Thirty Days: Part Two

by Belle Brooks

  “You’re hurting me,” I say softly.

  He instantly unhands me, and his scrunched tight face tells me he’s horrified for doing such a thing as he joins me on the floor.

  “University grounds. It was hot. You wore a tight, red tank top and tight three-quarter denim pants. You had your hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. I stood by a tree near the path and watched you walking between two buildings. You tripped on thin air. I suppressed the need to laugh. It had been just over one year since I left you in the hospital.”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “You had a pile of books in your hands. I could see your collarbones protruding as you struggled to keep hold of them. They spilled when you tripped, and I came to your aid. ‘Are you okay?’ I said, rolling you over so you could sit on your bottom. You replied with ‘Yep.’ I laughed. You scolded me and said it’s impolite to laugh at another’s misfortune.” Marcus’ hands rub over my head before they steady each side of my face.

  “I asked you if I knew you. Your eyes, it was like I’d looked into them many times before. You said, ‘I think we might have seen each other around’.”

  “That’s right, baby. Then you asked me if I went to school there, remember? I told you I didn’t.”

  “You carried my books to class and said, ‘I hope your class goes well today. Goodbye, Abigail’.”

  “Yes.” His forehead presses to mine. “Abigail, you asked me how I knew your name.”

  “It’s on your book.”

  “That’s exactly what I said. Then you bit your lip. Just like you’re doing now. You always did that when you thought of me and you still do. Don’t you see I came back?”

  “I stared at you for ages and you let me. You stood there with a blank expression. I apologised for being so blatant.”

  “You did.”

  “You handed me my books just as my stomach knotted into a tight constricting ball. I had this feeling wash over me, one that was telling me to leave and to do it quickly. Just before I could turn and run away you tucked a piece of hair that clung to my sweaty cheek behind my ear.” Just as I say this Marcus kisses the tip of my nose.

  “Yes. Abigail, what did I say next?”

  I squeeze my eyes shut and picture the two of us on that path at the university all those years ago. I can see Marcus as clear as he is now in this villa with me. His million-dollar smile still as impressive as ever, his hair shorter, but just as dark. Jeans and a polo shirt cover his body. I remember thinking why he was wearing jeans. It was so hot out that day.

  “Abigail, what did I say?”

  The smell of freshly cut grass and the earthy matter of the university revisit me… “Memories have a way of making you forget things, places, and people…” I say them just as they spilled from his mouth that day.

  “Then you said, ‘Yeah, I guess so. Take care, Marcus’.”

  “Holy shit, I said your name.” I scurry backwards, using my hands to put enough distance between us that I don’t panic.

  “You did. And I never told you it, not once in the conversation. I had hope. But nothing happened.”

  Dropping my head into my hands, I clench my teeth. “Three nights after that day I had the strangest dreams and you were in every one of them. Then they stopped.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. They just did.”

  Suddenly, I’m cradled in his arms, held securely. His heart beats strongly against my ear.

  “I came to you again.”

  “The parking lot.” He wasn’t lying. I remember now.

  “Yes.”

  “Oh my God! I can’t. I can’t do this.” My body tenses, panic threatening to send me into another attack.

  “It’s okay.” He hushes me.

  “It’s really not okay, Marcus. Let me go.”

  “Sorry.”

  Standing to my feet, I blurt out, “Pause.” What the fuck does pause mean and why did I just say that?

  “You need a break. I understand that you do,” he says, moving about a metre away from me.

  Pause, I used to say this word. “I used to say that a lot to you, didn’t I?” More memories of our differing opinions hit me hard.

  “Yes. To prevent a disagreement.”

  “Hmmm.” Stomping to the two orange curtains that have white sea shells imprinted on them, I turn and look at Marcus, whose eyes droop, followed by his shoulders.

  Ripping the two pieces of fabric away from each other, I fumble, trying to open the latch for the glass doors.

  “Would you like me to help?”

  I don’t answer, trying to get them open myself. Finally, it clicks and I slide them wide. A deck with two sun lounges and a small circular glass table is all I see as I huff loudly and plonk down in one of the lounges. Harsh white caps fill my vision, the sea gentle but still rippled.

  “I’ll leave you be. But here, here’s a pair of sunglasses. You don’t like sun near your eyes much.” Marcus stands by my head.

  “It’s not fair,” I mutter, taking the pair of what I can now tell are turtle shell-framed lenses from his hand.

  “It’s not. Do you want me to stay?”

  “Yes,” I say quietly. “Hey, where did you get these?”

  “You’ve been looking for them, haven’t you?”

  “Yes, for like years.” Bellowing laughter follows. My laughter. Why is this funny to me?

  Marcus chuckles as he sits in the sun lounge on the opposite side of the deck.

  I lie there engrossed, remembering the day Marcus approached me in the parking lot of the Sunshine Plaza.

  ***

  “Are you okay?” he asked with his lips pinched tightly.

  “You can laugh.”

  “No, no, I’m good.”

  I could see the stain at the lower part of his face, so I giggled.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Yeah. They don’t make these bags like they used to. I told that silly lady who bagged them that she needed to either lighten the load or double bag, but nobody listens to anyone these days.” I continued to put each bag from the trolley into the boot.

  “Well, looks like you’ll be needing more milk.” He looked down at the milky liquid seeping beneath my car.

  I did, too. “Looks like it,” I responded disheartened.

  “Here, let me help you.”

  “I’m fine,” I replied before I finally looked at him, at all of him.

  “Hi,” he said.

  “Hi. I know you.”

  The corners of his lips curled and his million-dollar smile beamed. “How about you let me load these and you go buy some more milk? You like your coffee white, don’t you?”

  “Yes. How did you know that?”

  “Who doesn’t like their coffee white, right?”

  I sniggered before answering, “You.”

  His smile widened. “Off you go. Get your milk.”

  “How do I know you’re not going to steal my food?” Shit! How do I know he likes his coffee black?

  “Because you know I won’t.”

  “This is true.” Maybe it’s because he wore a suit and looked smart. “Okay, I won’t be a jiffy.”

  Rushing through the car park with my wallet in hand, I tried desperately to remember how I knew this man. His smell, his smile, those eyes, and that scar on his cheek seemed so familiar to me. But I couldn’t place him. I assumed it was at school or a party and allowed it to slip away like a balloon escaping an infant’s hand.

  Scowling at the same lady who served me before, I took the fresh bottle of milk and hurried back to my car.

  “Milk. White coffee, here I come.” The only thing was I didn’t drink coffee anymore, only tea.

  “Have a nice day, Abigail,” he said, closing the boot once the milk was inside.

  “Yeah, you too, Marcus.”

  ***

  Turning my head, I stare at Marcus, who’s looking right at me. He doesn’t say a word. He just sits, waiting.

  “I
said your name again. In the parking lot.”

  “Yeah, you did. I thought that’s what you were thinking about…you’re biting your lip.”

  I giggle, letting it go. “I guess I do that.”

  “You do.”

  “So the third time, where was that?”

  Marcus rolls his eyes. It’s strange seeing him do such a thing. He drifts off into his own thoughts, and I now stare, waiting for him. I focus on the salty smell of the ocean, the heat of the sun, and the sound of the breeze. Lying outstretched with Marcus in the chair opposite mine feels like a strange dream. Can one really forget an entire life with someone?

  “That, yeah, well, that’s probably something you don’t want to remember.” He shakes his head as he frowns.

  “I do, Marcus.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I need to know.”

  “Okay.” His hands run through his thick locks and his cheeks puff out before he releases air. “It was a nightclub. You were at a hen’s party.” His eyes connect with mine.

  “Hen’s party?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. Maybe. I guess it could have been Leza’s. That would have been about two years ago now.”

  “You were pretty drunk. So was I.”

  I nod. It makes sense I would have been.

  “I watched you dance, and you laughed. Boy, did you laugh.”

  His eyelids close and he grins. I can tell he’s picturing me there on that dance floor.

  “What was I wearing?”

  “A little black number. Your legs went on forever. You were glowing and so happy. I missed you the most that time. I just wanted to take you home with me.” He sighs as his eyes reopen. “I watched you for ages. I sculled a few more beers. I told myself that I was just going to come out and tell you everything, the truth, expecting you would slap me and call me a creeper.”

  “Did you tell me? Did I slap you?”

  “Yes, I told you. No, you didn’t slap me.”

  “What did I do?”

  “You kissed me, Abigail.”

  “I what?”

  “You kissed me hard and heavy. You ground your body against mine. You basically dry humped me where I stood there with you on the dance floor. You also whispered ‘I love you’ into my ear that night. I thought all my dreams were coming true, until you called me Mike.”

  “Oh no.” My hand launches upward, covering my mouth.

  “Yeah. That night, after I left you again, I punched a wall. Broke three fingers.” He holds his right hand up and points from the middle finger to his pinkie.

  “Marcus, I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, me too. I couldn’t come for you the following year. I guess there came a time to give up and for me that was the time…you can’t blame me. By then I decided it was likely you’d never remember because you didn’t want to.”

  “What changed your mind?”

  “Ilish called me. She told me that you needed help and that it was time to make you finally see your past for what it really was. I couldn’t let anything happen to you.”

  “So you came to the cemetery.”

  “I saw you running out of the law firm. I had popped in to pick up some files. That’s why I was dressed casually at the cemetery. Asher told me you were the new girl being hired. I had to follow you.”

  “You followed me to the cemetery.”

  “Yes.”

  “Stalker.”

  “One and only.”

  “This time I remembered.”

  “You have, reluctantly, with a lot of force.”

  “Don’t forget trickery.”

  A soft smile touches his lips as he shakes his head.

  We sit staring, studying one another. So much time has passed and so much has changed. Can we really start back at the beginning now?

  Time Lost

  The afternoon rolls over with the waves that continue to barrel as our view. We talk, mainly of our time together all those years ago. Watching Marcus throw his head back when he chuckles has me laughing every time. I didn’t realise how much I missed seeing him do this, mainly because I never remembered him at all. The way Marcus runs his fingers through his hair has me envisioning my hands pulling at those locks in a mind spinning orgasm. Every time he rakes his fingers through his hair, I bite down hard on my lip, and every time I do that it’s like he already knows what I’m thinking.

  “We were so hot together,” he teases as I take my lip between my teeth once more.

  My mind doesn’t betray me anymore. Instead, it recalls my past, and he’s not wrong—we were so incredibly hot together.

  “Come here.” He sits upright in the chair with his arms waiting outstretched for me to approach.

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

  “Come. I can keep it in my pants, you know.” He grins and slowly, but surely, I give in.

  With a squeal I’m ripped down across his lap as his arms smother me in a strong and comforting embrace.

  “I’m going to make you mine again. You just wait.” His declaration is filled with confidence as my heart pounds fiercely in my chest.

  “Okay,” I say as he releases his arms before I take the opportunity to straddle his waist.

  “Now, I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

  “Really? I thought you could keep it in your pants, big boy.”

  “Trust me. I can. But I can’t control what’s going on in my pants.” His eyebrows lift high on his forehead.

  I smile slyly before his eyes drink me in. Reaching out with my index finger, I rub it gently across the scar on his left cheek. “Marcus, how did you actually get this cut that day?”

  “Flying debris,” he responds casually. “As I approached you, a piece of flying metal must have nicked me. I didn’t even realise until you pointed it out in the ambulance.”

  “You tried to save my dad, didn’t you?”

  He takes a lengthy breath. “I did. I pressed into his chest with everything I had. I really tried, Abi, but he was already gone. His eyes—” He stops talking as he looks past me.

  “What happened to his eyes?”

  “You don’t need to remember that.” He’s quick to answer.

  “Please.”

  “They were glazed over. They were wide open, yet lifeless.”

  “He went quickly.” I bite at my thumbnail.

  “I’d say he had no idea what happened. My bet is it was immediate.”

  Dropping my head, I think of my dad lying there on the ground with wide open eyes that no longer gleamed with life. I’m glad it was like that and not drawn out and painful. I’m also glad that’s an image I either didn’t see or I can’t remember.

  My head is lifted at my chin. “Hey, let’s not talk about that.”

  “It’s okay. I wanted to know.”

  Marcus’ lips land against mine and I hum against his mouth. The taste of fresh mint has me craving more. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I feel his pants pitch between my legs. Marcus wants more, just as much as me.

  “Abigail.” He pulls his mouth from mine. “We can’t.”

  “We can’t?” I breathe against his neck as I kiss below his ear.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t want this to just be sex with you. I want this to be the works. The full package. The—” He pauses.

  “The what?”

  “I want this to last forever.”

  Slowly, I run the tip of my nose to his chin.

  He groans softly.

  “I think what’s in your pants has other ideas.”

  “Abigail. No.” His tone is firm on deliverance.

  I pull away.

  “I don’t want you to feel used, or for you to end up storming off. So far whenever we’ve succumbed to this that’s what’s happened. How about we get ready and go to Ilish’s to have dinner and then tonight we’ll talk some more?”

  “Okay.” The man makes a very good point. “Looks like y
ou’ll be needing to take a cold shower, though, before we head out.”

  “Yes. Cold shower,” he repeats.

  ***

  Marcus had two bags when we arrived at the villa. One was for him and the other turned out to be for me. Drifting off in my mind, I take comfort in the bag that awaited me, one that presented a treasure chest from my past. The smell of freshly clean fabric still lingers in my nose. All these items were left at Marcus’ house after my accident. Well, that’s what he explained. I rummaged through the contents with little disregard for the mess I created. My Jazz Rules T-shirt I wore the day he surprised me with a flight to Melbourne to watch the cup was right down at the bottom. After showering, I put on this shirt as well as a pair of loose denim shorts that were also in the bag. Well, they were loose back then, a tad tighter now.

  It takes us twenty minutes to complete the two blocks to Mar-Mar’s beach house. Now nothing seems like a rush or troublesome, just easy. I miss being this content.

  “Are you ready?” I ask, looking at Marcus, who seems less carefree than I am.

  “I suppose so. I mean, your mother is not going to be delighted now, is she? I’m guessing she knows about what I did with Mike.”

  “She does.”

  “Great.” His chin drops.

  “Marcus, it will be fine.” Opening the door, I call out, “Mar-Mar, Mum, we’re here.”

  “Come in, my beautiful girl,” Mar-Mar calls back.

  As I reach the dining area, I find Mum sitting at the table with her head slumped and her light locks falling onto the table, making her face invisible. “Mum.”

  “Sit down, Abigail.” Mar-Mar’s tone is filled with caution.

  “What’s wrong?” Sudden panic.

  Marcus steps to the side as I move past him and take the seat beside my mother. I rub my hand the length of her arm, offering her comfort, even though I still have no idea what she needs comforting for.

  “I went to the doctor today,” her voice is soft, yet shaky.

  “She had the mole checked,” Mar-Mar adds before telling Marcus to sit down and stop standing around wasting space.

  He doesn’t hesitate and chooses a seat across from me.

  “Well, what did he say?” My stomach flips and then flops over itself as I await her reply.

  “He thinks it’s a melanoma, Abi.”

  “What?” I gasp as my throat constricts with every beat of my heart that follows. “But he doesn’t know for sure yet, right?”