Score: Just a Dream - Nelly

Mark

I walk away from Gloria's house as fast as I can.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

When I reach the low fence, which separates the grounds of the Hollands' estate from the adjacent fields, I stop and lean with my hands on the fence, my head between my shoulders. I try to take deep, long gulps of air, but I am choking on my own breath. My heart is pounding so loud against my chest, they could probably hear it over at my fathers'.

I pop the champagne bottle in my hand open and take a long swig, emptying half of it in one go. So much for savouring it some other night...

Fuck...

Still out of breath, I lean on the fence again. I need to calm down.

Tonight didn't go as planned, at all. I went to Gloria's birthday party to get away from the chaos in my head, the result of my dad's atrocious request for me to be his best man, only to fall into way, waahay deeper shit.

"Fuck!" I yell and kick the fence. It creeks ominously and I curse again, lower this time. "Fuck!"

This shouldn't have happened. I shouldn't have kissed her again! I never should have kissed her. And by never, I mean never, including that night in Italy...

Damn Gloria, thinking that she's so smart with that dare!

Though she couldn't have known...

No one must know!

I had done so well for the past two years, before that night we took Diana to the ER and I kissed Lydia in the car. I thought I'd moved on. I thought coming back and seeing her again wouldn't be so tricky because so much time had passed...

What a bloody fool! The moment she wrapped her small arms around my shoulders and her legs around my waist at the leavers' party, I felt the old, rusty knife, stuck in my chest, twist between my ribs and sink a few inches deeper.

That should have been my warning. I should have stayed away from her, should have made it my purpose to keep as far away from her, as possible, but instead, I've used every chance I got to be close to her. I have been so fucking weak!

Fucking pussy! I kick the fence again and the wood groans in protest.

I have been acting like a fucking junkie, who can't get enough... Going into town for no reason, apart from seeing her, agreeing to pick up her notes for Gloria, going for coffee...I can't stay away from her. And even when I don't see her, her eyes, the pitch-black of the night sky before dawn, with a million stars sparkling in them, are burning in front of mine...

I shake my head to chase away the unwelcome image, to no avail.

I am back where I was two years ago, only worse because now I know she has feelings for me, too, yet she can never be mine. She could have never been, but now it's like she's from a different world and no matter how hard I try to get closer to her, she's only slipping further away from me.

And I've been so selfish, dragging her to me and then pushing her away like a fucking coward...

Because I could never possibly tell her the truth. She can never know what happened in Italy...

So I need to push her away from me. I need to drive her cold, because, I swear to God, if she keeps coming close, if she reaches out to me again, I will not have the strength to run away again, like I did two years ago. So, I must make her run away from me, and never look back.

It's for her own good.

It hurts my soul to act like a complete prick about her, especially after we kissed, but she must walk away. She must stay away.

I take another swig of champagne from the bottle, but I choke and the sweet, bubbly liquid bursts through my nose. I bend over and spit it out, panting. I run my hand over my mouth and take a couple of deep breaths. I feel like my eyes are about to pop out of my head.

I can't think straight. I need rest. I need to go home and have some sleep, but I know that won't happen. Ever since the night, I kissed her in the car, I haven't been able to close my eyes without images of her lips, her skin, and her body blossoming in my brain. Her soft, full lips. The curve of her waist. The smell of her hair...

And after that one taste of her, I have been more hooked than ever. But I know I can't keep doing this to her. She has a boyfriend now, and even if that's simply the last straw in the long list of reasons why we could never work, it is something I need to learn to respect. Even though I can't ever respect Patrick after Italy...

If Lydia only knew what happened, things could have been different...

No, they couldn't have... And if it wasn't Patrick, it would have been someone else. Though I would rather she was with someone else, anyone, really...

But I don't have a say.

And here I am, yet again...I can't help myself but go back to the greenhouse and the way she said she couldn't trust herself around me. Her words sent a shot of hope and a flutter of emotion straight to my heart, ripping off the plaster I'd put over the bleeding wound there, during the two weeks we hadn't seen each other.

I know she has feelings for me. I can see the way she looks at me when she thinks that no one's watching, the way she flushes when she sees me, and the way her breath catches every time I hold her. How her body responds to mine, how she moans when I kiss her...How she says my name...How warm she was when my fingers grazed her over her underwear earlier...

My dick leaps with interest at the images, flashing in fast-forward through my brain.

God!

In a previous life, I'd be over the moon with joy. In a previous life, I'd take her by the hand and show the entire fucking world she's mine. However, I'd have to wait for the next life and hope  we meet again there, because, in this one, we could never be together.

I start walking towards my dad's house, finishing the bottle of champagne. I am definitely going to regret this in the morning, I drank it way too quickly...

But I don't care. I need to numb the pain, grabbing at my chest. I start to feel the effects of the champagne, singing through my veins. Good. Maybe I'll finally be able to sleep tonight.

As I reach my dad's place, I aim to go straight to my room, but my father appears in the hallway as I am closing the front door behind me.

"Good evening!" He says, and I see him glance at the empty champagne bottle in my hand. Why didn't I toss it in the containers outside the house? "You're back early."

"Yeah, well, I'm tired," I respond and head for the stairs.

"How's Gloria? I heard gunshots earlier. Is everything alright back there?"

"Yeah, it's fine. It was all just for some stupid game. I won, by the way." I lift the empty bottle in the air.

"Great. Well, I expect you to engage more in business and in the wedding prep, than in adolescent drinking games." He says and glares at me over his wire-framed glasses.

"Father, please. It's only one night. It's Gloria's birthday, for fuck's sake!"

"Don't swear!" He lifts a finger and points at me. "And I don't mean just tonight. You have been awfully distracted lately. I need you to focus. I need you, son. Think about what we talked about when you came back."

"Yeah, I know, I'm not going anywhere, I'm working on it."

"Good. I'd appreciate it if you show more...dedication if you will. Speaking of which, have you had the chance to think about our earlier conversation?"

"I'm still considering it," I say dryly and try to walk past him, showing that this conversation is over.

"Well, think about it, son. You'd make me very happy. And Laura would be very pleased."

"It's about me, not about Laura, or yourself, Dad," I say through gritted teeth.

"Alright, then, tell me when you've reached a decision, but make it quick, please. The wedding's in six weeks, so I need to know. I'd have to figure out a backup if you don't step in. To be honest, I never expected you to decline. I thought you'd be pleased. Honored, even. Happy."

"Why would I be honored, or happy about you, marrying another woman? A woman, who's not mum?"

He sighs and looks down. I can tell he's annoyed.

"Why can't you just acknowledge the fact that I have a shot at being happy again?"

"Because I know you, Dad. And I know it's all about business to you."

"Everything in this life's about business, Mark." He takes his glasses off, folds them, and sticks them in the front pocket of his shirt. He looks so... old, his dark brown hair graying at the sides, his eyes framed by purple circles. It's like he's grown ten years older in just two years. "You better remember that. Speaking of which, Andrea called me today. She said she couldn't reach you. She had some questions about the menus..."

" I switched my phone off. What questions?"

"Something about the number of vegan options. I took it down. You can call her back, it is still early in New York."

"Dad, it's 9:30 in NY."

"I'm aware. She's probably still working."

"I'll call her tomorrow. I'm tired."

"Alright, then. Good night. Please, let me know your final decision as soon as possible, OK?"

"Fine, fine..."

I take the stairs two at a time. My legs are getting wobbly from the champagne and I want to go to bed now. I don't have the energy to talk about fucking menus or weddings, or my dad's business plans anymore.

I just want to be a normal twenty-year-old lad and get smashed over the girl I am miserably in love with. Is that so much to ask for!?

I open the door to my room and toss the empty bottle on my bed. I go to the window and pop it open. I can see the Hollands' house, popped on top of its small hill in the distance. The warm breeze is coming through the window and the moonlight floods in, unfazed and uninvited, like the images of Lydia's eyes, when she looked at me in the greenhouse and asked me if I wanted to talk about what was bothering me.

I sit on the blue bench under the window and stare at the lit-up house across the fields, wondering what Lydia's doing right now and whether she's been haunted by thoughts about me, the same way I have been about her. And I really hope she's not.

I would never wish torture like this upon anyone, even my worst enemy.