Chapter Thirty-Five
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIV E
CLAIRE
I can’t sleep. After our heavy conversation outside Club Caliber, Mark and I had gone home with the unspoken agreement that neither of us would bring up the topic again tonight. I had retreated to my room, and he had done the same.
Now, I’m lying in bed feeling anything but okay. Every time I attempt to move, my limbs feel like they’re made of lead, as if the intense pleasure from earlier has drained every ounce of energy from me. But it's not just physical exhaustion; it's something heavier, something deeper that sinks into the pit of my stomach and crawls up into my chest.
My mind is a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, a chaotic mess that I can't seem to untangle. But it keeps returning to the same worry—that maybe I really am just a plaything for Mark, a pity project that he took in who also just happens to be pretty enough to fuck. I’m a fun, temporary distraction in his life, while he’s the center of mine.
I think back to what happened at the club earlier—first, the overwhelming, intense moments that required me to have total trust in him, followed by the constant insecurity that plagues my mind. That I’m not enough; That I’ll never be enough. He has literal decades of experience compared to me, and I’m barely learning the ropes of how to be a functional adult. We’re complete opposites on a practical level, so even though the connection between us is undeniable, it’s no wonder he wouldn’t want me long-term. He made that plenty clear when correcting the man about me not being his girlfriend.
Tears well up in my eyes as the insecurity only grows. Why am I feeling this way? Earlier, I was disappointed but determined to prove Mark wrong about whatever deep-seated issues he has with relationships. But now, everything feels hopeless and borderline depressing. I try to hold back the tears, but they fall anyway.
The lethargy taking over my body is nothing compared to the deep, dull emotional pain infiltrating every part of my heart and mind.
And the worst part is, the only person that could help right now is the one I’m crying over.
Actually? Screw it. We’re not mad at each other, but even if we were, I think back to his words from a few weeks ago when he promised me he’d be there for me if I ever need it.
My fear of showing him this much vulnerability is outweighed by my need for comfort. For him.
I slip out of bed and quietly make my way down the carpeted hallway. My hand trembles as I pause before knocking on Mark’s door. It’s a soft knock, but it's enough to stir Mark from his sleep .
His footsteps sound, followed by the door opening, revealing Mark in only his underwear, his chest bare, his hair tousled from sleep. His eyes widen with concern as he takes in my tear-streaked face.
"Claire, what's wrong?" He pulls me into his arms immediately, and I lean my head on his chest, grateful for his strong, warm embrace.
"I-I don't know," I stammer, sniffling between the words. "I was fine for a bit, but now I just feel sad, and you said to come to you if I needed you and—"
I cut myself off, partly because I’m rambling and partly because I don’t know what else to say.
Mark leads me to his bed then pulls me onto his lap, smoothing his hand over my hair and keeping an arm around my waist.
"Shit," he mutters.
"What’s wrong?"
"I think you’re experiencing sub drop," he explains.
"What does that mean?" I can take a guess based on the context, and it’s somewhat relieving to know there’s a label to put on this mess of emotions, but I still want to hear his explanation.
I lay my head against his shoulder, and his rumbling voice calms me. "It’s a normal reaction after intense scenes like what we did at the club. Your endorphins get really high, then they drop later, which can cause some negative emotions. I’m sorry, baby. I should’ve taken better care of you tonight." His tone is laced with guilt and regret.
"It’s not your fault," I say. "You took good care of me. I just felt worse and worse once we got home, and I didn’t know what to do. I thought maybe something was just wrong with me." I wipe away more tears with my fingers, wishing they would stop.
"There’s nothing wrong with you. Not even a little bit. I should’ve done more to make sure you were alright."
"I just—" I take a shaky breath, not wanting to admit my insecurity but knowing it’ll continue weighing on me if I don’t "—I worry that maybe I’m just a distraction for you. Someone to play with until you get bored or find someone else."
He shakes his head and squeezes me tighter. "I promise you that’s not the case. You’re so much more than that to me, and I’m sorry if I’ve ever made you feel like I’m using you."
I’ve come to understand that he’s not the best at expressing his emotions, but I can feel the sincerity of his words and hear all the things he’s not saying. And even though I wish he would say more, that he would tell me exactly what he’s thinking and how he’s feeling, this is enough for now.
He pulls me further back on the bed and lies down next to me, holding me tightly and kissing me softly. The sadness slowly falls away, replaced by comfort and a glimmer of hope for the future, even though I know that hoping for more is a stupid, dangerous thing.