Worry - Writing Short 5

I think my mum has forgotten to do hers and I've been busy with editing work so didn't finish mine until today. My mum bought me a new posh writing pad and pen to put all my work in and I'm almost half-way through it. I'll be asking her to send me another one soon! This writing short is based on the feeling - worry. My hubster, Adam, chose the word so because I didn't have any ideas in mind on how to write it, it probably took me a little longer. :) I'll probably put all of these together at some point. Print them out, make them look fancy. That'd be nice.

Worry

from: https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/24/13/c0/2413c0823c8128c1c6c6211100fbf13c.jpg

This was such a bad idea.

Freya knocked on the familiar door and sighed with no answer. Marne knew she was coming over so she knocked again. She knew this was insane. Why on earth had she come? Even as she asked herself she knew why. So, did he. Even after ten years had passed since she last saw him she knew as soon as the divorce was finalised she had to see him. He was always there at the end of every relationship she’d been in. And once her divorce had come through she knew this was exactly where she needed to be.

Marne opened the door in a rush, their eyes met and Freya smiled at him, trying to conceal her feelings. He looked as he always did. It warmed her body.

“Hi. Hey. Sorry. You’re early. Come in.” Marne’s hair was tousled and wet from his recent shower. He was dressed but his neck still glistened with beads of water. He must’ve rushed out of the shower to answer the door.

“Hey. Yeah, I know. My train got in on time for once and it didn’t take me long to walk up from the station.” Freya looped her scarf from around her neck and wrapped it over the bannister, hanging her coat over the top. Her eyes scanned around the open plan room, “This place hasn’t changed at all. Which is weird…considering the last time I was here was ages ago”.

Marne smirked in amusement, “Want a drink?”

“Rosé, please.” Freya pulled her boots off and kicked them to the floor. She slid over the laminate in her socks to the sofa, dropping down into the plush leather with a thud. The atmosphere was so awkward the tension could be cut with a knife. It was nauseating and made Freya feel a little sick. Now she was here she was terrified and so, so, nervous. Just like she always was around him. Right from that first kiss years ago, the one Marne planted on her in the soft rain, with one arm holding an umbrella trying to shield them from the March spring-time weather.

He never made her feel bad or awkward. He just made her feel. If he judged her back then or even now, he never said. But she did. Freya judged him, and her, and what they had together. She mostly judged herself. She never felt like she was good enough for him or that she deserved him, so, she pushed him away. That was back then. Years ago, and this is now. Freya, sat watching the fire. She remembered back to all those years ago, when he first got it installed. When he was still in the final stages of renovation on his house. Freya turned to Marne, admiring the way he poured her a glass of wine. The way, he coolly walked over and sat next to her. He handed her the glass and put his arm onto the back of the sofa; one knee folded onto the sofa whilst his other leg was placed, firmly, on the floor; keeping his balance.

Marne smiled at her, “So, how are you?”

Freya sighed, moving her attention down to her glass of wine, swirling it around in the glass as she said, “Things have been interesting…and hard. I know we made the right decision though”. She smiled, weakly, before taking a gulp of wine.

She mirrored the way he sat. Her fingers moments from touching his. The tips could brush his if she was brave enough, and ready for rejection. Why was she so worried about this? Marne didn’t say she shouldn’t come down when she asked to see him. She’d been here so many times before. Yet this time was different, they didn’t know where they ‘stood’ this time. Last time it was an agreement, one in which Freya let go of more than she’d bargained for. But they knew what they were last time. This time nothing was certain. But, at least this time, they were both in the same place, mentally, at the same time.

“I’m glad to hear it.” Marne cocked his head to one side, leaning on his arm that was on the back of the sofa. He stared into her eyes, as though searching for something, “You haven’t changed a bit,” he sighs.

“Ha! I’d like to think I have, a little at least.” Freya boldly moves her hand, to emphasise her point, lacing her fingers through his. She knew she had to be the one to make the first move this time. She couldn’t do this full of alcohol if she wanted him to know she was serious. Alcohol always used to relax her inhibitions enough to help her through her fears of being with him. “You’ve changed.” She stares at Marne. “Not in a bad way though”. God. She was skirting around this whole thing and messing up so badly. Marne meant so much to her. Too much. To Freya he’d always been the ‘one that got away’, her ‘what if’ and ‘if only’. Back then she thought he was too good for her, even though he never gave her that indication, hindsight was so cruel sometimes.

“Really? How?” Marne cut into her thoughts, up until then she hadn’t realised her attention had moved to the canvas above his fireplace. She ignored his question.

“I still can’t believe you really painted that, even if you did use masking tape to keep the lines straight, and then tried to make me believe you painstakingly drew each line really slowly with a tiny brush.” Freya rolled her eyes, looking back to Marne and to their colliding, dancing fingers.

She only just noticed he hadn’t stopped her, or pushed her hand away when she started caressing his fingers. She needed all the positive vibes she could get. It wasn’t that this felt wrong. It just felt so right that it scared her. The quietness in the air electrified her body, making her heart race. She needed to do something about it before it jumped right out of her chest. She wondered if Marne felt the same way but worried about the rejection. Just the thought of him backing down from this was killing her. It stopped her moving forward, back then and now.

Sparks ignited through their fingers; their only point of physical contact. Marne moved to stand up, withdrawing from her touch, crouching to start some music on the PC. Kings of Leon surrounded them and she closed her eyes to the song. It’d been years since she’d heard it. The wine warmed Freya’s throat as she took another long slow sip. She opened her eyes and gazed at Marne’s back as he got up and walked to the kitchen, grabbing the food from the hob. She loved this house. The open plan downstairs was so different to all the other houses in the area. She loved Marne’s personal touches on the house; knowing he’d done most of it himself. Freya looked at him, knowing what she’d always known, she loved him.

She watched as he had his back to her sorting plates and gathering utensils to sort food. She adored his back. Freya used to sit, cross-legged, on the bed in the spare bedroom, as he laid across the bed, on his stomach while they watched a film. She knew Marne liked it when she stroked his back, she liked being able to do that for him. So, whenever she could, she would. He never knew it, but she’d always trace “I love you” onto his back. She was so scared back then, of what being with him might mean, so always pushed it away.

‘Revelry’ played through the speakers whilst Marne served dinner. She stood, reluctantly, feeling the bobbled rug under her feet, she once joked that walking on it felt like tiny bobbled hamsters. It was a gorgeous rug. She went to perch herself on one of his breakfast bar stools as he came around the counter to sit down next to her. Their faces were so close Freya could smell his breath; fruity and alcoholic, his cologne; strong and dizzying. In less than a second she moved forward to kiss him.

His hand came up to cradle her face as he gently kissed her back. Slowly to emphasise everything she was feeling through their interlocked mouths. The kiss wasn’t half-assed as it sometimes had been in the past. She knew Marne, and knew when he was just going through the motions. This wasn’t one of those times. Freya put her arms around his back, pulling him closer. She arched into him, moulding her body to his. Just like they used to.

They pulled back, faces flush and her lips were tingling. She smiled at him. He searched her eyes and kissed her again, his hands on either side of her face. It was everything she’d dreamt of over the years, everything she remembered. They moved apart at the same time.

“Your eyes are still as green as I remembered them.” Marne ran a finger over her lips, her mouth parted slightly.

“Thank you,” Freya smiled, widely. He remembered her eyes? Suddenly, she wasn’t as worried as she used to be. Her fear of him leaving and rejecting what she’d always wanted, was almost gone. It still niggled in her mind but that kind of worry is what she’d lost in her ex. The kind that keeps you on your toes, trying to do everything you can to keep the other person happy. Freya had lost that with her ex because every time she fought to keep him happy he never did the same for her. But, with Marne, she already knew how considerate he was. She’d burnt her hand once at work, and went by his place afterwards to chill-out. He noticed her burn and walked over to the ice-dispenser in his fridge, balled it up in a towel and popped it on her burn. She’d gotten too drunk one night and he nursed her back to sobriety.

The worry of wanting him to be happy was always there but the worry of unreciprocated love wasn’t. She knew he loved her. Marne knew how Freya needed to be loved, shown and not told, and he did that for her. Ten years ago, and now. The words weren’t needed.