I suck in a breath, the tension building incredibly high between Marcel and I. So high, I can't even find the strength to fight it. I get absentmindedly on the tip of my toes, my chest pressed to his by the growing strength of his arms around my waist. We are so close, I can feel his breath now lingering on my lips.
My hand on his shoulder slides up his neck to tangle my fingers in his neck hair. I grab a handful of it, my body reacting from habit to our proximity. It's with my eyes closed that I feel his lip caressing my cheek. I can smell the wine on his breath, and that makes me realise it's the alcohol making us act this way.
What am I doing?
I lay my feet back on the ground and let go of him. I step back, looking at him still lingering in the moment. It hints to me how tired or intoxicated he is. I shake my head, not believing how close I was about to go back on everything I thought and told him today. I need time. I need clarity. And I need to sleep!
I walk past him and go to my room. I close my door behind me and take a moment to sigh to release the tension and the leftover seduction spell he still has on me. I run a hand through my hair and head to my wardrobe. I take the first pyjamas I see, and put it on. It's then I realise I should have turned off all the lights in the house and went to the loo.
I open my door again to do so, but I find Marcel entering Will's room. He immediately looks up at the sound of my door. I walk past him to take care of the lights and don't even pay attention to him as I walk to the bathroom.
I splash my face with cold water to cleanse my desires and just settle my mind on getting to bed and having a great night of sleep. I'm pretty convinced by my pep talk until I open the bathroom door and see Marcel's gorgeously bare tattooed back. I close my mouth that had absentmindedly opened and leave the room. He turns around to look at me. It's with a gentle smile that I wish him goodnight and leave him for my room.
"Grace?" He calls me back softly. I stop in the hallway where he joins me. "I had fun today. Thank you."
As simply as that, he smiles and heads back into his room, closing softly his door behind him. A knot slides from my throat to my belly. I don't know what emotion I am feeling, but it makes me feel weird. I continue my way to my room, and close my door as well. I slide between my cold juvenile pink sheets and think this through. I'm curious to know what he is now doing in the next room. Is he thinking about me? Is he regretting trying to kiss me? Is he at least reading? What could he be reading?
I can't find any sleep. The mere idea of having him sleep in the next room makes my brain question everything. How genuine is he? It's undeniable that my body still physically wants him. I don't know if it would be a mistake to grant him a second chance. But it really feels like it isn't the second, but maybe the third or the fourth. He has made me go through a hell of a rollercoaster of emotions. It was hell and heaven at the same time.
It was heaven and hell at the same time.
What if there's no hell this time?
What if we take the romantic and emotional part away from this relationship to only have the sexual and physical aspect of it?
I think this thoroughly. We had a great partnership. If we each go back to our roles and stick to it, our relationship could work.
This could work.
-
After spending most of the night restless, I wake up realising that my parents have both already left for work once I've glanced at the time on my cell phone. I feel a bit relieved to have avoided this awkward exchange with Marcel and my parents over breakfast this morning.
I walk in the kitchen, not bothered to change from my pajamas, to make myself an espresso. I'll need the energy and the courage. I take a cup out of the cupboard and pour the filter of finely grounded coffee beans.
"Good morning."
Marcel greets me from the next room. I go on with my coffee, not giving him much attention, still a bit doozy. It's with a warm cup that I join him in the living room, where we were sitting while watching Dunkirk yesterday.
"Good morning. How did you sleep?" I respond and take place by his side, taking a sip of my delicious coffee, moaning as I do so. "Damn, I missed my parents's espresso machine!"
He lets out a little chuckle and raises his eyes from the book he has on his lap.
"Like a lug. Did you?"
"Not really, actually. Barely slept at all." I let out and hide myself behind my mug, already thinking about making myself a second cup. I get more comfortable against the couch and face him. "What are you reading?"
"Martin lent me this book."
"My dad?!"
"Yes, we talked about it this morning. He thought I would enjoy it."
"What is it?" I lean in to look more closely at it for any hint that would answer my question.
"Rebecca, by Daphne du Maurier. Have you read it?"
"I haven't, actually. What is it about?"
"It's about a woman who is tricked into thinking she will never be enough or will never be loved by her husband the way his first wife Rebecca was."
"Uh! How ironic!" I let out, rolling my eyes as I get up to walk to the kitchen.
It sets me off for some reason. I can relate too well to that. I can't believe he is reading a fiction about something that truly happened between him, Kate and I. How doesn't that make him cringe? Is he only realising the similarities? I will never be able to get rid of her entirely. Even when she isn't here, she is still haunting us, and I can't believe Marcel isn't even realising it.
"What is it again, Grace?" He responds immediately, the sound of his book closing echoing with the strength he has used.
"You know what?! Never mind! You shouldn't even be asking me this. You should know what this is all about!"
I take my annoyance on the grounding machine. I let the expresso fill the filter before locking it in and letting my coffee drip down my cup.
"There you go, running away again."
"I'm not running away, Marcel. I'm making myself a fucking coffee."
"Not literally. For Christ's sake, Grace, look at you!" He lets out, making me turn around to realise he is now standing behind me in the kitchen, the book in his hand by his side.
"What do you mean look at me!?"
"Do you even hear yourself? When things get good, you run away. Stop imagining things that aren't there. This isn't some lame attempt to get Kate back in my life if that's what you think."
"Sorry if I'm still traumatised by the effect she had on both of our lives." I charge back at him.
"She had no effect once I had fallen in love with you."
"That's the thing that you never understand, she did!"
"Why can't you see things my way?"
"I've tried, Marcel. For months, I've tried. Don't you see how much of a pawn you were in her game. Don't you see your whole relationship was a lie to get under your mum's skin, seducing you was getting her the closest to your father which she was obsessed with to a point where she plotted to take your company from you and your mum for revenge. Her love for him got your dad killed!"
"Don't talk as if it has ever affected you!" He bursts loudly, clearly angry. It makes me step down. He's hurt. "You weren't there! You didn't know him! You don't get to say those things, however right you think you are. You didn't live it all."
"I know. I'm sorry... But you can't be mad that I'm not over what I did go through with you."
"So don't be mad that I'm not over it either. She had been a part of my life for almost half my life. Before you, she was all I ever wanted, all I had ever known. You should always realise how much you mean to me that I chose you over the ten-year relationship I had with her however our relationship was. You can't just expect me to move on and see her as the evil she clearly was."
"I'm sorry..." I shyly respond, because he is right. I feel so bad that I never took into consideration his feelings and his struggles in all of this.
"I don't even know if I want to accept that apology, Grace." He responds with disgust. "You love drama so much, you've just ruined 5 sessions worth of therapy. All that because I wanted to please your dad and read a book that is dear to him for some reason, because I wanted to get closer to you by getting closer to him. Foolish of me."
I'm stunned as he leaves the kitchen probably for my brother's room. It all hits me now. It's not only my mental health involved here. His must be even more damaged than mine, but he always acts tough, he puts on a good face, never letting it show. Whereas me... Lord! I'm so mean... I make a big deal about my feelings, being almost condescending to his. He is right...
He has worked so hard on himself, and thinking that I've just ruined all the progress he's made makes me feel horribly bad. The guilt makes me feel sick.
I don't know what to think.
I look blankly at my espresso and don't feel any envy for it anymore. I take my cup and empty it in the sink. I clean the dirty dishes quickly to clear my mind from the pain I feel from hurting him so bad.
I hear his door open, and I suddenly feel hopeful that we can talk it out calmly, and he accepts my apology. But he has his bag in hand, fully dressed, barely looking at me as he heads to the hall.
"I'll wait for you in the car."
-
I've never felt a silence so heavy. I used to love the silence between us, it meant our brains were at work. It meant we were enjoying our presence so much, we didn't need to say idiotic things to make small talk. Silence has always been comfortable. And feeling this heaviness between us makes me feel sicker. I don't really think through what I'm feeling right now, or why I'm feeling so bad about this whole situation. I simply try to find something on the horizon that will distract me enough to get my mind off of it.
It's a relief when we get to Cambridge. I actually enjoy meeting people at the bookstore. There are not as many as in London, but it really gives me the time to talk to each of them thoroughly. Some of them are students from the University of Cambridge and each time I get intimidated.
There's a young woman that comes by the stand to chat. I don't have anyone waiting so we are lucky enough to get to know each other a little. She wonders what my story is about and I think I sell it well enough because she takes a copy from me. I wonder if she's a student here and it turns out she is. She's doing her doctorate in Philosophy. I immediately introduce her to Mace. They click really fast, talking about each other's experience in their own University, their doctorate and all.
It takes a moment, but I start to feel left out. I go back to my stand, and scribble in one of the books to kill time, feeling suddenly down. I feel a bit jealous of this girl. She's pretty, and she is undeniably brilliant. I feel very blessed that my story somewhat interests her. But I feel threatened that Marcel seems to interest her more.
And I hate that it seems reciprocal.
Once again, my hand seems to scribble his features on one of my book's pages. I look up at him. Our eyes never meet. He looks at her, he even draws a smile. He never used to smile.
I look away when a young lady comes to me. She's a teen, and she's shy. It makes me smile. For some reason, I see myself in her. When I look up, I see her mum a row back waiting patiently for her return with two books in her hands.
The young lady smiles at me as I invite her over. I ask her her name, how she is doing, and I thank her for coming over. She doesn't talk much, but once I've signed her copy, she questions me.
"How is it being a writer?" She's still shy, but I see her interest in literature.
"It's a dream. I get to live my fantasies every day. Now, being published, they are becoming true. And I get to share them with the world. There isn't a greater gift than that."
"Was it hard?"
"What do you mean?"
"To write it all?"
"It really wasn't. I write from what I know, from how I feel. I found no better way to get to know myself than to write. I got to explore my anger and my craziness through different characters. It's the best purgatory. Every story is like a diary. And there's no better feeling in the world than when you find a person that adores what you have written, because they've found themselves in it." I sneak a glimpse at Mace behind me, still with the woman. He doesn't look back, it hurts a little, but it makes me focus back on whom I'm talking to.
"Was it long?"
"It depends. No, it wasn't long writing it all. But it doesn't matter how long it takes, what matters is how proud of it you are. You should be able to want to read your own story just for fun, because your story is the kind of story you want to read. What kind of books do you like?"
"Romance." She responds, almost ashamed to answer, like I was before, when I was still with Steeve.
"Me too. You don't need to be ashamed of it. Everybody is looking for love at some point in their life. It doesn't mean that if it isn't like in the books or in the movies that it isn't worth it. People are complicated, because we have so many emotions, but it is not because it isn't a fairy tale that isn't true love. Love has so many forms."
"Like hearts and kisses?"
"Like a little note in your lunchbox from your mum saying have a nice day. Like a friend that can't stay mad at you even though you deserve it. It's often not physical, it's often the way you look at things."
"Like happiness?"
"Like happiness."
"So do you think I can be a writer someday?"
"You can be anything you set your mind to, as long as you are true to who you are."
"How do I do that?"
"When you want to do something, do it, don't hesitate. But when you feel something is wrong, say it. If you feel a certain way, it can never be wrong."
"Can you follow me on Twitter?" She asks with a large smile. It makes me laugh that she would ask me that.
"Of course, Love. You can even send me your first story when you are ready. I promise I'll read it. Never give up on that dream."
She writes her pseudonym into my agenda so that I won't forget, and she goes back to her mum. I look at them until they are out of sight.
"That was nice." I hear Marcel say behind me, now completely alone, and finally talking to me.
"It was. I felt like I needed to hear those things more than she did. It put some things into perspective."
"Put what into perspective?"
"Love, life, opportunities,... Those kinds of things." I let out, being cryptic before trying to get to know more about him and the Cambridge girl. "You had an interesting meeting. She was very articulate, her vocabulary was rich. She seemed like a very nice girl."
"She was..." He says, a smile drawing on his lips.
Jealousy finds its way back to me. I try to tame it. But that smile of his annoys me, knowing it's meant for her. I know staring only annoys me more than if I looked away, but his smile still grows larger.
"Are you laughing?" I let out, definitely annoyed.
"I'm not. We should start packing soon."
"Already? I feel like we just got here."
"It was a good day today, business wise."
"Yeah... Business wise..."
I let Marcel start packing up extra boxes of books while I still stay available for people to come, but end up doodling again. I get so into it, I don't hear him come back.
"Is that me?" He surprises me.
I suddenly don't know what to answer to that. He shouldn't have seen this, but now that he has, I can't lie about it. I finally nod in response.
.