Where Do Broken Hearts Go?

47. Zone 2

"We are now boarding Zone 2 for Flight DL7834 for service to New York City."

Already standing, I latch my hand on to the handle of my carry-on.

You're doing the right thing. You have to go to New York. It's just earlier than expected. 

This is it. This may not be the closure I want, but it's closure nonetheless. 

What about closure with Marcel? 

I'll call him when I get to New York. 

You should have called him before. 

I just got a call telling me that my husband's body has popped up. I'm not in the best shape to hold a conversation with the man I'm having an affair with. 

Affair? 

Yes! Let's call it what it is, shall we?

As my thoughts circle a million miles a minute, I find that people have stepped before me. One brushing my arm, then to send a non-genuine 'sorry' over his touched shoulder. I nod, unable to form words without them feebly leaving my mouth.

Clearing my throat, I try bringing myself comfort by massaging my scalp – a gesture I've done so many times for Marcel. Like when he was sic– I take a few refreshing breaths before my eyes fall to the tips of my shoes. Don't.

Following the flow of the line, I watch as each passenger smiles, greeting the gate attendant, excited about The Big Apple. Me, on the other hand, my chest goes hollow realizing that's the face I'd make coming to London. I'm leaving a place that brings me such life to fly over the pond with death being the only thing waiting for me. My hitched breath causes me to hiccup and smooth my hand over my lagging heart.

I know I can't rid myself of the daunting task ahead, but these thoughts piled on top of guilt are going to consume me. It's a dark road ahead. Knowing that I have to face this completely alone makes my flesh clam.

Pinching the inner corners of my eyes, I capture tears before they have the chance to escape. You have to be strong. You have to be strong for yourself. You're all you have right now. Running my hands down my sweats, I take a deep breath to collect myself.

Tapping my head for my sunglasses, I wish to shield myself from the public eye before I rightfully lose it. Before I can, the sound of a crying child catches my attention. Me too, kid. Me too. You just beat me to it.

Looking over to the next gate, my eyes bounce upon the drowsy passengers. One mother stroking the back of her tuckered toddler. The father struggling to fold the stroller before the attendant asks for their passes. To help the confused dad, a guy offers a smile and helping hand, easily collapsing the chair on wheels. As the man stands, I feel as if I could collapse as well.

"Next." The woman rushes me along, but I can't take my eyes away from Marcel. This could very well be the last time I lay eyes on him. 

I never wanted it to end this way. I never meant for this to happen. Why is he here? Why is his gate besides mine? Why now?

Looking up, Marcel glances at the other passengers before he crosses his arms.

"Miss?" The woman calls me.

Marcel looks over. His once disinterested eyes have now found me and zeroed in.

Why does it feel like my chest just caved in? I can't even draw half a breath before succumbing with the feeling of water rising in my lungs.

Without any thought, Marcel ducks under the rope and through the various waiting passengers – taking one by the arm to guide him out of his way.

There's a grasp on my boarding pass, but I snatch it away, sending the woman the mug of a lifetime.

"Where are you going?" Taking me out of line, Marcel's taut grasp pulls me aside. Looking up, his low voice cracks at the edges, "N-New York City?" Marcel's betrayed eyes fall on me as he unwraps his hand. Oh no.

Gasping, I pull my head above water for a few seconds, just long enough to sputter the words, "I-I have to take this flight."

Checking my dwindling boarding line, Marcel slides his hand into his hair, soon to tug at the dark roots. Shaking his half-moon curls, he pinches his nose before dropping his arm.

"You weren't even going to tell me..." His soft tone alarms me, for I know it's the quiet before the storm. I try to take the anger out of his lifted eyes by reaching out to him, but he takes a step back. Oh no. "You were just going to leave!" 

The tremor in his deep voice is something I've never come in contact with, but to have these piercing eyes as their accomplice pulls something from me. I cover my mouth, because with the attempt of defending myself, a quick sob leaps from it. 

"After everything, you didn't have the fucking decency to call or text me? We were just together a few hours ago, Angel! Why didn't you tell me t-then–" Marcel pauses, refusing to allow his voice to become choppy.

Most people would take this time to defend themselves, but I can't puzzle together two words, let alone a proper defense. Then, Ella's words echo in my thoughts. I sigh as tears drop off my cheeks. Turning away from him, I find that the boarding line is down to its last passengers. Trust me, I couldn't care less and I know Marcel couldn't. He wanted answers and he wanted them now.

"What happened? What happened to Friday?"

"M-" My voice cracks from the loosely controlled emotion. Frustrated with myself, I set a hand on my hip, giving myself some time to utter something. "It's an emergency." I wipe away a plummeting tear, but immediately, more are there to replace it.

"Okay so... When are you coming back?" He looks over my shoulder to find an overpacked carry on. "Really?" He speaks to the bag then looks at me.

Once again, I look away from his cutting glare. "I don't know."

"It's him, isn't it?" Marcel questions and when I don't give him an answer, he fills the silence with a sarcastic, yet hurt laugh. "So this is it?" He asks with a smile, but it begins to dissolve as he comes to terms with the concluding reality.

I watch as the forbidden emotion causes his eyes to bounce upon my face as if to memorize it or erase every millimeter from his memory. And just as the thought passes my mind, his face begins to harden.

"This is how it ends, with you running off? You were just going to leave." Marcel brings his hands up to his chest, folding them over each other. My skin crawls at the sound of his tension-breaking knuckles.

"Ma'am?" The gate attendant calls for me again. I don't even give her a glance.

"I knew you were leaving, but it's how you're leaving. That's what's fucking me up." He takes another step back as his hands drop. "Have a nice life. I hope you get everything you ever wanted, Princess." The words leave his lips dripping with poison, yet he licks them as if it's his sweetest farewell.

I'm rendered mum and figure I'm immobilized, until watching Marcel walk away is too much to bare. I find myself chasing after him, ready to catch his inked arm.

"Don't touch me." He turns around, snatching away from my fingertips. Trusting his backward stride, Marcel's gaze lingers on my speechless face as he approaches his assigned gate.

"Ready to board?" The young lady steals his eyes away as she offers him a friendly grin.

Feigning a smile, Marcel goes into his back pocket. "Yes, I'm sorry for the delay." He grabs his backpack, hands the woman his pass, and heads for the tunnel without another glance my way.

"I'm sorry." My faint voice can't even reach a whisper. Pathetic.

THE END

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