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the-red-princess · 2 months ago

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New Chapter of -“The Choices We Make”

Chapter 4 - Half of Me

The brightness and the smell of coffee woke me up. When I opened my eyes, for a few seconds, I almost believed it had all been a dream. I sat up and waited for my brain to fully wake. A flood of memories crashed into my mind, and I ran my hands over my face, trying to make the images go away.

I heard noises coming from the kitchen. It was usually me who made the coffee. I grabbed my phone—already past eight in the morning. I was always the first one up. A small panic flared inside me, like sleeping in could be the one detail that would tip Gemma off. Guilt does strange things to our minds—we invent irrational scenarios that could expose our sins, sketches no one else would ever decipher.

I gathered my courage and got up from the couch. I tried to walk to the kitchen, but my legs only made it halfway. I froze. I saw her shadow, moving as she prepared something. I took two steps back and decided to head to the bathroom first. I went upstairs to our bedroom. She had already made the bed. The window was open. In Kier, I never once opened a single window. It was always too cold.

I stepped into the bathroom and washed my face. When I looked at myself in the mirror, I couldn't keep my head up. I averted my gaze from my own eyes—maybe I was a coward, like Helena had said. I tried to convince myself everything would be okay, but I had no idea how. I needed to take care of Gemma. I needed to fix things with Helena. For a moment, I felt completely alone. Secrets isolate us. I had so much inside me, but I couldn't share it—not with my wife, not with my sister. I only had myself in that moment, and I'd already spent two years like that. I knew I was a terrible influence on myself.

I pushed everything I was feeling into a corner of my mind. I would deal with it—but not now. I dried my face and got ready to be as normal as possible. Gemma needed me.

I went downstairs again, and this time I didn't hesitate. I walked straight to the kitchen. She was sitting at the table by the window, which was also open. There were two plates with eggs and toast. She was gazing outside, distracted, breathing deeply, as if the sunlight and breeze brought her peace. She was still in her pajamas, a navy-blue satin set I adored. Her hair was up in a messy low bun, and under that light, she looked like a painting. Suddenly, she turned to me and smiled.

"Good morning, love."

I smiled back.

"Good morning, my love. Did you sleep well?" I asked, walking to the coffee maker and pouring myself a cup.

"Like a rock. Those pills are strong. I don't want to keep using them. I haven't dreamed in weeks. I miss it," she said, frowning with displeasure.

"I know. You always had the best dreams. Remember that one where you accidentally grew a giant beanstalk, and when it got tall I told you not to climb it—but you did anyway?" I said, sitting down with her at the table.

"Oh, I remember! That was during my garden obsession. I was thinking about what to plant every day, ended up dreaming about it for a week."

It felt so good to laugh with her. Every time I saw that smile, I felt like my heart healed a little. Everything that had once felt heavy became easier. She fixed her gaze on me.

"Mark... I think I'm ready to talk about yesterday," she said, trying to convince herself.

"My love, we don't have to do that if you're not okay."

Maybe I was the one who wasn't ready to talk.

"I am ready. And she said she's staying in town until today. If we need to talk to her, it would be easier."

I felt the blood drain from my face. My hands went cold. I wasn't ready to see Helena again—especially not with Gemma.

"It's still recent. We have time to talk to her another day. Kier's not far, after all..." I said nervously, putting way too much butter on my toast.

"I honestly never want to go back to that city. That place..." she shuddered.

"You're right. I'm sorry. I'll never make you go back there."

She hated the cold. The snow-covered ground. Nothing ever grew there—no color, no warmth. She looked at me with hesitation, taking a moment to choose her words.

"I don't want you to have a child with someone else. What wife would? But it happened, and I understand it wasn't something you could control..." she paused again, looking out the window, searching for strength.

"It wasn't something I could control," she said. The guilt fell on me like a thousand pounds. My brain tried to recall the reintegration theory as a sort of escape hatch, a way to dull the weight of what I felt—but I knew that wasn't the truth. I wasn't going to lie to myself.

She stayed silent.

"Gemma, I'm so sorry. It's like that place never let us go. We left, but the ghosts still follow us. And now this... You don't deserve this."

I tried to look her in the eyes, but my head dropped. I didn't deserve to look at her. I fixed my eyes on the toast in my hands.

"Mark, you've been through a lot too. We both suffered these past years. Don't blame yourself so much. This happened because you weren't well. They pushed you toward that exit. I don't blame you for it."

She reached across the table and held my hand.

"Thank you," I said, still with my head down.

"Now we don't need to focus on what happened. We need to decide what we're going to do. I know you've probably thought about just ignoring it and moving on, but I know you. That wouldn't work. You'd never accept having a child and not being a part of their life, would you?"

She didn't want this, but she was willing to be part of this uncomfortable situation for my sake. I thought for a moment and lifted my head to answer.

"I know this will hurt you. I don't want to hurt you, Gemma."

"But you do want to be part of this child's life, don't you?"

"I... I can't and I won't lie to you about that. Yes, I do. But not if it costs your peace."

She looked at me with softness.

"I have you. That's all the peace I need."

Every sweet word she said was like salt in an open wound—and I wanted it to be. I deserved to feel that pain.

"I haven't figured out how to make this work yet, but the best way—for now, at least—would be for me to go visit the baby, but not bring them here. Babies need a house prepared for them. I don't want to do that here."

I couldn't prepare our house for a baby that wasn't ours. After everything we'd been through, I couldn't put a crib here.

"So your solution is to go through this alone?" she asked, a little confused.

"I thought including you in this plan was too much to ask. At least in the beginning. When the baby is older, I could start bringing her over for the day, or weekends—I don't know."

"Her? I don't remember Helena saying anything about the baby's gender."

"She didn't. I just... I don't know. I have a feeling. Maybe it's just a guess."

She smiled at me, but I could see her eyes dim as I spoke. When we used to talk about this, when we were still trying, she always said she wanted a boy—a "mini me." And I always dreamed of having a daughter, my little princess.

I came back from the daydream and realized I was smiling. She was staring out the window again.

"Gemma?" I took her hand so she would look at me. She turned, and I went on. "I want to ask you something. I want you to be honest with me—and to think only about yourself, about how you feel, before answering. Okay?"

"Okay," she nodded, thoughtful.

"Do you want to be part of this with me?"

She started to answer but paused. She was probably weighing everything I asked her to consider.

"Mark, I love you. And having a child around that's half you—it brings me joy. But I... I'm not ready to see you holding a baby that isn't ours. But we still have time. Her belly wasn't even showing yet. She must be early."

"She said she's three months along."

"She said that? When?"

Shit. She told me that when I went to see her yesterday.

I tried to cover it up.

"She didn't say? Well, that must be it, right? It's been three months since the uprising."

"Yeah. That must be it."

She didn't seem to notice. I had to be more careful. She got up and placed her cup in the sink. She paused for a second, then turned to me.

"We can get through this, right?"

She looked afraid. I got up and went to her, cupping her face in my hands.

"We can get through anything. Together."

She smiled and hugged me. My heart raced at the thought that maybe, someday, I'd have to tell her about what happened the night I ran away.

The day went by quietly. Gemma tried a new recipe for lunch—mushroom risotto. I hated it, but I ate every bite to make her happy. We talked about the books we were reading. She spent most of the afternoon in the garden, deciding to start a little herb patch with everything she'd need for her recipes.

We ignored the situation well. I almost managed to forget the mess I'd gotten myself into.

She'd gotten up early, so she got sleepy quickly. After dinner, we sat down to watch something on TV. Some old romantic movie, I think. My mind felt foggy as night fell. Gemma rested her head on my lap, and I kept glancing at the clock. It was getting late—and I needed some time alone.

She finally said she was going up to bed and told me not to take too long, making it clear I was no longer banned from the bedroom. I said I wanted to finish the movie—that I didn't like watching things halfway through. A ridiculous lie. But she believed it. I saw her take a glass of water before going upstairs, which meant she'd take the pill again tonight.

As soon as she was gone, my mind went straight to Helena. I felt guilty, but it was unavoidable. I remembered my conversation with Gemma and hated myself for not being able to stop feeling this way. I wished I could reach into my chest and rip that feeling out.

I spent a few minutes debating what to do. I needed to make it clear that what happened wouldn't happen again—not because I didn't want it, but because of my principles. I shouldn't feel this way about her—but I did. And that was going to be hard. But I wasn't going to throw my life away over a passion.

While I thought, I poured myself a glass of whiskey. I avoided drinking in front of Gemma. I'd promised her I would stop. But every night, I still needed one last drink to sleep. I sat on the couch and downed the first glass. As I set it down on the coffee table, my phone lit up. I picked it up to see what it was.

A new message. Unknown number.

"Are you coming?"

—H.E.

#severance #mark scout #markhelena #ruptura #fanfic #fanfiction

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the-red-princess · 2 months ago

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Hiiii, so I just finished the new chapter of the fic hope you all enjoy…

“The Choices we Make”

Chapter 3 - With an Open Heart

I felt everything all at once—fear, excitement, shame, anger—and something else I couldn't quite name, but it pulled my hands toward her body as if I needed to touch her to keep breathing. Her skin was as soft as the silk dress she wore. As she kissed me, she pulled off my coat and tossed it aside. Her scent was intoxicating—sweet and delicate.

Her hands wrestled with the buttons on my shirt. I paused the kiss for a moment and held her face in my hands. I wanted to look at her. Her cheeks were flushed, and she was breathing heavily, ust like me. I pulled her in and kissed her gently, then let my lips wander down her neck. I felt her body shiver. She lost patience and yanked my shirt, tearing off all the buttons. I smiled—apparently, she was feeling just as much as I was.

I ran one hand along her thigh, moving under her dress, and realized there was nothing there to remove. She wrapped her arms around my neck while I worked on my pants. The way she looked, she might've used a knife to strip the rest of my clothes off if I took too long. Once I had everything unbuttoned, she lifted herself just enough for me to slide them off. Her dress was too beautiful to remove—and not in the way—so I left it on. I pulled her gently back down into my lap, guiding the way. I felt her body tremble again, and when we finally became one, it was one of the most intense sensations I'd ever felt. We both gasped. She needed air and threw her head back. I kissed her neck again, then moved down to her shoulders and slipped off one strap of her dress. Her breasts were perfect. When I kissed them, she began to move faster, riding me. I lost all control. I just wanted to feel everything—every second of her. I threw my head back and let it all take over. If there was anyone in the room below us, they were getting a hell of a show. We couldn't be quiet. We couldn't be less. It was all too much.

I decided I needed more space. I grabbed her by the hips and stood up from the couch, carrying her through the room. I found what I was looking for and laid her down on the bed, positioning myself on top of her. Now it was my turn. She looked up at me with a smile, and I entered her again. This time, I saw her expression change. She had never been more beautiful than she was in that moment. I sought the best rhythm based on her reactions, and I knew I'd found it when she ran her fingers through my hair and tugged on it involuntarily. She nearly screamed.

I don't know how much time passed, but we were both drenched in sweat. Suddenly, she pushed me away, knelt beside me, and laid me back down. She liked being in control, and I simply accepted it. She took charge once more, but before continuing, she threw off her dress—now wrinkled—and I saw her body fully for the first time. She was so defined, athletic, and stunning. Her pale skin seemed to shimmer, and the contrast with her red hair was perfect.

I placed my hands on her legs as she gently gyrated her hips over me. It was so delicate. This seemed to be the way she liked it most. She leaned in to kiss me and increased the intensity of her movements. I could feel we were nearing the end. I didn't want it to stop. She bit my lip, gasping, and I felt her body tremble. I reached my limit at the same time. I embraced her as I regained control of myself. All we could hear was our heavy breathing. After a few moments, we were able to move again. She kissed me and lay beside me. I turned to face her, still in disbelief over what had happened. We were both exhausted. I brushed a strand of hair from her face, and she looked at me as if I might disappear. She barely blinked, as if memorizing my face. I think part of it was because I had such a wide smile on my face it was hurting my cheeks.

She opened her mouth to say something but hesitated, probably afraid of saying the wrong thing. It was fascinating how determined she seemed all the time, but when she felt comfortable, her insecure side would show. So I decided to break the silence.

"I'm almost certain this isn't what I came here for..."

We both laughed.

"I said we'd figure this out together," Helena said between laughs.

I placed my hand on her face, and my wedding ring caught my attention. My expression changed immediately. What was I doing? I pulled away a bit and sat up. She noticed my change and covered herself with the sheet. I ran my hands over my face, overwhelmed by shame and fear. I fought so hard to get Gemma back only to do this? Betray her at the first opportunity?

"Mark? Are you okay?"

She sat beside me, placing her hand on my shoulder. I lifted my face, and she looked worried.

"No, I'm not... this shouldn't have happened. I don't know what came over me. Is this some kind of leakage from our innies?"

That made sense, I guess. Her face turned serious, and when she spoke, her tone was harsh.

"So your innie forced you to do all this? Wow, is this the best excuse you've come up with?"

She got up, throwing the sheet aside, and walked naked into the bathroom. My eyes followed her, still mesmerized. As she walked away, I tried to say something, but I couldn't find the words. She slammed the bathroom door behind her.

I got up and started looking for my clothes. I put on my pants and walked toward the bathroom door.

"Helena, can we talk?"

"No."

"I'm just trying to understand what happened."

"What's there to understand, Mark? You already know what happened. You've found an excuse to ease your guilt for what we did. After all, you'd never do something like this, right? Why don't you just leave before your WIFE realizes you ran off? Don't forget to tell her it was your innie's idea too."

She yelled from the bathroom, and I heard the shower turn on. I put on my shirt, now missing its buttons, and sat on the bed, waiting for her to come out. I tried to recall any moment that could justify my theory, but all I remembered was how I felt like I needed to have her throughout the whole time we shared. Maybe it was just me, but that thought terrified me. I tried to connect with other people when I thought I had lost Gemma, but I never could. The one who got the furthest was the doula, but I don't even remember her name anymore. Now that I had my wife back, my heart decided to move forward? It didn't make sense. My marriage was good. I had stopped drinking so much, but thinking about it, every day I felt like something was missing. I thought it was because I wasn't working, but what if it wasn't?

She came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, walked straight past me, and headed for the suitcase on the table near the bed.

"What are you still doing here?" she asked, rummaging through the bag.

"I said I wanted to talk."

"And I said no."

We were back to her angry side.

I stood up and walked toward her.

"I'm confused. Can you at least be a little reasonable with me? This is new for me."

"For you, or for your innie? Or is there a third personality you want to use as a shield to justify your 'mistakes'?"

She turned to me as she slipped on a long black nightgown.

"I didn't say it was a mistake, I just..."

I couldn't finish the sentence.

"Just what? You just think it shouldn't have happened? No problem, it never happened. You can go home now."

She sat on the bed, grabbed a brush, and started brushing her hair, not even looking at me as she spoke. I sat in front of her, trying to make eye contact, but she turned her face away.

"Helena, I didn't say that about the leakage to justify anything. This happened, and I wanted it to happen, but do you have any idea how much this scares me?"

She looked at me with disdain.

"It scares you? You know what I think, Mark? I think you believe I'm such a horrible person that you can't imagine having any feelings for me, so you blamed it on your innie, like the coward you are."

"Coward? Why am I a coward?"

"You're afraid to admit what you feel. Always hiding behind something—guilt, grief, alcohol..."

"And you? You talk about me with so much superiority, but you hide behind that shitty character your father created for you. Whenever something scares you, you turn into an Eagan."

"I am an Eagan, and I don't hide from what I feel. If you want to know, just ask!"

"Then tell me, Helena Eagan, what do you feel for me?"

"In this moment? Hate... but—" she hesitated for a second— "I also feel attraction, lust, and maybe something that resembles... I don't know."

She spoke with so much anger that it seemed like she hated every one of those feelings.

"Oh, so your answer is 'I don't know'? You're really brave, you want a gold star for that? I was a college professor, but I think I can make one for you."

"How can you be such a asshole "

"Practice. And you didn't answer me. What do you feel for me?"

I could feel that any moment she was going to throw that hairbrush at my head. She was holding it so tightly that her fingers were turning white.

"Okay, you want honesty? I developed feelings for your innie, and I wanted to know who you were on the outside. I followed you to the restaurant that day with that intention. You were different, and I liked it—more sarcastic, seductive, and intelligent. When you came here today, I was sure I felt the same. Actually, no—what I feel for you is greater. I feel like, even if I wanted to, I couldn't suppress the desire I have to have you. There, I answered your question."

Throughout the moment she spoke, her posture didn't change. She was serious, direct, and didn't hesitate with a single word. It was like a punch, and I felt dizzy.

"You did answer..."

"And can I ask the same, Mark? What do YOU feel for me?" she asked, still extremely angry.

I paused for a few seconds, trying to sort out my thoughts. I'd always been good at organizing lines of thought to explain a point, which is why I became a professor.

"I... alright... I felt something strange when I met you at the restaurant. I felt comfortable in a way I hadn't in a long time. Talking to you was easy, which was new for me. If you hadn't mentioned Gemma, I probably would've spent the whole night talking to you. I didn't want to go up to your room tonight because you make me nervous. And now that I'm thinking about it, I can say with certainty that making love to you was inevitable. I said I didn't know what I came here for, but I realized I was lying to myself. I came because I wanted to see you. I have feelings for you."

As I spoke, things started to click together, and in the end, I understood that what I was feeling wasn't some leakage. It was just me. I didn't want to accept it, and I hid it under the rug until everything exploded.

We both stayed silent for a while, digesting what had been said. She still wasn't looking at me and went back to brushing her hair. The words I had said echoed in my mind, and every time I thought about them, they made more sense. I felt so guilty for feeling what I felt that night at the restaurant, and I buried it under the anger I felt for Lumon, mixing everything together.

She placed the brush on the bed and finally looked at me. She seemed calmer now.

"I know this was hard for you, and I think we need some time to get our heads straight. It's been a long night..."

She really did seem exhausted. After all the emotions I was feeling calmed down, I felt tired too. I looked at the watch on my wrist and saw it was already past two in the morning.

"You're right, it's really late... Are you going back to Kier tomorrow?"

It wasn't a long trip there, in case I needed to talk to her. Damn, I hadn't even left, and I was already thinking about seeing her again.

"Not yet. I'll be back the day after tomorrow. I have some meetings during the day, but I'll be back at the hotel around eight at night, I think."

She got up to walk me out. I grabbed my coat and buttoned it to hide the open shirt, called the elevator, and we waited. She seemed restless, her eyes were sad. Part of me wanted to stay to make sure she'd be okay, but she was right. We needed time to think. If I stayed, we'd probably argue again or make love again, or maybe both, and I needed to get back before Gemma woke up. But it hurt to leave her alone. The sound of the elevator took me out of my thoughts.

"Alright then. Goodnight, Helena."

"Goodnight, Mark."

She reached out her hand to me. It felt strange to shake hands to say goodbye. It was so impersonal. I accepted, but she didn't seem comfortable with it. I think she also felt that it was almost like we were strangers. It didn't feel right. So I pulled her in and hugged her. I felt her body relax.

"If I need to talk to you, can I come here tomorrow?" I asked, eyes closed, holding her.

"Of course..."

I pulled away a little. I had to say something before I left.

"Helena, I want to be part of our baby's life. I don't know what's going to happen with all this inside me. I don't know if I'm going to go crazy trying to understand it, but I want to live it."

As I spoke, tears welled up in my eyes. I had fought so hard to accept the idea of her being pregnant, but now there was no more room for that inside me.

She looked at me with tenderness for the first time that night, her eyes wet with tears.

"I want that too, Mark."

She smiled and pulled away, wiping her eyes. I kissed her forehead for a few seconds, resisting the urge to kiss her lips. We said goodbye again, and I got in the elevator. She stopped in front of me, smiling, and the doors closed. I was pulled out of that atmosphere I'd been in. It was like waking up from a dream. As I descended, I felt that familiar knot in my stomach again. I walked through the lobby, receiving farewells from the staff. As I passed a mirror, I noticed the deplorable state I was in. I tried to fix my hair as best as I could and heard a faint buzz from the staff at the desk.

The drive home took longer than it should've. I drove slowly through the empty streets, replaying everything that had happened. Only then did I realize—her scent still clung to me. It made me smile without meaning to. By the time I came back to myself, I was already parked in front of the house.

I took a deep breath and stepped out of the car. Inside, I moved quietly. The TV was still on. Before anything else, I stripped down and tossed my clothes into the laundry hamper, pushing them deep to smother the lingering perfume. The torn shirt—I threw it in the trash, burying it until it disappeared from sight.

I went upstairs to check on Gemma. Cracking the door open, I saw she hadn't moved since I'd left. Still sleeping. I decided to shower. The hot water helped, but every time I closed my eyes, Helena came back—her smile, her body—and my heart skipped a beat. I tried to focus on what I should do, tried to think of Gemma, of how this might affect us. But Helena kept returning. As if my mind were whispering, Why dwell on guilt when you have this to hold on to? Maybe it had grown tired of grief. So I gave in. I lay down on the couch and let the memories wash over me, let them carry me wherever they wanted. I relived every second of that night. Even the arguments made me smile. And somewhere in the middle of all those memories, I drifted off to sleep—with Helena's face still vivid in my mind.

#severance #mark scout #markhelena #ruptura #fanfic #fanfiction

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