the Devil and the Sea

65| Here's a coward

Vincent and I are alone, my legs are in his lap, he wraps his arms around my hips. It's already four o'clock in the morning. With one hand, Vincent pulls me to his hip, and the other around my waist, and buries his face into my neck. I desperately keep calm.

I never thought that this guy would sit here with me like that and be sad that our time is running out.

The blackness of the sky, barely cuts through the blue of dawn. Vincent straightens his back, then puts his hand on the back of my head and draws me close to him. He touches my forehead and I hear him sigh as if he's about to say something.

He looks at me like he can't breathe without me. I love this look. I want to see this for the rest of my life.

Damn, that's a terrible thought.

Why the hell do I think so?

"I want to tell you something." The seriousness of his voice makes my heart skip a beat: this is it, I know what he is talking about. I just. I know. "But I'm afraid I'll regret it later."

Why?

I pretend like I don't understand what he's talking about.

"Let's talk," I push, anticipating victory, "we always regret the things we didn't say."

In fact, I want to close his mouth with a kiss so that he does not say anything, I already know this. I. Everything. Know.

If he says it out loud, it will be harder to ignore his feelings.

A few seconds pass and I hear his deep breathing.

"I have strong feelings for you." He confesses and my knees respond with a tremor.

A strange feeling creeps in and I don't want this moment to end.

Vincent pauses for a few seconds and seeks my gaze.

Touching my lips, he speaks literally into my mouth:

"I fell in love with you." He looks into my eyes. "Strongly."

These words, uttered in such a serious voice, break through my consciousness and settle there, and my heart pounds furiously inside my chest in response to this confession. I hardly dare to breathe. The full meaning of these words hangs in the air, and in that very second it becomes clear to me that I feel the same way.

For a moment I feel satisfied, but after a second I can barely hide a smile of happiness.

I must answer.

Tell him.

Need to say.

I...

Come on!

I push these thoughts to the back of my mind. Even if it is true, I will never admit it.

Vincent looks at me in anticipation and takes a deep breath.

If I am silent about my feelings, I feel they can be successfully ignored, pretending that they are not there. Why crucify myself in front of a man who is about to leave?

Vincent keeps looking for eye contact with me, and I'm afraid to look at him, but I still look up. As soon as I meet his gaze, my mouth dries up. He clearly wants the same answer.

But this was not part of my plans. Everything has gone too far. I shouldn't have slept with him. I shouldn't have feelings about him.

Should I stick to the original course, or can I afford weakness?

I fake a smirk into his eyes, but then I look away and say:

"I won't be able to answer you the same." My voice is firm and confident. "I wish I could confess back, but I can't."

"Why?"

Until this moment Vincent was joyful, like a spring flower. Now I feel him wither just slightly. I shrug, trying to sound as casual as possible. I'm trying to come up with a valid argument, but my head is empty.

His right hand lets go of my hip and touches my hair, so gently it made my heart twitch. His face is very close and when he tilts his head, he runs his nose across my cheek.

"Does it scare you?" He whispers softly at my temple.

"Yes."

"Why?"

Because I'm afraid that once you get me, the game is over.

"Because I'm not sure how I feel right now." I look at him, knowing I pushed him away, but the idea of coming out scares me even more.

Maybe I just made up my feelings? Maybe I played so much that I believed in my love?

Doesn't matter. I exhale slowly and close my eyes tightly.

Vincent sighs heavily against my cheek.

I have everything under control.

I have everything under control.

I have everything under control, damn it!

I carefully watch Vincent's movements and his face, trying to understand what he is thinking and feeling. He looks at me and, seeing that I was looking at him, abruptly averts his eyes.

Vincent is silent and frowns. There is a mask of disappointment on his face and he silently looks ahead. My body is trembling, trembling violently, and I pull away from him so he doesn't notice.

Vincent sits with his eyes closed, and when he opens them again, he doesn't look ahead. He looks into my eyes.

I don't know what to expect, I don't know what to do or say.

I stretch my legs indifferently in front of me and lean my head against the wall, and Vincent takes my hand and presses it to his lips. Touch sends an impulse to the very heart.

"Okay, I have to get up for work soon." Vincent gets up, and I feel something rushing out, and I try to suppress it with force.

"Don't do it, don't give him that kind of power," I tell myself over and over.

I walk beside Vincent, there is a heavy silence between us for the first time, but he holds my hand. We go out into the yard and he turns to me. How annoying is this oppressive silence.

I wait for him to look at me, I wait for him to say something, but he does nothing. Just looking into my eyes, also waiting for something.

"I'll come tomorrow." Finally, he says briefly, smiling softly, and I do not understand if this is a question.

I nod silently and smile in response. Vincent gives me one last look and walks over to the sportbike.

I didn't love Vincent back.

Why?

Because I'm a coward.

As practice has shown, the main thing is to shut up in time when the idea arises to talk about your feelings.

Because the once endless struggle to get to the heart of Marc Ferrer has hurt me a lot. They are irreparable, they hurt when someone inadvertently tries to pick off a new dried layer.

In that struggle, I lost myself, my beliefs, and my love for myself. I should have told Mark to hell long before that happened, but I decided that I could walk through hell and paid for it with my own soul. It took a long time to get the least bit right. Mark took everything and I'm not even sure if I've gotten myself back since then.

Time would rather drag me into a coffin than heal my wounds.

I risk getting the same pain again, only Vincent can now be in the place of the tormentor. If it hasn't already happened. Or already?

Damn, why are there so many problems with these guys?

Vincent puts on a motorcycle helmet. The engine roars. And he leaves.

I won. Did I win? What is victory?