Forever With Me《Marcelee》

Chapter 49

(MARSHALL'S POV)

I stood, leaning against the tree as I waited for her. A few moments later, she emerged from the vast woods. We exchanged smiles like we always do. She flew closer to me and I took her hand, "come with me."

"To where?" She asked, eyeing me with curiousity. "Home," I briefly answered with a smile. We rose to the night skies and with the moon lighting our way, we flew to our house.

We landed on the front yard, in front of the main entrance. Marceline marveled over the layout in front of her. "It's beautiful... this is where you live?" She asked, not taking her eyes off the house. "Yes, and also where you used to live."

She looked excited and, well, amazed. It's no surprise. That was her first reaction when she saw the house for the first time then. She loved it so much, and she still does now. "Shall we?" I called as I held up my elbow, mimicking those fancy gentlemen. With a small laugh, she held my arm and we floated to the abode.

As we neared the door, yapping could be heard from the inside accompanied by the scratching of the wooden door. I chuckled and opened the door, letting out the enthusiastic poodle. Schwabl stood on two legs and pawed Marcy's legs excitedly, his high-pitched woof echoing around the place.

"Aww, who's this little guy?" Marcy cooed as she picked him up. "Our baby, Schwabl," I answered, "he missed you a lot." Schwabl has never been this noisy for a long time. He licked Marcy's face many times, making Marcy laugh as we entered the house.

"Whoa," Marcy whispered as she beheld the living room. If only she remembered the memories this house held, even when they only marked a short time. We proceeded to the dining room. Schwabl barked twice. Marcy put her down and he ran back to his dinner behind the counter.

I glanced at the wall clock. Two minutes before twelve. I smiled as I lead Marcy to our bedroom. Schwabl had already finished his food and followed enthusiastically behind us.

I kept looking at the time, at our alarm clock, my wrist watch until it finally struck twelve. I held her hand, and she looked at me as she felt my touch. "You know what day it is today?" I asked with a smile plastered on my face. She looked at the small calendar on our table and back at me. "No, sorry."

I only smiled. I brought her hand to my lips and planted a small kiss on the back of it. "Happy birthday, my queen," I greeted. Her face lit up and a toothy smile slowly formed on her face. "Today's my birthday?!" She asked in shock. I nodded as I smiled at her cute reaction. "Your ten-thirteenth, actually," I specified. "Cool, I'm that old?" She chuckled.

"Anyway, I have something for you," I let go of her hand after squeezing it slightly. I looked through the cabinet, through her stuff. She watched closely behind me. Within seconds, I elicited an old red hardbound book which was already a bit worn out on its sides. It had some doodles on it like daggers and a cyclopse's head, and the name 'Gunther' scribbled across it in yellow writing.

I handed the thick book to her and she accepted it with curious eyes glued to it. "What is this?" She asked. "It's your journal. You used to write on it almost everyday - well, less, when we started dating. But surely it'll help you with your issues right now, and answer the questions I couldn't answer for you."

"Thank you Marshall," she beamed, her crimson eyes glim. "I'm sorry it took me this long to think about it though," I remarked and she only nodded in response as she started looking through the pages of the journal.

The night was spent with red wine - just regular wine - and strawberries, Marceline reading nothing short of fifty pages of her journal entries, her face expressing a series of emotions from reading. I let her take her time, but she figured she wanted to read the rest at home. Her home. Then, I gave her a tour around the house. I imagined what it would be like to feel like a tourist in your own home. I did everything to make sure she enjoyed while at the same time, not let her feel bad about her memory loss.