Elliott Miller is your average 23 year-old, only with a lost father and a resentful mother. When he goes back to his hometown to make amends, he inadvertently gets dragged into the activities of an illicit criminal group.
Enter Marcel Nixon, 25, wh...
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(Two weeks later)
"You know, you still haven't told me that much about yourself."
He looked up from his phone and gave me a quizzical look. I'll admit, I hadn't planned on asking it so bluntly but the thought had been swirling around at the back of my mind ever since Viv drove me here. I'd poured my heart out about parts of myself that I'd kept buried away, but Marcel had never really opened up the same way.
"Come again?" He said setting his phone aside.
"After that night at the park," I started hesitantly, "it feels like you know way more about me than I do of you. And over the past few days we haven't really done much talking... not that it's a bad thing! I mean, if you're uncomfortable or something..." I trailed off when I realized I was rambling. My cheeks burned, especially after alluding the less-than-verbal activities that had been going on. But I felt like it was the right time, since we had the house to ourselves; with Viv away in the city for the next few days before her and Phoenix were set to join us later next week.
Marcel looked at me with a conflicted look in his eyes, his silence eating away at me with each passing second.
"Umm," I stammered, "like I said, if you're not comfortable, I won't push you. In fact, forget I asked, I don't even know what I was thinking when-"
He silenced my gabbling with his lips, reveling in the moment before pulling away with a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.
"Of course I'll tell you what you want to know, but my life isn't all that interesting, so I honestly don't know where to begin."
"Okay then, what if I ask a question or two to start?" I offered, attempting to reassure him.
He hummed in agreement and I took that as my cue.
"So uh, what were your parents like?" I tried to sound casual so that this wouldn't come off as an interrogation, but that didn't seem to matter since I seemed to have struck a nerve.
"My parents..." He started, his voice carrying a slight edge.
"Well I don't really know my mom. My dad... he used to work with Mr. Grey on operations similar to what I do now. Once, he was posted in Paris for some ground work. He'd begun to cut back on more dangerous tasks by then, so he refused to do anything that involved fighting or armed combats."
"When he was there, I suppose he got a little too comfortable, if you get what I mean. To put it simply, had a fling one night with this French girl, my mom. But I guess they actually started liking each other because they began seeing each other exclusively for some time. Both of them were in their early twenties so a serious relationship wasn't too high up on their list of priorities."
He paused for a second, and I took that to mean that the next thing was especially painful to recount. So I let him take his time.
"Long story short, he accidentally got her pregnant, like the cliche frivolous couple they were. My dad had always wanted kids at some point, and along with the fact that my mom's family was extremely conservative about abortion and stuff, she ended up carrying us to term. When we were finally born, she was more than happy to hand over sole custody to my dad. My whole childhood and early adulthood was just with him."
