[Mark] Teacher’s Pet (Chapter 58)
“Abigail, My intentions are different from Liam’s. Don’t associate me with him.” He says quietly, but his words still made of steel. As much as he pisses me of, he’s right, and I don’t want to go on that subject.
“Yes, you’re right.” I mutter. “But it’s precisely your intentions that make me the maddest.” I add, and he pretends not to understand.
“The hickeys will go away, but not the fact that you punished me.” I say, and his frown deepens.
“I know what you just did there. You were mad because of yesterday, because I danced with that man, because they touched me, so you marked me.” I explain. “It’s like a ‘Mark Tuan’s property’ sign. Am I right?” I say, his jaw clenches in response and he looks away from me, clearly giving the answer away.
“It was Innocent, you said yourself this man wasn’t interested, and he was something like fifty three! You let me dance with him, I did not provoke you in any way, you didn’t have the right to take it out on me. To punish me like this.” I bite out. He snaps his head at me, as if my words had occurred him.
“All I did was have some fun, while you let me, and now there’s no way I can wear a bikini for the rest of our vacation, no beach for me. But you, you got what you wanted.” I mutter. His mouth falls open as he finally realizes he’s been a total dick, and he has the kindness to look contrite.
“God, Abby, I’m sorry.” He breathes. Oh, I’m Abby now, now that he’s genuinely sorry and he wants to make things okay.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t think. I was so…I’m sorry, I really am. That was selfish and immature of me.” He takes slow, cautious steps to me, eyeing me intently and then takes my face in his hands.
“It wasn’t your fault, and I took it out on you. I don’t know what got into me, I was mad and jealous, and I wanted to show people, or myself, or you, I’m not sure, that you belong to me.” He murmurs. His? Here’s that word again. Yes serious about this? I recoil front him.
“But I don’t.” I snap. His face falls and his brow furrows.
“Yes you do.” He says sternly. So he’s so blinded by that idea that he feels free to leave hickeys on me? I’m not his. I’m not anyone’s. Liam thought I was his to fuck whether I said yes or no, though Mark’s intentions are not the same, I won’t let him own me. I’ve never consented, where did he get that idea?
“Don’t say no. I know it, I know you’re mine. You’ve been mine since the beginning.” He says, his voice clipped. What the fuck? He’s talking about me as if he had bought me on a market. He thinks I’m his to control and to spoil. I’m an asset, a thing. My face falls and darkens. I knew it!
“I’m not your toy girl.” I snarl.
“No, of course not!” His face twists with disgust. “Jesus, Abby. You think I’m trying to treat you like my exes treated me? Don’t you know what it did to me? You think I want you to feel like this?” He sounds appalled, thank god the idea doesn’t please him.
“Then what did you mean by that?” I ask.
“I don’t know!” He cries, burying his hands in his hair. He pulls at it and sighs, and a heavy silence creeps between us. I close my eyes and sigh. I won’t handle another fight, nit today, not now.
“Listen, I need a shower. What are we doing today?” I ask quietly, rubbing my temples. We might as well just ignore this for now and try to have a good day. We’re ruining this trip.
“What do you want to do?” He asks me. I would have loved to go to the beach!
“Hang out in town.” I shrug. That’s the only thing I can do now.
“We’ll do that, then. I’ll call Alex. Pancakes for breakfast?” He says.
“Yes.” I reply, turning on my heels.
“Okay. Abby?” He calls, and when I turn around he’s pressed against me, greedy lips covering mine.
“I’m sorry. I hate those hickeys now, I hate them too. And I hate myself. I’m sorry, baby.” He murmurs against my lips.
“I know.” I whisper. He cups my face and kisses the corner of my mouth, my cheeks, my eyelids, my forehead and my nose in turns.
“Forgive me?” He pleads. At least I know he won’t do it again, and I definitely won’t let him get in the mindset he was in when he did this. I’m still upset, but hell, what can he do about it? We can’t undo the past.
“Yes.” I sigh, and he has the kindness not to look to happy. He knows I’m still upset.
“Thank you.” He murmurs before kissing me chastely.
Mark, Alex, Capucine and I are wandering in Monaco again, heading to some city park to have a picnic. The two men are walking in front of us, discussing soccer and other boring stuffs, and Capucine and I are behind them, in a middle of a rock paper scissors game. I’ve lost two times already, I need to win this.
“The loser has to post her best grimace on Instagram.” She says. It’s ridiculous, and dangerous knowing what my best grimace is, but my fist is out before I know it.
“Rock paper scissors!” I chant and open my hand on a rock, so does Capucine. A tie! No! I always lose after ties.
“Rock paper scissors!” She says, showing me a cute little scissor that I destroy with my rock.
“YYYYYYYEEEEEEEEAAAAAAH!” I raise my winning first in the air in celebration. The two men in front of us turn their heads and shoot us a look, but I ignore them.
“Putain!” Capucine yells, laughing though she lost. She pulls her phone out, and even though she’s supposed to be humiliating herself, but the selfie syndrome strikes and I snuggle close to her. We stop in our tracks and snap a picture. While she crosses her eyes and does something indescribable with her mouth, I twist my mouth uglyly. This is not my best grimace, but hell, it’s not my punishment.
“Awesome.” Capucine says, checking the picture. We trot forward and catch up with our men, but we remain two steps back from them. They glance at us over their shoulders at the same time, and Capucine and I look each other. Then, Mark swings his arm around Alex’s shoulders and Alex drapes his arm around Mark’s waist. I raise an eyebrow, looking at them funny.
“What are you guys doing?” I ask, and only Mark turns to us.
“You guys are holding hands, don’t judge.” He nods towards out intertwined fingers. Capucine laughs, and I purse my lips, stifling our amusement. Alex’s arm slides lower and he slips is hand in Mark’s back pocket and give his bum a strong squeeze. I laugh, loud and ugly, and Capucine explodes with me. Without a word or a glance towards us, Mark swats Alex away, making him laugh. We’re all laughing at him, and though I don’t see his face, I know he’s amused to. Once sanity returns, Capucine nudges my shoulder.
“What’s going on between you two?” She asks, quiet enough so Mark doesn’t hear. I sigh immediately at the thought of our current situation.
“All we do is fight since we’re here.” I murmur.
“It’s your first trip together, isn’t it?” She smirks.
“How do you know?” I ask, and she waves her hand at me, dismissing my question.
“You’re just learning about each other, facing obstacles you didn’t have before because you’ve never been stuck together before.” She says.
“We’ve been. I’ve spent five days with him once, and we never fought like this. In fact, we we’re making up from a huge fight.” I counter, referring to the time were we stayed together while my parents were in San Diego.
“Then that doesn’t count.” She says.
“I’m afraid to spend time alone with him, because we might fight. This trip has been wonderful so far, but if we don’t stop fighting I might not remember any of the good times.” I grumble
“You need to go through this. Alex and I spent two weeks in…. Barbades?” She says, struggle to find her English.
“The Barbados?” I propose
“Yes.” She snaps her fingers and point at me.
“And we fought twenty-four seven, nonstop, and we came out so much stronger after that. It was painful, but If I had to, I’d do it again, the same way.” She says. So all this fighting could be good? It won’t tear us apart? I’m a little relieved, hut frankly I still want to avoid it.
In the park, I’m walking on the edge of the fountain, doing my best not to fall. Mark grabs me by the hips and sets me on the ground without a word.
“Put me up.” I ask him, pouting cutely.
“No. You could fall and break your neck.” He says sternly.
“Hold my hand, then.” I propose a compromise. He sighs, picks me up and helps me on the fountain. He grips my hand tightly as I do my best to keep my balance.
“Are you avoiding me, Abby?” He asks, breaking the silence. My concentration is dangerously altered and I sway a little. I look down and him and find his worried eyes.
“No.” I lie, not wanting to hurt him. “Why?”
“You’re distant.” He shrugs. I stop in my tracks, he stops too, and we face each other.
“No, I’m just bounding with Capucine. I’m still your girlfriend.” I let go of his hand and grab his shoulders, leaning towards him. He catches and he grabs the back of my thighs to secure me.
“Kiss me.” He asks, looking up at me shyly. I’m only too willing to give him what he wants, bending and kissing him tenderly, meaning it. His lips linger against mine, savoring, and I hum at the softness of our kiss. When I pull away he presses his face against my tummy, rubbing his cheek against me and sighing deeply.
“You don’t want to share me with her.” I murmur,dragging my hands through his hair. He looks up at me, and I’m surprised to find a small smile on his face.
“I don’t want to share you with anyone.” He murmurs, and as mad these world could have made me this morning, now they make me smile. Sometimes he makes me feel objectified and used and sometimes I feel like I’m center of his world, it’s confusing.
“Abigail, you have to see this!” Capucine calls. When I look up in her direction, she and Alex have distanced us, and she’s waving at me to come. When I look back at Mark, he’s pouting, at her. And when I look back at her she’s sticking her tongue out, at him. I laugh and Mark scoffs, helping me down the fountain. He drapes an arm around my shoulders and leads me to the waiting couple. Capucine turns around and bends, and, unable to refuse her offer, I hop on her back. Mark makes a whining noise, and when I turn to look at him he’s forcing himself on Alex’s back.
At five Mark and I are back in our suite, about to prepare ourselves for a quiet might out on our own. While I chose a dress in the dressing Mark is somewhere in the huge hotel room, doing I don’t know what. From somewhere on the suite, the bed, I think, a soft, familiar melody starts to play. He’s playing with his speaker. I know the song, it’s the one we danced to at the Zax. I feel Mark before I see him, and he’s placing his arms on my waist. He turns me around and pulls me to him, swaying from feet to feet, pulling me in a dance. Smiling, I wrap my arms around his neck and follow his lead, running my nose down the curve of his neck.
“I remember this song.” I murmur. He dips his head and kisses my shoulder.
“Makes me think of you.” He replies.
“What’s the title? Saved by a woman?” I ask, and he shakes his head.
“Trouble.” He says. I pout at him. And that makes him think of me? Laughing, he kisses my pout, then my cheek.
“Come to bed with me?” He murmurs, brushing his lips back and forth against my cheek.
“Mark, I forgave you.” I say softly. I know he wants to make sure we’re okay, and that’s the only way he knows how.
“Please.” He whispers, and it’s a heartfelt plea that tugs at my heart.
“Okay.” I breathe. Pulling away from me, he takes my hand and leads me out of the dressing to the bed. He quickly turns the music off and turns to me, grabbing me by the hips and hauling me close. His hands travel down to cup my behind, and he takes my mouth, caressing me through the fine material of my satin robe.
“I love it when you wear satin.” He murmurs against lips before his tongue invades my mouth. I wrap my arms around his neck, my fingers lost in his hair, my tongue rolling against his growing hungry and greedy. He pulls away and gazes down at me, his brown eyes blazing. I reach down and grab the hem of his T-shirt, throwing it above his head. I run my hands up his bare chest, feeling his muscles while I clam his mouth once more, kissing him passionately. He removes his pants, and I take the opportunity to feel his erection. He’s hard for me, he wants me. He makes a low noise and pushes against my hand. I squeeze him and stroke him, drawing a soft moan out of him. I pulls his boxers down and wrap my hand around his shaft, sliding my fist up and down his thick length.
“God, you’re going to unman me.” He murmurs against my mouth, and I can’t help hut smirk in triumph. Tugging at my thighs, he picks me up and I wrap my arms around his neck. Carefully, he lays me down on the bed and hovers on top of me. He unleashes his tongue and rubs it between my breasts, undoing the lash of my robe and pushing it open. He runs his tongue on the underside of my breasts and his hands come up to squeeze them harshly. His name rolls of my tongue in a plea. He brushes his thumbs against my nibbles, and they elongate, straining outward and wanting more of his attention. He opens my robe even wider, and an idea pops in my head.
“Can you tie me up again?” I ask breathlessly.
“You liked that?” He asks with a smirk, looking up at me, his thumbs teasing my nipples. Biting my lip, I nod vigorously.
“Who am I to deny you, then?” He muses, his lips tracing a tortuous path across my stomach. He licks the line above the waistband of my panties, making my hips sway. Slowly, he peels my panties off and slides them down my legs, tossing then to the side. Then he sits back on his heels and pulls me up, pushing my robe off my shoulders. He retrieves the lash and I lay back down, offering him my wrists.
“Someone’s eager.” He teases, smirking as he straddles my hips. Oh, you have no idea. Gingerly, he binds my wrists before tying them up to the bed so they’re stretched above my head.
“I like you like this.” He says once he’s done, I glance down at his throbbing erection laying on my stomach. Yep, he likes me like this. I test my bounds, and they tight, effectively restraining me. My breathing is too loud, I’m panting already. Geez, this so arousing. He looks down at me, his tongue darting over his lower lip.
“I love it when you look at me like this.” He murmurs. I’m leering, horny and hot and wanting. He leans down and crashes his lips onto mine, kissing me long and harf and aggressively. He settles himself between my legs and pushes my knees apart, his erectiong brushing against my core. I moan.
“Your body reacts to me.” His lips move from my mouth to my neck, and he licks his way up to my earlobe suckling gently. I squirm, the feeling resonating deep inside me.
“Your body knows me.” He bites my earlobe and tugs. Oh, god.
“Yes.” I buck my hips, the tip of his hard on rubbing against my clitoris. I moan.
“You’re mine.” He groans, licking his way up my throat. I shiver.
“No.” I gasp as he eases himself inside me. I groan at the feeling, and I want more. I want him to pound me until I pass out. I want him to give into me while I can’t take anything myself.
“No?” He teases, slowly pulling out of me, hovering on my opening. All my muscles clench, not wanting to let him go. He trails little bites all over my breasts.
“You want me, baby?” He pushes halfway inside, and I groan, tilting my pelvis up, trying to force him in. What is he playin’ at? Whatever his game is, he’s way more cards than I do: I’m tied up.
“It’s not fair.” I whimper. He gently bites my nipple and tugs with his teeth, twisting the other one between his fingers teasingly.
“Say you’re mine.” He murmurs, tugging at both of my nipples, starting to pull out of me again.
“Mark, please!” I cry. Please, oh please, oh please. He withdraws completely, and my whole body shudders at the loss. He crawls higher on the bed, so we’re at the same level, looking our eyes together. I am panting, and he’s staring at me intently, the tip of his erection poking at my opening, so close. I moan, pleading, begging.
“Say it.” He orders. I shake my head automatically. He won’t please me until I say I’m his? Is he going to stop? Whatever he’s trying to do, I need to make him understand
“I’m not yours.” I say slowly, my eyes never leaving him, my tone even and firm. He brigs his face down and dips his tongue between my parted lips, ramming forward and slamming into me.
“Ah!” I yelp. Oh, god. And now I’m desperate for him, I’m even more wanting than before, wanting more, wanting everything he had to give me. He holds himself there, and I am panting against his mouth, loudly, trying to calm my body down. Then he grinds against me, his lips moving very slowly, very gently, his shaft shifting inside, rubbing against every wall of mine. Each time he flexes his hips has me moaning long and loud, each sensation absolutely divine. He grinds against me, agonizingly slowly, each move long and languorous. I could call that making love, but there is something off. Something I can’t put my finger on, but honestly I don’t mind.
“More.” I moan, wanting to feel even more if that could be possible. “Please, more.”
He moans, deep and long, before his lips cover mine in a heated kiss. He slowly pulls out of me, then surges forward, deep. I moan in his mouth, his lips swallowing my cries. He thrusts in and out of me at a steady but oh so ravaging rhythm, making sure to reach deep inside, to have me still craving while he is giving me what I want. I want more. Always more. And I don’t have to ask, picking up pace, his hips moving faster, but he still manages to reach deep, and make me feel every single inch of him while he buries himself inside of me.
“Yes!” I cry, freeing my mouth from his. I am breathless, and I feel high, high on pleasure. My head dizzy and all my senses alert. I throw my head back and let my body feel, and god what I feel. Mark trails his tongue down my throat, and I shudder, pulling on my restrains. Being tied up makes me so oversensitive and responsive, especially to light touches. It just drives me crazy. He stops suddenly, stilling himself deep inside and tracing each of my scars with the tip of his tongue. Oh, god, oh god.
“Mark, please!” I plead. He hums in approval, appreciating my struggle. I groan, bucking my hips, trying to get something, but it doesn’t come close to what he can give me. He softly bites my scars and tugs, electricity traveling down to my core.
“Please, Mark. Please, move.” I beg more silently, desperate. He licks his way up my throat and starts moving again, fast and hard, my body jerking as his hips slam against mine.
“Fuck!” I cry. He trails his tongue from my throat to my earlobe, only to moan loudly into my ear.
“Oh, baby, the noises you make.” He rasps in my ear, and his words make my blood sing. I shudder and whimper, my hips bucking on their own. He takes my earlobe between his teeth and tugs, driving deep inside, devastating me.
“Mark, fuck!” I moan, starting to quicken. I feel myself starting to pulsate around him, my hips stuttering as I work my way towards my release.
“Say it.” Mark pants into my ear. No, no, no! Not now.
“Say it, Abby. Say, you’re mine.” He groans, pulling out and slamming back inside, flexing his hips to the max, driving the deepest I’ve ever felt him.
“Aaaaah!” I moan, struggling with my bounds again.
“Again?” He asks, slowly pulling out.
Oh, god. “Yes, please!”
“Say you’re mine.”
I whimper, feeling helpless and desperate.
“Oh, please! Mark, please!” I plead.
“Say. You’re. Mine.” He says through gritted teeth, marking each of his words with a deep trust. Now I understand what this is about, he wants to torture the words out of me. Not with pain, but with pleasure. It’s not fair: he has me tied up and wanting, desperate and helpless, while I have no power over him.
“You know it, baby. I know you know it.” He murmurs, circling his hips against me, slow and tortuous. Oh, fucking hell. I let out an incoherent wail, tired of fighting him. I need to come, I really need to. I can’t stop myself, it’s what he did to me. Yes, my body responds to him, and him only.
“Please, Mark. I want to come.” I plead breathlessly.
“Only I can make you come, baby. Tell me you’re mine.” He whispers into my ear. Oh, that much is true, too true. He’s the only one I desire, the only one who can make me feel so good. He’s the only partner that I ever had, but I have no doubt: he ruined me for other men. Hell, my body was totally his. To do as he pleases, but not my mind, not my soul. But right now I’m to intoxicated by pleasure, hotshots of tingles and stabs of electricity in my center threatening to make the words fall out of my mouth. He’s trying to fuck the words out of me. It’s torture. It’s revenge.
“Stop.” The words are out in a gasp, and the time freezes for a moment. I’m panting, paralyzed, but I can’t hear Mark breathing, as if he had stopped. All I can feel is his erratic heartbeat. During that short moment, I think about what I’ve just done. I’m going to regret. He knows we are vulnerable, he knows we fight a lot, and he tries to torture words I don’t mean out of me, using sex against me. I don’t regret. I won’t regret.
“Untie me.” I whisper, closing my eyes and turning my head away from him. He moves, pulling out of me, and moments later my hands are free. Stinging tears spring to my eyes, angry and uncontrollable. I sit up on the bed and wrap my arms around myself protectively, hiding my naked breasts and raising my knees like a shield. I shut him out, deliberately.
“Abigail.” He breathes, and I know from the tone of his voice he’s frightened. I shake my head, doing my best to hold my tears back.
“Show me your eyes. Look at me.” He murmurs. I feel his hand on my cheek and recoil. I don’t want his hands on me. I don’t want to look at him, I don’t want to see his eyes, knowing what I’ll find in them. Pain and fear. I’ll see he feels bad and I’m going to feel guilty. It’s guilt that made me let it slide the first time, but I won’t. He went too far. Fuck, it hurts. It hurts to see where we’ve come. We’re dysfunctional and destructive. I can’t bear to see this. Keeping my eyes off Mark, I get off the bed and walk to the dressing.
“Abigail, please.” Mark calls after me as I scoop up a pair of panties and put them on.
“I know how it looks.” I choke, wiping my nose on the back of my hand. I feel him approaching me but don’t turn around, not wanting to look at him. God I can’t bear to see him now, I need to get away from him.
“I’m not leaving you. I swore. I gave you that. Don’t ask me more, please.” I manage to keep my tone ever though my throat is tight because of the angry sobs desperately trying to get out of my body. He doesn’t say anything as I squirm my way inside some denim shorts and a tank top.
“I really need to go out for a minute. I won’t be long.” I murmur, still wanting to reassure him though I’m trying not to be to empathizing. I don’t want to feel bad for him, I feel to bad for myself. I’m upset and desperate. Why are we like this? That was cruel and horribly selfish of him. I need to get away from him, from us.
“Abby, don’t walk out on me. You know how that makes me feel.” He says quietly. I don’t want to think about his feelings, he forced them on me, through sex, he tortured me. Keeping my head down, I turn towards him.
“Let me get out.” I whisper. I’m om the verge of breaking down, and I don’t want to be here when I do it. Without a word, he steps aside. Rubbing my eyes, I quickly collect my phone, my key and slip into my flip flops, silent rivers running down my cheek. I’m shaking, my lower lip trembling and my throat so tight that it hurts when I step outside our suite. I don’t want to be in a public place, not like this. I sit on the first step of the stairs in the stairwell and let go. I cry, angrily, for a long time, hiccuping, coughing, my shoulders shaking. This is a disaster. We are a disaster. I won’t survive this trip, we’re breaking each other.
Needing someone to talk to, someone who can give me advises, I dial my mom. She understands me, she understands that part of my personality. It must be two in the morning in LA, but I’m too desperate and upset to care.
“Abigail?” She rasps, her voice faint because of sleep.
“Mom.” I sob, too shaken up to feel sorry for waking her up.
“Abigail, love, what’s wrong?” Her voice is clearer now and laced with worry.
“I’m sorry I woke you up. Mark and I fought.” I sniffle, wiping my nose on the back of my hand.
“Wait a second, Abigail.” She says. I hear muffled voices and I know shes probably talking to my dad.
“You seem to be fighting a lot lately.” She says into the phone. I know it’s merely an observation, but if she says this, then now I’m sure there’s something wrong between Mark and I. It’s undeniable now, we’re running towards the end.
“You have no idea.” I choke on my tears.
“Tell me everything. I’m here for you.” She says.
“You’re not with dad, are you?”
“This is a mother and daughter conversation, baby. Dad is already going back to sleep, want to hear him snore?” She says, and that has to make me snort. My dad is a real bear.
“No, thanks.” I snort.
“Tell me now, Abigail.”
“He wants… control. You know it scares me.” I explain.
“Abigail, you need to understand, men are weak creatures.” She says, and it’s not some usual girl power, sassy remark, I know she means that, but I don’t understand why.
“Their strength lies in the control we chose to give them. We have the power, Abigail.” She says.
“He wants that power.” I counter.
“No, he wants control. That’s different.” She says. I remain silent, unable to understand. Control…Power…isn’t it the same thing?
“You can chose to give it to him. The tricky part is trusting him in what he will do with the control you give him.” She says. If we’re talking about trust, I know I trust Mark.
“I don’t know Mark very well, but I can see just in the way he looks at you that hurting you is none of his intentions.”
“I’m still scared. He wants to bring me to heel.” I mumble.
“You’re scared he’ll hurt you?” She’s alert now. Oh, that came out wrong.
“No. I’m scared I won’t be able to do whatever I want. I don’t want him to dictate my life, mom, and that’s what he wants to do.” I explain.
“That may be what you think, but I know he only wants your happiness.” She says reassuringly. Well, he knows I’m unhappy with what he does yet he doesn’t try to change.
“Don’t forget it’s okay to kneel, as long as he joins you on his knees and worships and protects you.” She murmurs. Oh, that’s such a beautiful thing to say. Does Mark kneel for me? He protects me, that’s for sure, and in his own way…I could say he worships me.
“He’s always done his best to protect you, I know that. Maybe you’ve been giving him control since the beginning, it was like a taciturn agreement, but you’re scared to make it more official and I get it.” She says. Have I been blind before?
“Maybe. I’m sorry I woke you up for this.” I say, hinting the end of our discussion. I have a lot to think about now.
“Don’t worry, baby. Did I help?” She asks.
“I just need to decide if I’m going to kneel or not, but I see clearer now. Thank you.” I reply.
“You’re welcome, baby.”
“Good night.” I murmur before hanging up. I sigh, and drop my head between my hands. Is she right? Have I been letting him control me since the beginning? I know he definitely owns my body, that’s a fact, I can never resist him and I’ll never desire someone else. But my soul…do I trust him blindly with my soul? I know when it comes to my body, and to sex, that he’ll stop him I tell him to, but when it comes to my feelings, I’m not sure. He never listens to me. I don’t want him to abuse me emotionally, it would hurt too much. I don’t want him to use me because he knows I love him. Do I trust him not to? Oh course I do. But I don’t him to think he can dictate my life, chose for me or set boundaries. I may be able to let him own me body and soul, but my life is still mine. That I know he doesn’t understand, that’s the real problem. I shiver runs down my spine. I frown, what was that? I’m not cold.
What do I do now? Do I have to confront him? What will I say to him? I don’t want to. Not now at least. But I’m already climbing up the stairs, some kind of force dragging me back to the suite. I shiver again, a long and strong shiver that makes my hairs stand. What is wrong with me. I get out of the stairwell and walk down the long hallway, apprehensive. I really don’t want to go back there. I shiver again, the sensation making me stop dead in my tracks. Something’s wrong, I feel it. Now I’m running, rushing to the door of our suite. I know something is happening there. I push the card inside the lock with shaky fingers and open the door. I find the huge mess inside, as if a tornado had flown around the whole suite. All the chairs are on the floor, the tables flipped, the flowers scattered on the floor and the vases lying in thousands of pieces.
“Mark?” I call, walking further in. Everything is wrecked, on the floor, broken. I hear a loud thumbing from somewhere in the suite, but no response from him. I adventure myself in the bedroom. The bathroom door is open, and inside Mark is breaking the mirror with his fist. He looks enraged, insane, devastating. His hand shoots blood in every direction. He’s hurting himself.
“Mark, stop!” I scream. His fist stops midair and he looks at me, the look in his eyes changing immediately. He stares at me with wide eyes, with surprise and shock, and I think my expression is mirroring his. His eyes sweep through the bedroom, as he seems to be registering our surroundings for the first time, and they there back to mine, shiny and terrified. His lower lip trembles and he falls to his knees, his head hanging down as he sobs. He’s crying, his shoulders wobbling, and all the weight of our situation sinks on me. He cries, loudly, and it’s heartbreaking, but I remain frozen, shocked.