I feel this way. I've been so great these past few weeks with Simon. It's like coming back to London brings back so many memories I tried to forget instead of dealing with them. Jokes on me...
"Grace?" I hear my name.
I turn around to look at him. He doesn't add anything else, and I don't push him. It takes a moment before he takes a step my way.
"I don't want to over step, here..." He apologises, running a hand through the back of his head before looking back at me. "Would you like to do something? With me? Tonight?"
I'm about to object, but he steps forward again, a careful hand raised midway between us.
"We don't need to talk... if you don't want to. I just- I want to apologise. I'm sorry I make this incredibly special experience for you difficult. I've never intended to."
I don't know how to respond to that. So I say nothing. I simply look at him, and his surprisingly touching show of emotions. He doesn't know how to act or feel, and it shows in the desperation he is looking at me with right now. I feel bad. I feel bad for him. I feel bad for myself. I just need to be on my own and tomorrow will get better.
"Tomorrow?" I suggest softly to see a radiant smile blossoming on his lips, hope spreading to his eyes. That sight contents me. I feel happy to agree.
"Tomorrow is alright by me!"
-
I wake up to the sound of my phone ringing on the bedside table. I disconnect it from my charger and answer before looking at the caller ID. Big mistake. I sigh when I hear his delicate yet raspy voice.
"Hello? Grace?"
Still half asleep and dreaming, I swoon a little before my conscience reminds me of what he's done and how he's treated me during our relationship. I instantly feel a pit in my stomach looking back at what we were and what we shared. I decide to put an end to this torture and answer him.
"Hey." I respond simply.
"Did I wake you? I'm so sorry. I thought you would be getting ready to check out by now?"
"What time is it?" I look around suddenly, looking for the time. He answers first.
"It's ten thirty."
"I have to check out at eleven. Fuck! I overslept!"
"Seems like you might have needed it."
"I need to hang up and pack my things."
"I'll meet you in the lobby."
"Wait, you what!?"
"In the lobby. I'll be there in twenty."
"Wait, Marcel!"
"Hurry up!"
He hangs up before I realise what has just happened. I let go of my phone and fall lazily back on the pillows. I think about, for a mere second, falling back to sleep. This bed is so comfortable. I had such a great night of sleep. I fell asleep watching Pretty Woman, sipping the bottle of white wine I had bought on my way to the hotel. It got me to think about nothing and release all tensions.
And it seems like it worked!
Despite being woken up by my ex-boyfriend, I feel good, rested and, for now -- I don't know what Marcel has in store for us -- I feel emotionally balanced. I feel like I lost sight of what is most important in my life right now, which is the support and the love people have shown me yesterday for my art. That's what truly matters, and I feel sad to have let my feelings towards Marcel ruin this experience for me. I'm happy to have my priorities checked and to feel mentally saner than yesterday.
I take a moment to sigh before I realise I don't have the luxury to take a minute. I've got to hurry. I have maybe twenty minutes left to get dressed, brush my hair and my teeth, and pack my belongings.
To save some time, I decide to not apply mascara like I always do before heading out. I don't even pay any attention to my hair, I don't bother. I gather all my things and head out almost forgetting my room key behind.
I get in line at the reception behind my fellow late-checkoutters. And as I'm about to pay for my room, or what is left after yesterday's deposit, I realise that for a rare time in my life, I haven't planned anything. If it wouldn't have been for Marcel forcing me on his plans, I wouldn't have known what to do before heading to Cambridge tomorrow.
I smile at the young barely legal receptionist and give her back my key, thanking her for the hotel's hospitality. I leave her desk to find myself looking for my editor. The knot in my stomach comes back to haunt me at the simple thought of him, and yet I feel relieved at the first sight of him. He looks decontracted, relaxed, not at all like I know him to be. I'm happy he reached out for help from a professional. He seems to be making progress, because this Marcel is unknown to me.
When he lays his eyes on me, he smiles softly. It seems so easy now, a single act of emotion took everything from him before. He is simply dressed with dark jeans and a polo, but he is radiant. His hair is styled back to free his gorgeously very normal set of beautifully defined traits. His eyes soften as his smile spreads. My lips absentmindedly mirror his. The only guard I see on him are his glasses. I'm happy that hasn't changed. His brown squared glasses seem like the only thing real and familiar to me about the person he is, now standing two feet away from me.
Without a word, he takes my luggage from me. Our proximity makes me look away and roll my eyes.
"Whatever you've got planned, better be cosy. I just woke up and I'm not dressed for going out."
"Oh! We can tell!" He retorts immediately, his impulsivity both annoying me and surprising me. He's never really been one to joke.
"Oh! Stop that! You wanted me. Well, that's the shape you're going to have me. That's me. The good, the bad and the ugly."
"I haven't complained, have I? Come on. We've got a full day ahead of us."
"Doing what?"
"Seeing more of the good, the bad and the ugly."
"Very funny!"
He laughs silently. Even though it's at my expense, it's good to see him laughing.
With a push on his keys, his booth opens up and he carefully places my bag inside. I observe him silently, absentmindedly waiting for him to open my door for me like he's always done. When I realise that I'm doing so, I frown and get my door myself only to see him close it for me once I'm seated inside.
The soft scent of his perfume distracts me for a short part of our ride. That's when I realise we are already there. He hasn't driven us for more than ten minutes away from the hotel. When he parks, I immediately wonder where we are and where he is taking me.
For once, I decide to let go and not worry about anything today. I decide to trust him for today. I know he won't do anything bad to me, he's apologised enough time as it is. I can make that effort today, for him.
I get out of the car, guided by Marcel and my own curiosity. He puts a hand to my back to guide me inside the building. The old wood door creaks as we enter, and the jolly ambiance makes me smile. It smells good. He's brought me to lunch. Following the hostess to a table and seeing all the delightful and generous plates I realise just how famished I am.
We take a seat thanking the lady and I hide behind the menu without engaging in any sort of conversation with him. Apart from our orders, we don't say a word. I find it awkward when our eyes meet. I'm thankful I can focus on my burger once it comes. I take my time to eat it to avoid having to talk to him. The truth is, I have nothing to say. -- What could I say to a man that has used me to write a good story -- sadly for me, a great one at that, but horribly cruel one? Nothing. I'm not bitter about it anymore, but I just can't forget it.
He's been done with his plate for a moment now, and he's been silently watching me. I used to enjoy our silent hang outs, but the air isn't as comfortable between us at the moment. The second I finish my last chip, my eyes fall on him for the first time.
"What have you planned next?" I ask him as I push my plate farther on the table.
"Eager, I see." He immediately responds with a very subtle smile on his lips.
"I'm not. I just don't want to waste my day. I had planned to relax today. And so far, it's been quite the opposite."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you woke me up. I hurried out of my room to check out. And now, I'm spending the day with you, not having a clue what we'll be doing. That's without mentioning the emotional turmoil I still feel inside, which is magnified by your very presence."
He only responds after considering me from sight an instant. He seems genuine, and I believe he means it. "I'm sorry."
"I know. It's going to take some time..."
"My therapist has prepared me for the eventuality that you'd decide to never forgive me. I know what I did was sick. I see how wrong it is. I never expected it would get so real and so personal between us."
"But it did."
"It did... I didn't want to let it happen... You kissed me that first time in Manchester, and it felt so real to me that I got scared. I ran away. Kate persuaded me that it was going perfectly, and even though I didn't do it for the plan and my story, I genuinely wanted to spend all my time with you. I know what I've written about you in my first version is worthy of a psychopath, but it wasn't me. Every time I've held you, kissed you and even made love to you it was real, never with ulterior motives."
"I hear you."
His smile is gentle, and full of remorse. He's told me all I've wanted to hear and more. That's why I'm feeling sick right now. The knot in my stomach is back. I just can't stand looking at him. All the hopes, all the "what if"s come back to haunt me. I wish so badly that we'd still be together, that he could hold my hand, that he could make love to me to reassure his love for me,... I so often wished Kate would be out of our lives, that he would figure out her schemes and cut ties with her... but it wasn't his doing. I don't want him to choose me by default.
"Can we go now?" I ask him, my tone pleading him.
He nods and signs the waiter the next second. The air is still silent and awkward when we get back to the car. I only thank him for the meal before losing myself in the changing scenery. We are leaving the core of the city and it takes a moment before I realise he's driving us to Hampstead.
"What are we doing?" I frown, wondering what we'll do here.
"We are starting again."
.