33. Marcus

33

Marcus

Of all the places I thought I’d find myself, sitting at the back of the Royal Society of London lecture hall listening to a speech about endangered species conservation is not one of them.

I’ve tried to dress as incognito as possible, wearing a nondescript gray hoodie pulled low over my face, faded jeans, and scuffed sneakers, but even that hasn’t stopped people from giving me second glances.

The woman next to me keeps shifting in her seat every few minutes as if torn between focusing on the lecture and stealing another look at my profile.

But I know she’s probably dismissing the idea, thinking I must just be a Marcus Johnson lookalike because why would Marcus Johnson be at an academic speech?

Photos of Seb and me at the bar together the other night made the rounds on the usual celebrity gossip websites. And some Einstein matched some long-range paparazzi shots taken in Auckland of Seb and me and realized they were of the same guy, leading social media to blow up with speculation about who Marcus Johnson’s mystery man is.

But I’m not really worried about my presence here today adding to the fire. I’m guessing most people in this audience aren’t regular watchers of E-News .

Seb is at the lectern, speaking about the challenges of balancing conservation efforts with increasing coastal development.

He’s clicking through a slide show detailing alarming population decline graphs juxtaposed with hopeful projections based on current conservation strategies.

Watching him, I’m reminded of the albatross we saw back at Taiaroa Head all those years ago. An animal that seems slightly ridiculous until you see its element.

This is Seb in his element.

His voice is low, his pace measured, and everyone in the audience hangs on his words.

I’m used to entertaining groups of people with my looks and charm, but Seb is keeping an audience transfixed simply with the contents of his brain.

His passion for the conservation of New Zealand birds comes through in the way his eyes light up when describing successful strategies, his hands animatedly illustrating the growth of chick populations.

The world needs more people like Seb.

Seb is riding a high after his lecture as I drive him through the London streets back to the Ritz.

“You know, if this whole conservation thing doesn’t work out, you’ve got a real future in public speaking. Though maybe lose the bird puns. They’re a bit too cheep,” I say.

Seb rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry, I won’t let the fame go to my head. I’m still just winging it.”

My chest feels like a vice has been applied to it. Because this feels more like Seb and me.

“I guess you could say your lecture really took flight.”

Seb throws me a grin. “I can’t believe I’ve got Marcus Johnson making bird puns,” he says.

“Well, that’s the impact you’ve had on me.”

And suddenly, Seb’s playful mood disappears.

“You’ve had an impact on me too,” he says quietly.

Fuck.

I have no idea what has caused his mood change, but Seb stares out the car window, his jaw clenched like he’s fighting some internal battle.

Seb has been running hot and cold on me the whole time we’ve been in London. And it’s so unlike Seb that it sends dread through me.

I know he was angry with me last night, but his disappointment cut me deeper than anger ever could.

But when we get inside the apartment and I pull him to me, he kisses me back just as passionately as normal.

I’m addicted to how Seb looks at me when we’re having sex.

Like he really sees me . The real me, the Marcus Johnson that exists under all the other layers I wrap around myself and that Hollywood continues to dress me up in.

He knows the real me now, even the absolute worst parts, yet he still touches me with a tenderness that makes my chest ache.

But afterward, when he lies with his long, lean body stretched out beside me, one leg thrown carelessly over mine, I feel jittery, uneasy.

My stomach churns, creating a nauseating cocktail of anxiety and guilt. A cold sweat breaks out on my forehead, and I have to concentrate to keep my breathing even.

Fuck. I need something to take the edge off.

I detach myself from Seb, my hands shaking slightly as I pull a tiny plastic baggie from my wallet. I pour a small amount onto the back of my hand, form it into a thin line with my fingernail, and snort it quickly.

A warm numbness spreads through my body, my muscles relaxing as the edges of reality blur.

“What are you doing?” Seb asks, lazily opening his eyes.

I can’t lie to him, even though I know it will make him angry again.

“Ketamine.”

Seb recoils as if he’s been slapped, scrambling to sit up. His eyes widen in disbelief, darting between my face and the remnants of powder on the bedside table. “Fuck, Marcus, we’ve just had sex, and now you’re getting high?”

“It’s just to take the edge off.”

“The edge off what?” His voice is low.

The question hangs between us like smoke, heavy and suffocating.

“Reality. Sometimes, I need a break from being me.”

His lips press into a thin line, jaw clenching. “You need a break from being you even when we’re together?”

“Sometimes I need it even more when we’re together.” The words are honest, slipping from my mouth before I can catch them, like water through cupped hands.

He goes still. “Why do you need it more when we’re together?”

How do I answer that? Because when I’m with Seb, I feel both invincible and vulnerable. Because Seb sees me, really sees me, and it’s both intoxicating and terrifying. Because being with Seb makes me want to be better, and that scares the hell out of me.

“Because you make me want things I can’t have,” I say.

“What can’t you have, Marcus?”

My hands shake as I gesture between us. “This! You. And this. Us. I can’t have more, but you make me want it.”

Seb runs his fingers through his hair, tugging at the curls in frustration. “If you need artificial substances to cope with the reality of our relationship, then we’ve got some serious fucking problems.”

I can’t breathe. Seb rarely swears, but it appears this conversation has tipped him over the edge.

“We don’t have problems,” I manage to say.

“Are you fucking kidding me? We’re in a relationship, and you don’t talk to me!” His voice cracks, raw emotion bleeding through every word.

My lips feel numb. “We talk.”

“Bullshit, we talk. This is why you want me, isn’t it? Because I’m an easy person to be with because I don’t call you on your crap. Because deep inside, I’m still that fifteen-year-old boy who can’t even speak in your presence. I’m still the eighteen-year-old who can’t believe I get to touch you.” His shoulders heave, his entire body trembling.

“I’m still the twenty-five-year-old guy who couldn’t believe you wanted me again. And so I don’t say anything, even when I see you destroying yourself.” He swallows hard before continuing in a soft voice, “Even when it’s destroying me.”

My stomach drops, a cold wave of nausea washing over me. I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut, all the air forced from my lungs.

How can I answer that?

What is it about Seb that has kept me returning to him again and again?

Maybe I believe I can’t truly be a bad person if someone like Seb wants me. Someone so pure, so good.

Someone who balances me, who gives me a dose of reality in my life that I desperately crave. In a life where I’ve constantly been adrift, Seb has been the one person who has anchored me.

He’s what I need.

But I’m worried that being with me is not good for him.

I’m worried I’ll let him down. That’s ultimately what I’m afraid of, isn’t it? I’ll let him down like I let Emmy down.

I’ll never be the person Seb needs me to be.