FLYING | Sequel of FALLEN (NaNoWriMo 2022 WINNER)

21.

"Where are you going?" Marcel surprises me and makes my heart race with adrenaline.

"Had a nightmare, I need to walk it off." I let out, my heart still beating hard in my chest but not only from the shock.

"Want company?"

I take a moment to consider, and ultimately agree. I need to tell him, or else I won't be able to live with myself. Plus, I want his presence by my side. We've been so distant this week. I really need him with me.

He gets up and walks around the bed to take the trousers and the jumper he had on yesterday. I make sure I have the key to our room and lead him out. We don't really talk on our way to the elevator. My heart grows heavy in my chest knowing I have to admit something terrible to him. The lift doors open and close on us with mirrors reflecting a copy of ourselves. My face is red and puffy, and it just intensifies how ugly and disgusting I find myself. Tears slide down my face again as soon as I look down. That's when I feel Marcel's hand take a hold of mine. My heart seems to be tearing up in two massive pieces. And it hurts.

I rush myself against him like a foetus in the womb of the mother. I hold on for dear life. His arms instinctively wrap around me. It's a warm embrace, but I do feel him distant. That's exactly what I deserve. I don't deserve his warmth or his love.

The doors open and I get out of his arms and dry my eyes with my sleeve. I walk out with him on my heels. He takes my hand in his as we walk past the receptionist. It's still dark out. The pavement is wet from the rain, but the cloud is long gone. I look up at the sky, but don't find any stars. I settle back my gaze upon the Liverpool horizon.

Marcel doesn't speak, so it's hard for me to break the ice. We walk, and we walk. I don't know where we are going. We don't see many cars on the road, and we don't see a soul out there. The pubs are closed, but the sun hasn't begun to rise yet. The sky is pitched black. We are only guided by the lamps on the streets.

When the turmoil in my head and in my heart becomes too much, I stop walking forward and stop altogether. I guide Marcel to sit on the nearest bench, and stand in front of him like the mess that I am. He sits at the edge and looks at me blankly.

"I need to tell you something..." Are the first words that I let out. They are loud and not delicate at all. They were rushed and messy and the perfect image of me right now. "I don't want you to overthink this or think you have done anything wrong. I'm the one who is in the wrong. I don't know why, but tonight, I dreamt of Logan Kent. I had just sent the two other articles I wrote about him to Shelley when I fell asleep. I don't want to get into the details of this dream, but it was intimate and wrong and I do not feel anything for him at all. I don't know why these images came to my mind, but I hate myself for creating another case where you have reasons to doubt me. I love you, Marcel and I have missed you, and I worked too hard this week on these articles, he was more on my mind than you, and I apologise also for that. I hate myself for letting him haunt my dreams as well. You are the one that deserves all my attention, all my love and all my desire. I'm so terribly sorry. I just had to tell you. I feel like I've wronged you and I hate myself. You deserve the world and I know how distant I've been. I've been struggling a lot this week with my own issues and I feel like I've let you down. I'm sorry."

I finally gather the courage to look up at him. But he doesn't flinch. His eyes are stern on me with his trademark unfathomable expression. I join him on the bench and take a seat facing the street in silence. We stay like this for seconds that seem to turn to minutes.

"In that dream, you were having sex?"

"Yes."

"Was he giving you pleasure?"