WestFiction- "In the Arms of an Angel" by Xtine

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In the Arms of an Angel> chapters 29-30

Mark ran his hands through his dark locks as he walked through the woods. It was already dark and the radiance of the moon was his only light. He’d never get lost in Hazelwoods; he knows it by heart. Yet, he felt as if he's so lost. Scared and lost. How does one cope with feelings such as this? He's never felt this way, never felt so disoriented and so confused in all his life. He's never been in love like this, never felt the happy-sad pangs of this so-called feeling love in his entire life until Gaby.

He let out a long sigh and picked a grass and started ripping it. He watched it fall to the ground and felt sad. What was going through him was unfathomable. He found a nice spot and sat down, his knees pulled up, his arms round it. He placed his chin on it and stared ahead, gazed blankly at the vast space infront of him. How he wished he didn't feel this way. How he wished he could just shake his head and forget all about Gaby and the feelings he has for her. But he knew deep inside he couldn’t go back. He can't just walk away from her as if she has never touched him and live his normal life. He can't just walk away. Or can he?

“Can I just forget her?” he asked himself aloud. She obviously doesn't want me. And in less than 6 weeks she'll be going home and I`ll be leaving for the States to promote our single and album. There’ll be other girls---girls who like me. Surely I can just turn my back on her.” Tears started to seep through his eyes. “I bet I`ll be able to forget her in less than a week. Wait! I bet I can even come up to her now and tell her I don't need her, that I don't really care about her and that I can go on with my life without her!”

He stood up, feeling angry and disgusted with himself for his thoughts. But that was a step he has to take, something he needs to do before he completely loses it. Before he loves her even more and then be left alone. “Right,” he nodded several times, convinced that he'll confront Gaby and let her know that he doesn't need her in any way, that she doesn't matter.

With a heavy heart, he turned his back and started for home. He needs to rest before he confronted Gaby. He needs all the courage and acting abilities he has inside him. After all, it won't be easy to lie and tell her he doesn't care about her. Telling her he doesn't love her would be the hardest thing he'll have to do.

CHAPTER 30

Gaby rubbed her throbbing temples and grimaced. She was feeling better after her wonderful sleep last night but the angry throbbing of her head made her sick. She can never escape the angry pulsating of her head. As long as she lives, she'll forever have them. She went to the bathroom to take a shower when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She smiled and for once, she saw again the radiant grin she used to have. She saw her eyes, and how it shone, despite the dark circles under them. “Mark,” she muttered, smiling. She remembered being so close to him the day before she fainted. She remembered feeling his breath on her face, his hands on her arms, his eyes on hers. And how could she forget? She remembered seeing herself in Mark's dark-lashed blue eyes. She almost jumped with joy and felt sheer happiness course through her system. I gotta go tell him, she thought. I gotta let him know. I can't keep him in the dark anymore. I gotta tell him I love him, and that I want him. No more hiding. No more pretensions. Most of all, no more running away from what she feels. With that resolution in mind, she walked away from the mirror and stepped in the shower. She had a confession to make and she needed to do it soon.

Garbed in a black v-neck shirt, black jeans and black slip-ons, Gaby stepped outside to start her walk to the Feehily`s house. It wasn't that far from Anya`s place but Mark lived just outside Sligo so it would take her a good fifteen minutes. But that was fine. She needed more time and more courage.

She walked the steps to the front porch of the Feehily`s residence and felt nervous. She glanced at her watch. One o’ clock, she thought. I hope he's awake. She reached for the doorbell and rang it. As she stood there, waiting for someone to open the door, her courage started to wane. She rang again when no one opened the door. She sighed forlornly and turned around. I guess he doesn't want to see me anymore, she thought miserably, her head hanging down. She sat on the steps for a while and then started to walk away, her hands buried in her pockets.

“Gaby,” she heard someone call her name. She turned around to see a woman in her early forties standing at the porch. “You must be Gaby. Sorry I didn't get to open the door sooner. I was in the backyard planting some plants.”

She walked back and smiled politely, faced-to-faced with a woman in her early forties who resembled Mark's face. “You must be Mark's mum,” she acknowledged, extending her hand.

Marie nodded and smiled and took her hand into hers. “Come on in, sweetie. Mark's told me quite a lot about you.” She ushered her in the house. “Well, he's upstairs. I checked on him half an hour ago but he was still sleeping. But you can go up and see for yourself. I'll be in the backyard if you need help waking him up, though.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly and started climbing the stairs. Each step she took, her boldness abated. When she reached the last step, she squared her shoulders and scolded herself. “You are going to do this. NOW!”

She knocked on the second door at the left because loud music was coming from it and she knows Mark can't sleep without any music so she figured it was his room. She slightly opened the door and poked her head in. “Mark,” she called over the din. No answer. She decided to come in instead. The bed was still unmade, the blue duvet tossed on the side, but Mark wasn't lying there asleep. She glanced at his side table and saw a picture of herself and Mark when they were in the Equinox, celebrating Westlife`s achievement of being in the Guinness Book of World Records for their 5 consecutive number ones. She padded to where it was and held it, tracing the border of the frame, touching Mark's face with her fingers. She recalls that night vividly. How can she not? It was at that event that Mark took her in his arms and dance with her. It was that time she could feel his heart beating against hers. It was at that instance that she felt so happy, as if being in Mark's arms was finding a tiny spot in heaven, as if being in his arms was being wrapped protectively and warmly under an angel’s touch.

“What are you doing here?” a voice boomed behind her, causing her to slightly jump back.

She turned around to see Mark. There he was, about twenty feet away from her, a white towel wrapped around his waist, his chest hairs rumpled and so was his dark wet locks. She smiled inwardly seeing him in that state. She wanted nothing more but to reach out to him, drop the towel and kiss him! Stop those rude thoughts! she scolded herself.

“I asked you why you're here,” he repeated, grabbing a black shirt and turning around to wear it. The way she stared at him made him feel as if he was stark naked. What the hell is she doing here? he wondered, his heart beating wildly.

“Erm,” she began, her face blushing wildly, “go on and get dressed first. I'll turn around and I promise I won't look. Scout’s honor.”

Mark let out a chuckle. “Were you even a Girl Scout?”

“Of course!” she answered back. “I was a member when I was in seventh grade! I hated being in it though.”

He laughed again. He stood there, staring at her chew her lower lip. How he wanted to kiss her savagely, to make her his, to take care of her, to be hers. He shook his head off the thoughts. “Ok, turn around,” he commanded and she did.

Gaby was still holding the frame in her hands and she stared again, gathering her strength from it. Her cheekiness made her want to turn around and catch him without his towel. Snickering slightly, she turned her head a little and caught sight of the white towel on the carpeted floor. Feeling bolder, she turned more, hoping to see his shins, or knees or his pinchable Irish butt. She could see his legs, which she found sexy. Her eyes slowly moved up, inch by inch, hoping to see more. Instead, she saw Mark staring at her, laughter lurking in his lovely eyes.

“Scout’s honor, eh?” he teased, buttoning his khaki baggy shorts. “You we're peeking!”

“Couldn't help it, sorry,” she apologized, her cheeks burning with color. She just stood there, watching him watching her. Her eyes moved away and saw a brush lying on the dresser. “A brush,” she suddenly said, feeling awkward under Mark's scrutiny. She padded to the dresser, put down the frame she was still clutching and grabbed the brush. “Here,” she thrusted to Mark. “Fix your hair.”

“You do it,” he teased, flashing her a toothy smile, his dimples showing, his eyes twinkling.

She swallowed. “Ok,” she agreed, situating herself on the edge of the bed. “Grab that gel for me, will ya?”

He obliged and sat in front of her, leaning his back on her legs. She ran her hands through his thick locks and massaged his scalp and temples. He shut his eyes, his head lolling a bit whilst he reveled at the lavish touch of her hands. Then she started to slowly brush his hair, up and back again. She took a dollop of gel and rubbed it in, fixing his hair neatly.

“I like that,” he said.

“Well, your hair stylist can do better,” she replied, wiping the gel off her hands.

“I meant the massage,” Mark cleared, turning around to face her, his cheeks glowing with color as usual.

“Thanks, I guess,” she bowed her head and stared down at her hands.

“What are you doing here?” he asked for the third time. “You still haven't answered that question.”

“Brushing your hair?” she quipped, raising her brow, letting a small smile pass her pale lips.

“You can do better than that,” Mark took her hands and started playing with her fingers, lacing them with his, kneading her palms and cracking her knuckles.

“I came to tell you something, Mark. I just don't know where to start.” She wanted to pull her hands away but the crazy sensation she was feeling was so good she didn't want it to stop.

But he pulled his hands away. “Why don't you start with, ‘Mark, I'm sorry I didn't tell you I have brain tumor.’”

She gasped, her eyes widening with shock and fear. “How did you know?” she whispered achingly.

Mark bolted right up and began to pace back and forth. “How did I know?” he repeated, controlling the anger in his voice. “How did I fucking know?” he cursed, his nostrils flaring with fury. “I went to the hospital and asked the doctor. I went to Shane's house and had a go at him for having the guts to hide something like this from me! So basically, I found it from someone else!”

“You hurt Shane?” she asked, concern lurking in her voice.

Mark stopped pacing, fury and jealousy spreading through him like acid. “Yes, I did hurt your Shane,” he replied scathingly. “But didn't you ever stop to think that maybe you're hurting me too?”

She looked down on her hands again, clenching and unclenching them. She looked at him, straight in the eye, chewing her lip, her hands folding and unfolding on her lap. “Everyday, every night, I know I hurt you,” she acknowledged truthfully. “When you look at me, I curse myself for getting close to you because I hurt you.”

Mark's heart swelled with a mixture of pain and anguish and happiness. He walked back to her and sat across her. “Gaby, is it so hard for you to just tell me that you're sick?” he took her hands into his, to stop her nervous gesture and to feel her. Having her close makes him feel warm and fuzzy.

“It is damn hard. It is so hard…”

“Then why can you tell Shane about it and not to me?” he butted in.

“Because when I told Shane about it, it was just in a normal conversation…”

“Are you saying that we don't indulge in a normal conversation?” he cut again.

Gaby rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Let me finish! God,” she sighed, letting her shoulders droop. “ It’s hard to say you're sick when you're telling it to someone you care so much about, someone you can't bear to see hurt, someone you treasure so much that hurting them hurts you.”

Mark's head snapped. He felt his belly heat up. “You care about me?”

She nodded, not trusting her voice, her feelings for that matter. “Do you at least understand me now?” she asked several seconds later.

“Yes,” he replied simply. “But, Gaby, I don't care if I get hurt. I don't care if I fall over and weep my eyes out. I just don't care. All I want is to be there for you.”

She pulled her hands from his and looked away. Suddenly, she wanted to run and hide. This was too much. Mark telling him he cares about her was too much. This means pain for her and him when she dies. But is she more scared of hurting herself than hurting Mark? Or is she just being selfish, depriving Mark of the love he deserves? And depriving herself, too, of a love that could keep her going until the day she inhales her last breath?

Mark, on the other hand just sat there, perched on his heel, his head cradled in his big hands. All his cruel thoughts last night, the things he wanted to say oh so scathingly to her disappeared. He can't hurt her, he just can't. He just can't tell her “I don't care about you and I don't give a goddamn thing about you! So screw you!” He can't do that because he knows he'll end up hurting not only her but him as well. This was all too much. Hiding and running away from the emotions he feels are just too excruciatingly vexing and tedious. Why can't I just blurt it out? he wondered. I did it once. I can do it again.

Gaby slowly brought back her gaze to Mark’s face. She cleared her throat, squared her shoulders, hoping she looked decisive, strong and tough. “Mark, I have brain tumor,” she blurted out. Her voice didn't come out the way it was supposed to. She sounded too squeaky. Her voice went from gravely to high pitched, like a radio being tuned.

“I know,” he answered simply. Yet the impact of her words slapped him like a bucket of ice-cold water, freezing him to immobility, his eyes, wide open in shock. “I know and I'm scared.”

Gaby moved closer to him, taking his disturbed and forlorn face into her hands. He won't look at her, resisting her efforts to raise his head so she can look at his eyes. “Mark, look at me,” she demanded. And he did. What she saw made her cry. There he was, his eyes shining brightly with tears and sadness, as it streamed down his rosy cheeks. His lips were trembling and he was shaking like a leaf. “Don’t cry, please,” she begged, her voice breaking softly into a sob. “Mark, please. Don't cry.”

“I can't help it,” he said in between sobs. “I can't. I'm so scared. For you, for me.”

She wiped his tears with her thumbs and hugged him with all her might. “I'm scared too.”

“I'm scared for what I feel. I'm scared to tell you again this time what I feel for you. And I'm scared to lose you. I'm scared to lose you before we can even begin our life together.” He broke down again, leaning towards her, pressing his body to her, not able to contain the fear surrounding his heart.

Gaby started to cry as well, letting tears of fear and bittersweet joy come rushing. God, how she loves him. “Mark, I came here not only to tell you that I'm seriously sick. I also came here to tell you something important. I came to…”

“Shhh…” he stopped her, wiping tears away from her eyes. “I want to say something first.”

She looked at him, nodding. “Okay.”

Mark cleared her throat, taking her hands again into his, linking them. “Last night, I came to a resolution that I will turn my back on you.” Gaby`s hands flinched, hurt by what he said. “I'm supposed to do it today, to tell you that I don't want, need or love you in anyway and that I can go on with my life without you.”

Tears started to brim in her eyes but she blinked them back. So Mark was going to come to her and reject her. And here she was, coming to his place to profess her love for him.

“Please don't cry, Gaby,” he whispered achingly. “Let me finish. Let me get it all out.”

She just nodded, keeping her head lowered, not daring to look in his eyes, scared that she'll see nothing in his eyes anymore.

“First,” he said, lifting her chin, “you have to look at me.”

She did and her glorious eyes met his and she tried her best to give a smile.

“Anyway, I had it all thought out. I came home, thinking, yeah, I’ll tell her that tomorrow. But it didn't felt good, coming up with an idea like that. I hated myself last night and I hate myself for even thinking about it. I've spent a great number of hours rehearsing in my mind what to tell you, how to tell you so that you won't see through the lie, the deceit. I've also conjured up what your reactions would be, so I would come prepared. But then you came here. You brushed my hair, you massaged my temples, you attempted to peep on me and you confronted me and told me you are sick.” He dropped his shoulders, his energy drained. “I saw you and then all thoughts of being able to survive without you just flew out of the window.”

Gaby smiled through her tears and cradled Mark's face with her left hand and brushed away the tears coming from his blue eyes with her other hand. “Oh Mark,” she said in a whisper.

“One look at you, Gaby and I know I would hate myself for the rest of my life if I let you slip through my fingers, if I just turn my back on you and never look back. I've turned my back on a lot of girls, let love passed me by and I don’t want to do it again.” He reached for the towel lying on the carpet and blew his nose. He was having a hard time breathing already. “I guess, what I'm trying to say is that I can't hurt you, I can't just look at you and say I can get you out of my life with the snap of my finger because you're a nobody in my life. Because you're everything to me now.” he turned slightly to the right to kiss her palm lying so gently on his cheek.

“Mark,” she began softly, caressing his rosy cheeks, her heart squirming inside her chest like a big trout caught in a net. “I would have seen through your lies.”

“You would?” he asked.

She nodded. “Remember that day just before I passed out?” He nodded. How could he forget? He just told him he loved her that day. “Before everything went black, I saw your eyes. And I saw my face in there. I saw my face and inside I cried with so much joy. I have wanted so much to look at you in the eye and see myself in there and I saw myself in your big blue eyes.”

Mark's heart began to ache with so much joy. It swelled with so many emotions he was scared it would burst out like a balloon. He searched her dark eyes, looking for a confirmation, seeking for a sign that what she said was true. And he did.

He saw in her big chocolate brown shining eyes his face, his own face. It was like staring in a mirror only better. Along with his reflection, he saw raw emotions and deep passion lurking in her eyes. He wanted to grab and kiss her, to scream that he's in love with her but he didn't. Instead, he took her hands, laced it with his big chubby ones and squeezed them gently, not moving his gaze away from her.

Gaby blushed, turning beet-red. Her neck was heating up and she could feel her palms sweating under his touch. Should I tell him? she asked herself in confusion and fear. What then if I tell him? She squared her shoulders for the nth time and looked away. By the way he was holding her hands, she knew that he knows what's in her heart.

“Don’t look away from me, Gaby,” Mark gently said, removing his right hand with hers, delicately turning her face to his, so he could see her eyes and see himself, see the emotions, see the love she has for him.

“I'm scared,” she whispered, admitting defeat.

“Of what?” he asked incredulously, brushing her soft cheek with his right thumb.

“I'm scared of you,” she began and Mark flinched. “No, not scared scared,” she defended. “I'm scared of falling in love with you, not that I'm still not…”

“You are?” he cut in, sitting straighter and his smile widening.

“Please, just let me finish,” she pleaded and he nodded. “I'm scared because if I say it out loud what I feel for you, it would make me so vulnerable, it would make everything real. And real things, most of the time, hurt. Besides, I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to break your heart, and see you in pain when I pass away. I can't bear to see you in that state.” She pulled her hands away from his and covered her face. She wasn't making any sense.

“Shhh…” Mark shushed her, pulling her close to him, down to the carpet, rocking her gently back and forth. “I told you, I don't care. I don't care if I get hurt when you…when you…” the words he wanted to say won't come out. He didn't want to say it; it hurts too damn much to say that she's going to die.

“When I die,” she filled in for him, resting her face on his chest, inhaling his Hugo Boss aftershave.

He nodded. “I don't care, you know? I just don't. This is the challenge, the risk we have to take. Your sickness should never be a reason why we can't be together. It shouldn't keep you from feeling, from living because if you do, you've ceased to live and you're nothing but a mechanical rabbit being controlled by your brain tumor.”

Gaby`s eyes shone with tears, her heart ballooning with pain and happiness. She pressed her cheek closer to his chest, hearing the fast palpitations of his heart. His heart, she cooed silently. His heart belongs to me, she thought happily, smiling inside. She moved her arms and caged him in her touch. He smiled at the gesture. He wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of his life wrapped around in her embrace, to have her cheek on his chest and to have her beside him until his hair thins out and his teeth falls off.

“Mark,” she began, her voice muffled for she was pressing her face in his chest. “I think I'm in love with you.” There, she said it. The words have escaped her lips.

“What?” Mark asked, his face beaming with happiness. But he wanted her to say it whilst looking into his eyes, and not while hiding her face on his shirt. “I can't hear you. You have to move your face away from my chest if you want me to hear you.”

She smirked. Like hell you didn't hear me, she thought sarcastically. She raised her head slowly, a smile plastered on her now radiant face. “I said, I think I'm in love with you.”

“You think?” he queried, raising his lovely left eyebrow. “You think or you know? There’s a difference between what you think and what you know. And if you only think you're in love with me, then that just doesn't sound definite because…”

“Shut up!” she screamed a little, reaching for his chest and tweaking his right nipple.

“OUCH!” he yelped, rubbing his chest. “What was that for?”

“For your gibberish,” she reasoned out, flashing him her white teeth.

“I just want to make sure, to clear things up because I don't want to get my hopes up, not that I'm not yet hoping, and expect that you feel the same way…”

“Shut up!” she yelled again. “There you go again, chattering crap!” she took his hands and placed hers over his. “You know why our hands were made as such? You know, the gaps and all?” she asked after a moment of silence.

Mark looked at her quizzically. “Now you're the one talking crap!”

She shook her head, a little bit irked. “I'm serious, Mark Michael Patrick Feehily!”

“Uh-oh,” he mumbled. “Sorry. Why did God made our hands as such? The gaps and all?” he asked, repeating her question, verbatim.

“So that when you meet that someone meant for you, their hands can fill the gaps,” she answered quietly, looking down on their hands and watched as the gaps began to disappear and their hands become intertwined, becoming one.

They stared at each other, relishing the moment of being able to communicate with the power of their touch. Mark started stroking her hands with his thumbs and she smiled with delight. The effect of his caress was intoxicating, almost addicting. I love you, Mark thought, whilst brushing her hands with his. I love you. I love you so much. I love you more than anything, or more than life, whatever that means. I love you and I love what I feel. I love you, his heart screamed joyfully. His strokes went from fast to slow to hard to soft. Please say you love me, too. He begged, looking at her straight in the eye. Say it! Say it! I want to hear you tell me that you love me as much as I love you.

Gaby hardened her grip on his hands, making him stop the stroking. She just held on to his hands, not too tight and not too loose—secured enough that his hands wouldn’t fall from her touch.

And it was at that moment, that one shining instance that Gaby knew with all her heart she wanted to be with him. Her heart broke free from the confining chains she has built around her and she felt her spirit soar high in the clouds. This is love. This is love and she has it!

She leaned forward so that her face was only a couple of inches away from Mark's. She could feel his warm, minty breath on her cheeks. “I don't think I'm in love with you, Mark,” she began but the sudden pained look etched on his face made her stop. “No, that's not what I meant. I don't think I'm in love with you because I know I am in love with you. I am so in love with you!” she blurted out, her face burning red and shining with pure, unadulterated love.

Mark grabbed her fiercely and caged her in his arms, burying his face in her neck. She felt something hot on her skin and pulled Mark away from her. There he was, Mark Michael Patrick Feehily, the handsomest lad of Westlife, the love of her life, crying, tears falling from his crystal blue eyes. Her heart ached for him, seeing him like that.

“Don't cry. Don’t cry,” she chanted, brushing away the tears with her lips as she kissed the corner of his eyes.

“You just made me so happy,” Mark admitted. “Now how’s that for cheesy?”

She snickered. “That’s not cheesy. I think it's sweet!” she leaned forward and gave him a quick kiss. She felt lighthearted and she felt wonderful. It was like the dark clouds have been lifted and the rays of the sun were shining through. For once in her life, ever since she found out she's dying, she felt whole again, a person once more who can feel, and who can love. This is the time she's been waiting for, the moment she’d been longing for. And she's got it.

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