Veni, Vidi, Vici

Sam

Grace didn’t know why she was suddenly thinking of her, but what she did know was that the kiss had to stop.

Grace tore her lips away from Marc’s and stepped back. Somehow his arm had found its way around her waist, locking her in a gentle grip, his hand nestling against the small of her back fell away, leaving the spot feeling empty and cold. Grace so badly wanted to fall back into his arms and join their lips together without abandon again, to close the wide canyon between them and feel the exhilaration of his skin against hers once more. But her mind defeated her heart and she stepped back, slowly, her eyes glued to his, wide and swimming with emotion. Fear, confusion, anxiety.

“Grace?”

And with those uttered words from Marc, she turned, pivoting on her feet and she ran.
Marc watched. He was unmoving, like a statue, forever seeing, but never in motion, tracking her fragile figure escaping. Something inside of him wavered, a wall of bricks, stacked one upon the other, weighing down his stomach, his heart and threatening to collapse. He straightened, holding the mental barrier up again with what strength he had left inside his spirit.

Every muscle in his face was relaxed in a strange indolent ambivalence, it was as if there was no energy left in him, his body and mind defeated and in aguish after a long battle.
His eyes drifted down to the book that he’d nearly forgotten was in his hands. Big mistake, his head jerked back up and his jaw tightened. The object already held too many memories, weaving themselves amidst the pages like birds, soaking the leather bound cover with an ocean of feelings, thoughts and experiences that had just occurred not ten minutes ago. Marc snapped the book shut with his hand and looking away, shoved the thing blindly between its brothers and sisters.

He walked out, the same path that Grace had just taken. Leaving and hoping he would never have to come back.



Marc didn’t leave his room the next day, or the day after, or for the next five days for that matter. It left only two speculations for Bryony Winston, her son was either planning world domination or he was having girl issues again. Hopefully it was the first. Marc would have probably had a better chance of getting through it than the second.

She took a deep breath and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, preparing herself to enter the lion’s den. Her hands felt clammy as they gripped the doorknob and she twisted hesitantly pushing the barrier open. Bryony knew that as her duty as a mother, she should always be calm and rational, someone whom her son could trust and rely on and know that she will be there for him, someone who could always help, always have a solution. But something about Marc’s behaviour these last few days unnerved her, set her on edge and made her heart clench in empathy, in worry that she could do nothing to help.

She knew from experience and observation that Mar was not the kind of boy to retreat from his problems, he faced them with a naive sense of courage and stubbornness, and he had never given up and withdrew into himself as he was doing now. Whatever was causing this reaction in her son, she didn’t like, and her helplessness didn’t alleviate the situation.

Bryony straightened her back and took another breath, this time pushing the door fully open to reveal the spacious room that belonged to Marc. The walls of the space were a startling white, the same as they’d been when the family had first moved in; they held no posters, no hangings, no pictures, no indication as to who lived there. There was hardly any furniture in the room, just a large bed, a desk, and a wide-screen television on the wall. She remembered trying to get him to decorate his room a little bit, get creative, but he’d insisted on leaving the walls blank and the furniture to a minimum.

Marc right now was sitting cross legged in the middle of the black bed sheets, his head bent down, dark hair that needed a trim falling lazily across his face obscuring his eyes and brows that were furrowed deep in concentrations. He was looking at a text book with a pen twirling and dancing unconsciously between his fingers, he seemed oblivious to her presence and almost at peace.

“Marc, sweetie?” She said quietly, afraid to break him from his deep trance of focus.
Marc looked up, startled at the disrupted silence and was surprised to see his mother, standing meekly in the doorway. He could sense that she was nervous, on edge, but her face said otherwise, a warm hearty smile meant to comfort and love.

“Hi.” He said. Smiling was contagious when his mother was concerned and he could feel the corner of his mouth rising despite his shitty mood. “Sorry I didn’t notice you, just doing some homework, don’t wanna be all stuffed catching up at school later, you know?”

“That’s my boy.” She walked over, and perched herself on the edge of the bed and reached over to lightly ruffle his hair.

A ghostly smile teased at the edge of Marc’s mouth and he cast his gaze down, comforted by his mother’s gesture.

They stayed silent, for almost a minute, letting the seconds slowly tick by, just soaking in their surroundings in a peaceful state of calm.

He could hear their breaths, in harmony, taking in the oxygen and the wind outside, it seemed so serene.

“I kissed her.”

Bryony sighed in relief, finally he was opening up.

“The same one that you preoccupied this last couple of months?”

“No.”

His reply was quiet, a faint whisper that strangely held a tone of fear.

“Tell me.” She said hoping that she didn’t sound so pushy.

“You know, I’ve almost forgotten about Vera, it seems like so long ago.” He mumbled with a humourless laugh. “I’ve been having a lot of lady trouble lately, haven’t I?”

“I suppose you have dear.”

“I don’t even know why I kept on talking to her kept or seeking her out. We’re so different mom, we’re pretty much living in different universes. We’re like a different fucking species!” He exclaimed, throwing his head back in exasperation.

“She does crazy shit to me, every time I see her-“he paused, as if looking for the right words “you know that feeling you get when you’re stuck in a snow storm and you suddenly discover a group of Eskimos and their igloo then they take you in and like give you hot chocolate or something, that feeling of relief, of hope, joy, warmth and that tingle in your body as you drink the hot chocolate?”

“Um, well...”

Yeah, it’s like that, and sorry for the terrible comparison, but that’s the only way I can describe it right now. She warms me up, she does this crazy shit to me that makes me feel safe, happy and loved, it’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before.”

“And you kissed her?”

Marc nodded and kneaded his temples with his thumb and forefinger as if trying to erase the memory.

“And then she ran away from me.”

“Why Marc?” she asked, confused at this mystery girl’s actions.

“I’ve done some pretty fucked up things that she knows about, that or I’m a bad kisser.”

Bryony let out a low breath and closed her eyes, she couldn’t change her son’s past actions but she could hopefully change the way that he perceived this situation.

“Do you really think that she cares about you Marc?”

“I seriously don’t know.”

She smiled, and took Marc’s hand in her own and squeezed tight. “Well it doesn’t matter because as long as you truly care about her, then you do what you can, dear. You get out of this bed and you go and find her, you go and talk to her and you sort this out. I believe in you
Marc, I believe that you can do this, I believe that you’re strong enough.”

“But-“

“No but’s Marc Winston, you go and get this girl of yours.”

Marc opened his mouth, ready to find another excuse, but he faltered and looked over at his mother, so insistent on helping him. He inhaled and closed his eyes.

He was going to find his Eskimo and igloo again.