Where Do Broken Hearts Go?

40. High

It's not every day that my heart is throwing itself into each corner of my body. Is it searching for an exit? What's it trying to do? Rip from my body and into this man's hands?

From my content and fanciful simper, you wouldn't believe the internal conflicts I possess. I suppose that's the effects of being high. No. I'm going to allow that one to resonate with you. This must be what it's like. Although I've never experienced a drug-induced high, I can't imagine anything being more blissful and heavenly than this moment.

With him twirling and wrapping the ends of my hair around his finger, does he understand that's exactly how he has me? Is his cheeky way of letting me know he's onto me.

If I weren't already staring at Marcel's reddened lips, I would have missed his question.

"Have you finished packing?"

"Are you trying to rush me out?"

"I'm not. It's just–" His eyes drop from me to his watch. "it's almost time for you to head to the airport."

I groan at the awful sound of leaving. As a protest, I rest my frowned up face on Marcel's knee. With a deft thumb skimming my throat, Marcel takes extra care in analyzing me and my tantrum. Finally, he allows the hint of a smile to replace his much more inquisitive mug.

"I'll be back in London on Tuesday."

"It's not you that I'm going to miss; it's the Eiffel Tower." I point out the window as the sun sets on the iconic lattice.

Unconvinced, he juts his tongue just past his lips and says, "Be sweet, Angel."

The way his accent makes his lips pucker and pout on certain words drives me to the brink of extinction. Is that why he's damn near irresistible and charming – because he's adorable?

"I'm trying so hard" ... to not get caught up in you.

I had the intention of leaving a soft peck on his lips, but it isn't enough for Marcel. He pulls me back in for a kiss sure to leave me aching for more rapture. I'm failing so bad.

Before my clothes decorate the floor, I jump off of the bed. As I'm walking backward, I point behind me. "I have to pack."

"Are you sure?"

Although there's a hint of defeat in the query, his warm voice spreads over me like a blanket. Marcel remains in bed biting down on the Mango Burt's Bee's Lip Balm I left on his raspberry pout.

"I can't–" Out of nowhere, I bump into a wall. Where did you come from? For fuck's sake. "I can't miss my flight."

In an attempt to conceal his chuckles, Marcel's head lowers.

Without further harm, I sprint into my room and shut the door. As I lean against it, I bite down on what's left of Marcel's lips. 

"Oh shit. What have I done?" My mind speaks, but my heart continues to sing melodies.

MONDAY

"I feel like you're chasing something that's not there."

Marcel's words play in my head.

Should I go back to New York? What am I expecting to do once I get there? How will I feel walking into my house, seeing Alex's things? Ella and Lana are staying here. I have a job here. Why am I going back to New York? 

For your husband Angel! 

We haven't heard anything though. No matter where I am in the world, if Alex appears, I'm sure I'll know. 

But how will he feel about you up and leaving him behind? How will he feel about his ring touching another man's skin as you kiss and caress him?

I don't know. 

You know how he would feel. 

That's why I need to be in New York. I don't want to disappoint him. 

You already have. 

What about Marcel? I don't want to disappoint him either. 

What do you owe Marcel? 

What do you mean? He's awakening my soul! 

But you're still married, Angel.

They say you have 11 million thoughts per second. Lana's voice pulls me from about 10 million of them, turning the others into whispers. 

"Sweetie?"

"Huh?" My eyes widen trying to figure out what I've missed after being trapped in my head. Glancing down on my watch, I need a temporal sense of reality.

"What's going on with you today?" She asks, brows heavily furrowing before stuffing her cinnamon roll into her mouth.

I straighten my posture out of the slouch I was succumbing to. "I have 2 weeks left."

"This is what you wanted. Aren't you happy?"

"I don't know if I'm supposed to feel happy about going back." I rest my elbows on the table as my fists rest under my chin.

"But that's literally all you wanted."

"I'm just thinking," I speak to the untouched, wild blueberry muffin before me. "what do I have to go back to?" The words frighten me as I say them for someone else to hear.

The question lifts Lana's brows. "Ella and I want nothing more than for you to stay."

Sighing, I look out to the city that in just a couple of weeks will be nothing, but guilty memories. Guilt that I'm sure will never rot into regret.

"You say you breathe easier out here. You seem more at ease. Everyone at work loves you. You're just brighter here."

"I still feel so guilty." I whisper as I shake my head. "I feel guiltier now..." that I know what Marcel's lips taste like. Heaven.

"You're just across the pond." Lana smiles. "Your life in London is no different from New York; expect that you're happier here. No matter where Alex is, he wants you to be happy. What's there to feel guilty about? You're talking like you fell in love with someone." Lana sinks my heart with one sentence. 

I'm drowning. 

"What's his name," Lana's calculated predictions pulls a silent gasp from my lips. "Netflix?" 

A wave of relief washes away the stricken alarm; even bubbling me with a small laugh. "Shush."

"You can't fall in love with a ring still on your finger." Striking again with unrealized dismay, Lana continues to eat as she scribbles in her notebook. "I'm sure Netflix doesn't mind though. You've had an affair for a long time now."

"Affair?" I whisper the term.