Where Do Broken Hearts Go?

18. Search Party

"ANGEL!"

"There she is!"

"Angel!"

Arriving home two hours late almost sends my friends into a cardiac arrest. As soon as I step through the door, Ella, Poppy, and Lana charge me. Holding out my hands, I lift my knee to stop the possible impact.

Lana swats my arms and asks, "Where have you been?" 

"We've been worried!"

"Worried sick! Don't you answer your phone?" Ella grabs my knit shoulders then takes ahold of my face. "What's the point of having a phone if you're not going to answer the damn thing?" Sorry, mother.

I take note of the worry in each of their eyes before placidly saying, "What the hell is wrong with you people?" I relieve my shoulder of my purse and set it on an end table. 

Lana rushes to the window and pulls back the curtains. Holding it behind her back, she searches the grounds. Oh, you think I was with someone.

"What's your excuse tonight, huh?" Ella leads the nosey pack into the living room.

"I went to get my laptop fixed." 

Unbothered, I stroll to my favorite spot and plop down on the couch. Lana scratches the back of her head as I kick off my shoes and look up to Ella, waiting for her to continue the nonfactual interrogation.

"Oh, yeah." Lana nervously chuckles, realizing everyone's fear could have been spared if she had remembered our workday. "She was having trouble with it at work." Lana sits. Everyone else takes a seat with deflating heavy sighs.

As soon as I received my text from Marcel, I threw a false fit over my Mac. Lana spun on her heels and came back into my office to see what the hooblah was about. Checkmate.

"Then, I went to the cute, new outlet mall to pass time." 

I narrow my eyes falsely wondering what's gotten into them. Also, I'm scribbling a mental note – in permanent marker – to never tell them about Marcel and our antics.

"You can't be disappearing on us." Poppy picks up a glass from the coffee table. She's drinking my wine? Why's her bighead here? I shoot Ella a glance. Good thing she catches it.

"I was gone for two hours." I remind my overprotective friends. "You got her paranoid too?" I ask Ella of her gossiping ways.

"You were missing for two hours."

"You're acting different, Angel."

"I'm acting like my laptop was glitching and needed to be fixed." I reach into my bag to pull out my perfectly fine Mac. "New York is sounding better every day."

THE NEXT DAY

As I take a sip of my Starbucks Peppermint Mocha Frap, Marcel enjoys a Cherry Mocha Frap. "It's not bad," I say, sitting my beverage down. Now, I want his. "How come you always get something interesting?" 

"Get it next time." He blindly advises as he fingers glide across his trackpad.

"Or you can just let me try it."

"Nah." He shakes his head as he works. While he's not looking, I snatch the drink and open another straw by tapping it on the table. I watch him the entire time, cheesing at my puckish ways. "Give it back." His face has some seriousness, but I'm feeling testy. 

I stick the fresh straw into his drink. Oooo damn, that's good. I would have taken another gulp, but, with those eyes, he's murdered me three times.

"Be sweet, Marcel." I take the straw out and take what's left from the bottom.

"You're lucky I hate peppermint." He watches as I set his mocha on the table.

"How could anyone hate peppermint? Do you like any other mints?" I try keeping the conversation light, but he answers coldly,

"Yes."

"Can you really tell the difference between spearmint and peppermint?"

"I sure can." He emphasizes with raised brows as he continues to work. With my eyes, I trace the apple on the back of his laptop, until he peeks over it and orders, "Don't test me." Oop.

"I already have today."

"And that's all that you get."

"Mmm." As I'm stirring my drink, I switch my gaze to him. "Testy this morning?"

As I say that, Marcel pushes his curls back, then tucks one side behind his ear. His inquisitive posture comes into play as his thumb supports his chin, middle supports his bottom lip and index pushes into his cheek. What did I do to deserve this? I don't deserve this.

Sighing, I rest my arms on the table and try raking through his sealed thoughts. "Do you want me to buy you another drink?"

"No."

"Then what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong." He answers without looking at me.

Biting the inside of my cheek, I pick up my pen and continue working on my edits. When I peek back over to Marcel, he's already watching me. Instantly, his attention flickers back to his work. It felt like something just cut through my stomach. I don't know, I kind of liked it. Putting the end on my pen against my lips, I forget how to do my job.

"H-o-u-s-e," I whisper, questioning the spelling of such a simple word. It looks wrong though. Marcel has me out here messing up. I can't even spell house. I almost–

"Changing my routine to avoid your friends isn't going to work for me." He speaks up. "I change my routine, because I feel the fuck like it." His position doesn't shift as his eyes pick me to smithereens. I think I felt my socks slide down. "I'm not hiding from people that I don't know." 

His tone is chill, yet serious. That was enough to have my socks missing, but coupled with his attention-grabbing British accent, my socks are on vacation. I swallow my rising soul as I sit up.

"You don't want to be seen with me?" His offense offends me as my face drops.

"Wait, wait, wait." I sit down my pen and move my glasses to the top of my head. "You don't think I want to be seen with you–"

"That's what I just fucking said." Dropping his position, Marcel straightens his loll posture.

"First of all," I begin, making his jaw clench as he looks away from me. "Don't curse at me. You will not talk to me like that." I keep my voice low, yet stern.

He rolls his eyes, then calls my name, "Angel,"

"No." I stop him. "My friends are overprotective and have been down my throat since you spilled your coffee. A long time ago, yes I know. You're not the one arriving home two hours late and having a search party waiting for you."

Refusing to look at me, he scratches the side of his face to ridicule. "Your friends need to get a life."

"To get them off my back, I told them I wasn't seeing you." Before the news can fall completely from my lips, Marcel's packing his things. "Marcel, please." I reach out to stop him.

"Wot?" He sharply snaps. My socks are on indefinite leave. "You're grown. You can do whatever you want. You don't need their approval."

"I know that." I sigh.

"Then what are you doing?" His disappointment will leave him in wrinkles if he doesn't get it together.

"What are you so mad about, because you didn't have your Dark Roast today? I'm seeing you every damn day, regardless of what I'm telling my friends. I don't want them in my business. They're pushing labels down my throat when I'm still trying to figure myself out. You may be crazy yourself, but you help me block out the other crazy shit surrounding my life. I like it and I'm trying to protect this hint of frenzied solace. I told you this at dinner. So why are you acting like this?" I feel a twitch in my grasp, then realize I'm clutching Marcel's wrist. I let go, immediately pulling my hand into my lap.