FLYING | Sequel of FALLEN (NaNoWriMo 2022 WINNER)

9.

Waterstones goes by quickly.  I'm surprised to meet a lot more people than yesterday.  It keeps me busy all afternoon.  It's mostly the topic at dinner back at the hotel.  Marcel discusses the business side of things.  Edith calls to be informed of the situation, which we are proud to say that it's going well.  We deliberately leave out of the conversation how our personal relationship is improving.

It's when we get to bed that it gets all a little more intense.  Last night, I was sleeping when Marcel got into the bed with me.  Tonight though, we are both awake and it makes our situation a little more complicated.  I do everything to drag this moment out.  I go to the loo, take an enormously long shower, hoping that he'll be asleep and that we'll only have to care about our half of the queen-size bed. 

Unfortunately, he is bright awake when I come back.  He is scanning through the channels of the telly, half sitting against the headboard shirtless.  He looks at me the moment I'm out of the bathroom.

I slide between the sheets and make myself comfortable.  I look at him, he doesn't go through the channels anymore.

"What are we watching?"  I smile at him, not really feeling tired, but trying to find something to occupy my thoughts with.

"Want to watch a movie?"  He asks, looking at me as I nod.  He looks down and presses the buttons on the remote.  "Would you be open to watching Rebecca?"

I'm taken aback by his suggestion.  I raise my brows and guard myself instantly.  I try to keep my cool, stay calm, and be open minded.

"I haven't seen the film, but I loved the book.  I would like to share it with you."  He adds softly.

He turns his head and looks at me, I simply nod in response.  My interest is piqued when I see the leading actress, Lily James.  I'm more open minded now.  Part of me expected to watch a 50's movie whereas it is a Netflix production.  I'm aesthetically pleased.  The movie is gorgeous.  I sink right into the story, forgetting all about the argument.

The storytelling is taking me into a whirlwind of emotions.  I feel loved.  I feel betrayed.  I feel confused.  I feel haunted.  I feel meaningful in a way, comparing the relationship in the movie to Marcel and I's.  It makes me cherish just how much he's learned to open up, and to speak his mind, to communicate his feelings.

I sink into his open arms and lay my head on his chest.  It happens so naturally, I don't remember the exact moment I snuggled next to him.  At one point, I don't focus on the movie.  I get high on the caress of his hand running up and down my arm tenderly.  I lose focus on our reality.  I seem to fantasise about what-could-have-beens and my lost hopes.  I put so much pressure on him, I have too high expectations.  I so want him to prove to me that our relationship won't be chaotic or messy or toxic like we've experienced before.  I should allow him to mess up sometimes.  I should allow him to be imperfect, because he is... we are.  We.  I get lost in the thought of us.  Of him.  Of me.  The growth we've had.  And to the growth that will come.

The only time my wandering thoughts make sense of what is happening on screen is when I realise that the obsession around Rebecca is because of her maid.  She didn't want her memory to fade, so she builded expectations around Mr. De Winter's grief and love for his ex wife.  When in truth, and it shocks me, he never loved her.  It takes me a moment to process it all.

I part from Mace when I realise I understood the story all wrong.  Mr. De Winter finally admits to being a pawn to his wife, being manipulated by her, by her desires of grandeur.  I realise now how much I have overreacted.  I feel silly.  And a little bit ashamed...

I slide completely out of Marcel's embrace.  I need clarity, and a moment to gather my thoughts.  I get into my head a bit.  I don't know how long I stay quiet.  It seems like a long time because he doesn't speak or ask anything or even interrupt my train of thoughts.  He stays a silent witness to my moment of despair.