Why Me? ⚣

Chapter 13

"Is this wrong?"

Marcel looked up from his phone and towards the door, where I stood. He shot me a puzzled look and got up, walking towards me.

"What's bothering you?"

He gently took my hand and pulled me into a hug. I melted into his strong arms, his refreshing presence overwhelming my senses.

"I don't know, I feel so selfish right now. I mean, we don't even know each other that well apart from the case files and I wonder if I'm overstepping boundaries. Besides, I'm pretty sure that a relationship or whatever we have is not too high up on your list of priorities."

He let go of me and turned around, opening a drawer on his bedside cabinet and retrieving his car keys.

"Let's fix that," he said and walked out the door.

The week after our first kiss passed by in a magical blur. It was just the two of us, wrapped in shared silences and easy laughter. We spent most of our time lounging around, brushing hands or exchanging lazy kisses every now and then. It was calm, warm, and strangely healing.

I found myself thinking about all the moments in the past when I could have felt this way, but didn't. There was something almost bittersweet about it. Like for the first time, I could just be, without analyzing every moment. It was beautiful. And, in a strange way, a little unfair that I couldn't have felt this way sooner.

As I looked out the window, I watched the city zip past. Marcel had taken a different route, veering away from the usual gridlock and noise of Manhattan. We passed through narrow streets, quieter corners of New York I didn't recognize. I made a mental note to get out more often with him once this madness was over.

About fifteen minutes in, the car slowed to a stop beside a small, quiet park. The kind you'd miss if you weren't looking for it. Marcel stepped out and opened my door. I stretched as I got out, blinking in the evening sun.

Without a word, he reached for my hand and led me across the grass to a quiet patch under a tall maple tree. He sat down on the grass, patting the space next to him as a signal for me to join. I settled back against the tree trunk, letting the breeze and the soft rustle of leaves settle over us like a second blanket.

"Hi, I'm Marcel," he said suddenly.

I raised an eyebrow, laughing.

"What are you doing?"

"You said we didn't know each other well enough. So let's start fresh."

"Okay, Marcel. I'm Elliott."

"Hi Elliott."

He smiled widely at me and I couldn't stop myself from grinning widely, a bubbly warmth consuming me. The evening glow cast a golden hue on his features and I took a few moments to snap a mental picture of it. His hair was ruffled by the breeze and a faint redness dusted his cheeks, possibly from the chill autumn air.

"So who really is Elliott, when no one's watching?"

I hesitated, staring out over the park, then back at him. It crippled me with embarrassment to think that if I spilled out my sob stories, no one would take me seriously anymore. I could tolerate jeering and bullying, but I hated sympathy. But there was no judgment in his eyes. No pity. Just patience. For once, I didn't feel like someone waiting to be fixed.

So I took his hand and held it tight. He lifted it, kissed my knuckles gently. I flushed, unable to hide the bashful smile that followed.

"Alright," I began, "It all started in LA. Not the movie star side, just regular old Venice. Growing up was actually nice. We were your standard middle-class family- beach days, backyard birthdays, Christmas disasters in the kitchen."

I paused, staring at our hands as his fingers traced idle circles on the back of mine.

"I remember one time, when I must've been five or six- we were decorating gingerbread houses, and my mom stepped out to answer the door. I decided it'd be a good idea to 'surprise' her by decorating the kitchen counter. Thought it'd make the whole kitchen look festive."

I laughed a little at the memory.

"She walked back in and found icing all over, candy on the floor and sprinkles in every nook and cranny. She was horrified at first, since I'd just handed her an extra hour of cleaning, but I think eventually she forgave me for it."

I chuckled at the memory as a wave of nostalgia hit me, however short-lived.

The next part was especially hard for me to recount and my smile faded as I prepared my soliloquy.

"But things shifted when I was sixteen. My dad started coming home later and later. He looked exhausted, worn down. Like he was carrying something heavy he couldn't talk about."

At this point, I noticed that Marcel had leaned in closer and was paying close attention to my every word. I scanned over his face, scrutinizing every detail to find anything at all that would confirm my fears, which proved to be incredibly challenging. Marcel had suddenly turned into a blank slate, showing no sign of judgement, commiseration or any emotion really. Heck, if wasn't looking straight at me with his eyes narrowed in like a fox, I would've assumed that he'd zoned out.

"One night, my mom confronted him. It turned into a full-blown screaming match- accusations, crying, doors slamming. I just stayed in bed and stared at the ceiling, not knowing what to think. I remember creeping downstairs later and seeing her sobbing with his arms around her. He just kept whispering that it was going to be okay."

I took a moment to compose myself, not knowing whether to continue or quickly wrap it up. I'd never talked about this topic much, except occasionally to Vivien, who never pressured me to fully open up. I decided to continue anyway, seeing as it was only a matter of time before we would revisit this, but leaving the intricate details out.

"My dad and I... we were really close. I was his only son, after all. He always showed up for me. Every award, every recital, even little league games. And then, the morning of my seventeenth birthday... he was just gone."

Marcel tilted his head, eyebrows gently furrowed.

"What do you mean?"

"He left a note," I continued, voice soft. "Said he loved us. Said he was sorry. That he got mixed up with the wrong people and leaving was the only way to keep us safe. I didn't even get to say goodbye."

I looked up at Marcel, my eyes glassy with tears threatening to spill out. He held out his hands and I buried myself in his neck, taking a few minutes to myself. I'd already wasted enough tears, hoping that they would magically make my dad come back, and it just wasn't worth it anymore.

I swallowed hard. "My mom fell apart after that. Then she turned on me. I think I reminded her too much of him. She started blaming me for things that didn't even make sense. Eventually, she just... accepted that he was gone but it had already driven a wedge between us. We could just about tolerate each other but the bond we shared before reduced greatly. It was as if dad left and took mom with him."

"How did you feel being treated that way?"

The softness of the question took me by surprise. No one ever asked me about my side of things so I hadn't given it much thought.

I closed my eyes, sighing. "I don't blame her. At least, not anymore."

Deciding that I would wrap up my narrative there, I shifted so I was lying against Marcel, his arms circling me loosely. His warmth enveloped me, providing a homey feeling like that of hot chocolate and a warm fire. We simply lay there, basking in the moment, taking it all in. Moments like these were so few to come by.

Leaves of brilliant reds and mellow ambers fell from the trees above, adorning the landscape with a crimson radiance.

 And so, our world fell into a blissful silence.