FLYING | Sequel of FALLEN (NaNoWriMo 2022 WINNER)

3.

Marcel is setting everything up and I'm sitting at my display looking at him blindly. He's told me my appearance is scheduled in forty five minutes now and that most of the work is already done. "Most by me," I was tempted to add. But I don't seem to find any enthusiasm at all. I feel an immense sadness nesting in the pit of my stomach and it makes me sick. And I feel even sadder because I should be enjoying myself right now, but I'm not, because the circumstances are making me sad. It's a vicious cycle I can't seem to get out of. 

What would help me? Certainly not Marcel, even though I see the effort he is making. I just needed some time to heal. 

All I see when I look at him is the man that bumped into me at Kate's house. The one that had written all these horrible things about me. The one that I had vowed to love and to help at all cost had betrayed me in the most horrible way. He says our love is true and that he still loves me... But the truth is... He has lost everything. He lost his playmate, the one he has always been hiding behind since his father's murder. He finally knows who's responsible for his death. He's lost himself, and he's lost me. My guess is that he only wants to hold onto something he knows not to lose everything.... I think.

To occupy myself, I take my colourful pens out of my purse and absentmindedly take one of the books displayed next to me. I open the first pages in search of a blank canvas for me to draw a little something. I look around for inspiration. I hear a man whistling from somewhere, a few rows down. It makes me think of a bird, and my hand slowly starts to sway on the very first blank page of my novel. A little green sparrow appears after a minute or two, and it slowly brings my mood up. I love to draw. It's been a while since the last portrait I made... I can't remember who was my subject. I think it was my granddaddy. It had taken me a whole day, and I had given it to him as a birthday gift. I haven't seen it since his death. I don't know what grandma has done with it...

I get this desire to draw him again, but having nothing to draw him from, I focus on Marcel instead. He walks around the table to take the last box, and my eyes linger on his facial traits. He has a beautiful nose. My hand absentmindedly starts to dance on the blank sheet of paper. He walks out of my sight and I continue drawing his eyes from memory. They are still perfectly clear in my mind. I could never forget those eyes... I've adored and felt so scared of them at times. He has such depth, I feel like I'm drowning in a sea of mixed emotions when I look at him. He's often been very cold and guarded, haunted clearly, and yet I've known them to be so beautifully expressive as well.

I decide with all the space I've taken from defining his nose, to only draw his upper face. He wears his glasses today. It somewhat brings me joy. It's like he's the same man I've always known... but I don't know if it's a good thing or not. Have I really known the real him?! At all?!

He walks by the table and kneels to the ground. I immediately stop drawing and close the book. He takes something from his brown leather satchel and straightens to face me.

"Do you want something to drink? I'm heading out for tea." He kindly says, but I shake my head. He insists. "It's the company paying, not me. You can take advantage of the perks, you know..."

"A latte. Thank you..."

He nods slightly and steps back slowly. I let go of his gaze. My sight drops on his hands holding his wallet before he turns around and leaves the store. I'm surprised to notice the scars on his hands.

I had forgotten about that, or at least I must have gotten used to it. Somehow now, it has struck me. His knuckles were scarred and they were pinkier than the rest of his skin. I've never asked him how he got them. In a fight? At the gym while he boxes?