Status: Hiatus

Veni, Vidi, Vici

Ten

Samantha ran. The moment her eyes met with Marc’s, she’d whipped around and bolted, down the stairs, through the throngs of teens, out the door and down the road, vision blurred by the tears welling in her eyes. There was a consistent pounding in her head like someone was trapped and wanted to escape, thumping, banging and roaring for freedom. Her emotions were in turmoil, blending negatively with the alcohol she’d consumed whilst Marc was ‘in the toilet’. She continued to run even in her three inch heels, stumbling, falling but pushing herself up and enduring the pain. She didn’t know where she was going, which direction she was headed in or where she would end up. It was just too overwhelming, seeing Marc say to her that he wanted a serious relationship with her, and then witnessing him with another girl. She should’ve know, she should’ve seen it coming, it was Marc Winston for goodness sakes, asking her to be in a serious relationship, the odds were staggering.

Her breath and energy began to expire and her legs started to quiver, barely holding the weight of her body. Her pace became sluggish, and she stumbled over, abdomen giving in to the relentless force of gravity, bringing down her legs with her. She flopped like a broken ragdoll, sobbing, tears falling on their own accord, her knees scraping ruthlessly against the concrete floor. Behind the flood of tears that clouded her eyes, she saw an unearthly red glow. She blinked several times and the image focused, she was at a gas station.

As soon as her recognition was established, a heady wave of nausea enveloped her, grabbing her stomach with its bare hands and squeezing mercilessly tight. The bile rose, scorching her throat with its cruel acidic torture, burning away her insides. She heaved, and vomited, the foul element rushing out of her body and onto the dirty floor. Her head spun, she could see, a figure dropping something and quickly drawing closer, she could smell, the bourbon and coke and acid, she could feel, the strangely cool concrete floor beneath her scraped palms and knees, the soft breeze tickling her legs and arms. And then her senses spun the smell, the site, the sound, the feel into darkness.

The flame blew out.

Image

He had to fucking find her, he had to fix this and he had to apologize, beg for her forgiveness. Marc gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles as white as the moonlight that illuminated it. A tic in his jaw jumped persistently as his eyes and head swiveled across the roads in the neighborhood, desperately tried to grasp a fleeting image of Sam. Marc exhaled. His body was as limp as his heart and mind. He turned the car out into the main road, there was no way Sam could have gone that far but-

Fuck.

Marc’s foot crashed down onto the brakes, he violently threw open the car door, his body stumbled out but he caught himself before falling. And he ran. His legs were going faster than they normally should, they threatened to give out, stagger and bring him to the ground but Marc felt unstoppable.

The feeling didn’t last.

He stopped his legs, his arms instinctively thrown foreword in a vain attempt to catch himself. He lurched; breathing ragged, and then stood still, body heaving as each audible breath echoed through the station. Eerily beautiful clouds from his warm breath starkly contrasting with the cold biting air danced before him, they swirl and twisted then disappeared like dangerous seductresses.

Fight or flight. Marc always fought, but for her, the need for flight was tearing at him in deep desperation.

Her body was crouched low, hunched in a position that cocooned Sam. Her face was creased in concern, eyebrows furrowed deep and small pearly teeth nibbling at her lips. Her hands rested uncertainly on Sam’s listless body timidly shaking her and calling her name with a voice coated in desperation.

“Sam. Sam. Please Sam, please, wake up Sam. Oh gosh, Sam?” she lifted her gaze “Anyone?” Her head turned, searching “Somebody help me plea- Marc!”

Shit.

Run Marc.

Run.

Run.

Run.

It was useless, he was rooted to the floor, his feet unmoving, his body even swayed, trying to obey the commanding voice in his head, but his feet. His feet, and his heart, let him down. Those murky eyes bore into him, begging for him to come and help her. They were so innocent, naive, trusting. They didn’t know what he’d done, how he’d lied, they didn’t know anything about him, anything about the real him, yet Marc was dragged into them. He took one step forward; there was no going back now. He sighed.

Grace Lennon was going to be the death of him.

Image

Marc shifted nervously in the straight backed wooden chair, his eyes darting from left to right like a trapped animal desperate for release. His spine was stiff, at a direct ninety degree angle from his thighs and his hands were folded neatly in his lap, every so and then he reached up to scratch his nose or rub his neck as if to lessen his discomfort. It seemed only right to act this way in her house; everything just looked so damn... quaint. He hardly even knew what that word meant, but it seemed appropriate. The walls and carpet were a matching pale cream, in the centre of the living room, there were a set of squishy sofas with every inched covered in some kinds of symmetrical quilting pattern, he tried to avoid looking at them because it made his vision go a bit crazy. Above the wooden mantelpiece was a shelf littered with gold trophies, it was the only spot of disorganisation in the room, as if there were just so many awards the family had just piled them on top of each other showcasing the overflow of their child’s achievements. Were they Grace’s or someone else, mystery sister maybe? He couldn’t really imagine Grace winning the national under 18’s women’s tennis award.

“They’re my sisters.” She said, cutting through his train of thoughts, her voice was blunt. It was different to anything he’d ever heard from her and he could see that her face was covered with a stone hard stoic mask. Her head tilted slightly indicating at the edge of the shelf. “She loves sport.”

Marc looked, at saw something that he’d previously missed. The picture had a pretty nice frame, but it was the photo that really stunned him. The chic was fucking hot, like playboy bunny centrefold hot, and she wasn’t even wearing anything revealing. Shit, he was thinking about banging Grace’s sister when Grace was not even two metres away. Something about that seemed so ridiculously wrong, he almost was almost tempted to apologize, yet instead he looked away, feeling as guilty as hell.

“Marc?”

He looked over in response to the sudden new voice, his eyes widened and his brows lifted. Sam was awake. Her eyes fluttered, hazy with sleep and confusion, but her intent was clear, he could tell she was already looking for him, soaking in her new environment, gathering information. He turned his body away when her half lidded eyes landed on him. ‘You not seeing her doesn’t make you invisible’ he thought.

“Marc. Oh my gosh, it’s you. Fuck, it’s really you, why are you here? Shouldn’t you be off having sex with that bitch?” she cried, face stained red in anger. She was sitting upright now on the sofa instead of lying down, in an almost predatory position, about to pounce and tear his head off.

Oh shit. He was dead.

“Marc, seriously why the FUCK are you here? What, you wanna have a serious relationship with me now? Yeah well fuck you! I can’t believe you lied to me, and hurt me like that! Who do you think you are Marc Winston? Do you really think you can lie to me like that and get away with it? Well I may be ignorant but I’m not fucking stupid you know! You say that you like me then you fucking KISS me, then you go and have sex with that whore Vera Vermont! What the fuck is wrong with you...”

Her voice faded away like a lost echo in Marc’s head, the words merging into futile sounds, the only coherent image in his sight was Grace.

Grace Lennon.

Grace Lennon and the waves of emotions flickering across her face as she heard Sam’s words. Confusion, fear, surprise, sadness, even anger and disgust, but the worst of all was shame.

She also looked partly hopeful, as if frantically hoping that Sam was still under the influence of alcohol and weaving the story in her mind out of sheer madness.

He had to tell her.

“It’s true.”
♠ ♠ ♠
hi there :)

1)SCHOOL CERTIFICATE IS OVVERRRRRRR!
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