"The power of my body as I held him in my arms, his neck as awkward as a broken stem, was useless in its strength. Where, where is the softness that could have cradled him? Breasts are needed, and roundness and softness, for the dead bodies of our children, as we hold them to us in the wild truthfulness of our grief. The hardness of my chest gave his face no place to hide. My muscled arms felt obscene and threatening, as they tried to gather and shape the brokenness of his body to me." [...] "Others now were in the pit. They formed a silent circle round us, the naked man and his jeaned and sweatered beautiful dead son."
Something special for Hallowe’en! Three wonderful, slightly spooky, behind-the-scenes photos of a ‘dead’ Martyn (Rupert Graves) in Louis Malle’s Damage (1992)
The make-up continuity shots were shared by MUA Louise Constad on her Instagram (@louiseconstad)
Welcome to the start of Martyn’s story! I hope you will enjoy it!
Chris Marshall Advent (01.-08.12.)
***
09.12.
***
[text] I miss you.
[text] I miss seeing you. Sitting at our kitchen table. Lying on the couch. Everywhere.
[text] I miss talking to you. I miss it so much it hurts.
You stare at the phone in your hand and hit send before you can change your mind or become aware of what you are doing. Sending text messages to the old phone number of your fiancé. Your former fiancé. He will never be your husband. And just thinking about that hurts so much that you feel like you can’t breathe.
Ever since the accident you felt like you forgot how to be happy. Especially around Christmas. That is the most difficult time of the year for you. But it has been years now and you know that your friends and family are right. You should move on. You should be able to move on.
You definitely feel like you deserve some credit for moving to a new city, a new apartment, for starting a new job… It should feel like a new start, a new chance at happiness. But Christmas is already hanging in the air and the old sadness and loneliness seems to take a hold of you again.
It didn’t help that you found your old phone in one of your moving boxes and after checking if it still works you also found… him. His phone number. Saved under his nickname. Just seeing this and the digits that you somehow still know by heart makes your palms sweat and your stomach tightening itself up in knots.
Your fingers were trembling when you typed out the first message. And then the second and third and fourth and before you knew it you texted him throughout the day. Telling him about your day. Your feelings. Everything. There never came a reply. Of course not.
But it seems to help you. To have this connection to him still even though he isn’t there anymore. And strangely it has helped you to feel better, slightly more at home in this new place. Working still didn’t happen easily but you muddle your way through. But you want to text him nice things you see and do, so that maybe…wherever he is he might be proud of you.
[text] I will go to a bar tonight. Someone from work invited me. I think I want her to be my friend. I checked the place online. I think you would have liked it. I will tell you more later.
You send the message and grab your green coat before you can talk yourself out of it. You walk the short distance of a few blocks to the bar. Your work friend isn’t there yet. There are only two people sitting at the bar. You barely look at them but as you walk past them you feel a prickling feeling that someone is watching you.
*
The beautiful banner of the beautiful Martyn was made by the amazing @once-upon-a-mystrade
Today we say goodbye to Martyn. Time flew with him. I hope you enjoyed the story of him and his Christmas Romance. Tomorrow I will post the link to the place where you can find all parts of the story at once and then it will be Claude Becker’s turn to lead us to the holidays in the next 8 days...
You feel awful when you hear the knock on your apartment door the next morning. You look worse when you see yourself in the mirror. With dark bags under your eyes, looking pale, weak and unhappy.
Your friend is standing in front of you, holding up a bag filled with groceries. “Breakfast.” She smiles and walks straight into your kitchen.
You watch her and sit down at the table while she starts to do her magic. Soon your apartment is filled with delicious smells.
“Did you get some sleep?” She asks and gives you a once over. “You did not. Did a lot of thinking, hm? I did too.” She shrugs.
You just look at her and wait what she has to say. “I just…I can’t help but think you were a bit harsh to him. Yes, he acted like an arsehole!” She adds quickly when she sees the betrayed look in your eyes. “Yes, he should have told you that he got your messages right away when he saw you instead of acting creepy… but…” She shrugs again and starts to load some eggs, bacon and toast onto two plates.
You are still waiting what she wanted to say in his defence but she decided to feed you first and you really felt hungry now.
“It’s just…he changed so much. In my life. Being with him. He listened. He made me cook again, for fun…for him.”
“And that’s definitely a good thing he did.” She says quietly and carefully and watches you eat.
“I…I also got you a newspaper.” She puts it down next to your plate. “I…I think you should read it.”
She smiles and gets up to load your dish washer.
You frown at the large headline and shake your head. You never read the newspaper and only check the news online. Didn’t everyone?
There is nothing on the front page you want to read right now, reading about politics would only make you feel sick all over again.
You turn the page. Once. Twice.
There!
Next to an article about a successful photography exhibition that opened last night you can suddenly see your name.
“A Message for You.” Is the subtitle.
Your stomach clenches and your heart beats faster. “An article by Martyn Fleming.” You whisper.
“Yes! He wrote an article about you!” Your colleague can’t help but gasp.
But you almost can’t hear her as your eyes are already flying over every word he has written.
It is an apology letter to you. In the only way he knows how to write it. Exposing his own intimate thoughts and feelings like he made you feel exposed.
“I met you. And for the first time I felt connected to someone in this way. Love is difficult, it’s messy, it drives you crazy and makes you do incredibly stupid things. It’s laughing in a bar and dancing in the middle of the park, it’s watching a ballet and sitting in a small kitchen eating amazing food. I know that now. Only because of you. Because you put your heart into my hands. Where, instead of being safe, I held it too tightly. Hurt it, with the need to hold you close, achieving the opposite of what I wanted: I lost you. And maybe I will never see you, my heart, again. Or maybe, just maybe, you will give love another chance. Tonight, at the same time, the same place where I fell in love with you.”
You swallow hard and clear your throat. It’s not that easy. He can’t just write this and expect you to forgive him and to give him a second chance....
You rub your eyes and wrap your arms around yourself.
It would be easier to stay mad at him if you did not miss him that much. You heard his voice when you read the article as if he read the words to you. You saw his fingers flying over the keyboard of his laptop. You saw him scratch his neck thinking about finding the right words. You saw his red rimmed eyes when he looked at you the last time.
My heart.
You press your own palm over your heart. It belonged to someone else and it shattered into so many pieces when you lost him. Then it got put together again by Martyn. Who has a shattered heart himself. Who dared to trust again. To love again. You felt his heartbeat under your palms. Strong and skipping a beat when you touched him.
My heart.
You look at your friend and she gives you a slight nod. “No matter what you decide to do…I’ll support you.”
You smile at her and take a deep breath. “Thank you. For everything.”
Then you get up to help her clean the kitchen. You don’t have to make a decision right now after all…
But time keeps ticking and you keep checking your watch. The same time and place where he fell in love with you?
You bite your lip and find yourself thinking about it every minute of the day.
When the sun is going down you put on your green coat and all your courage. You’re putting your heart on the line here after all.
It’s beating quicker and quicker the closer you come to the opera house. You walk up the steps and look around.
But he’s not there.
You check your watch and decide to walk to the subway station.
But he’s not there.
Is he playing with you again?
You really want to find him now. To slap him more than to kiss him though.
The park is lit up with Christmas lights but he’s not there.
The bar is your next stop. And you can’t see him anywhere.
You curse and stop a taxi.
He has to be at the next place!
The taxi stops in front of the food truck where he invited you to dinner.
Your fingers are trembling when you walk along the path leading up to it. You don’t know what you’ll do if he isn’t there. And you don’t know what to do if he’s there.
One step after the other.
Look around.
Many people are walking around.
But there is one lonely person sitting on the low wall off to the side. His elbows on his knees. His face hidden in his hands, his shoulders slumped in defeat.
He looks up when he hears someone approaching. As soon as he sees you he sits up straight.
You look at him. See the spark in his eyes, the tiny feathery thing called hope growing in his heart.
You just look at him and throw your hands up in exasperation: “How am I supposed to know when and where you fell in love with me?!?”
He lets out a sudden noise, caught between a laugh and sob, and then he’s just right there. In front of you. His heart in his eyes.
“I’m sorry.” He says and holds your gaze.
You want to reply that he can’t ever hurt you again but then the words won’t come out of your mouth. You know he can’t promise you that. But his gaze tells you that he will try his best not to do it again.
So you nod and take his hand. “What do you think about getting a new phone for Christmas?”
He starts to smile and holds on tightly as he leans down to kiss you.
Again and again.
*
The cute banner was made by the cute @once-upon-a-mystrade
“This looks and smells amazing.” He smiles and leans against your kitchen counter. He looks like he belongs there. In your kitchen. Your apartment. In your life.
“Thanks.” You smile brightly and lean into him for the shortest moment before turning your attention back to your pots and pans. It has been a long time since you cooked for someone else in your life.
It feels so special to do it for him now.
“I’m sorry I’m not a big help.” He smiles.
“That’s okay. You brought the wine. That’s helping too.” You smile at him. “You brought my favourite after all.” That had been a very nice surprise at the beginning of your evening together.
He smiles and runs his fingers through his hair as if he is slightly embarrassed by being able to guess which wine was your favourite.
“I’ll pour you a glass.” He clears his throat and holds the glass out to you. You wink at him and take a sip before adding a splash of it to your sauce.
“Dinner will be ready in two minutes.”
*
It is so easy to talk to him. Being a journalist and the editor of a newspaper he has an abundance of topics to talk about in his mind. He is smart but not arrogant about it. But you like talking about him the most. You just want to get to know him better.
The wine and food seem to help to loosen his tongue a little bit. It’s obvious that he doesn’t like talking about himself much. There must be something painful lingering in his memory. You can tell by the dark shadows that seem to fill his expression when you ask about his family or the reason for moving away from his home to another country on the other side of the ocean.
“It’s difficult for me to talk about.” He says after a while. “I never told anyone about it before.” He licks his lips and takes another long sip of wine.
“You don’t have to tell me.” You say, well aware of your own past shadows and difficult stories.
“I want to.” He gives you a small lopsided small. “I just…It’s not a fun story. And it’s not easy to tell…” He says and almost sounds scared.
You just nod and gently touch his knuckles. It’s only then that he realises that he clenched his hands into fists.
“Let’s sit on the sofa.” You suggest. To change the topic to make him feel more at easy again.
He lets out a shaky breath and carries your wine glasses over to the living room table.
“Thanks.” He sighs and leans his head back against the sofa as soon as he sits down. You let your eyes wander along the line of his neck and try not to let out a longing sigh.
He turns his head and holds your gaze. His eyes seem an even darker shade of brown as he licks his lips and clears his throat again. His hands are resting on his thigh.
“I…I used to be engaged. It didn’t end well.” He murmurs and your breath hitches. For one second you think you might have made the same sad experiences but then he starts to talk again and you feel like you can’t breathe anymore. You are so angry on his behalf. How could someone do this to someone else? Someone they claim to love? How could a fiancée do this to her partner? But more importantly how could a father do this to his son?
You reach out and take his hand. He’s holding onto yours tightly. “I walked in on them.” He rubs his eyes as if he could still see the two of them. “It was the worst moment. I couldn’t even scream. I was just…shocked. The two of them…I never saw her again after this day. Only saw my father twice. When he moved out of the house. They just…they really damaged me. In more ways than one.” He closes his eyes and squeezes your hand. “They left scars on my heart and soul and on my body….I’ll never be able to forget it. After I saw them I fell down the banister. Nearly broke my neck. I guess I should be happy that I got away with the scars on my back.” He sighs. Silence falls down between you. You lean your head back as well and gently touch your forehead to his.
“I’m so sorry.” You murmur. He brushes his thumb over the back of your hand. “I lost my fiancé too. It was an accident...” You whisper and cling to the feeling of his hand in yours.
“I’m so sorry.” He whispers and opens his eyes again to look at you. He is so very near. It feels good to finally talk about this. To tell him your story and to know his. You trust him.
You feel like hours pass in mere minutes as you sit there, holding hands, just talking.
You can see the sky getting lighter with the new day when you clear your throat.
“So you want to be with someone you can trust. Someone you can laugh with. Someone who supports you in life. And what’s the fourth thing?” He smiles. It’s so nice to see him smile again now that the darkness of the night and your memories seem to have disappeared in the golden light of the rising sun.
“Passion. I want to be with someone I’m passionate about. Someone who makes me long for his touch. ..I think you should always be with someone who makes your body ache in each place they haven’t touched you yet…because you can’t wait and you just want to feel…them.”
He nods slowly and leans even closer. His voice is a rough whisper. Maybe from talking so much or maybe from something else. It sends a shiver down your spine in any case.
“So…do you feel an ache somewhere now?”
You hold his gaze for a moment before you look at his lips.
“Absolutely everywhere.”
*
The cute banner was made by the cute @once-upon-a-mystrade
[text] I am here now. At the bar. I feel like everyone is watching me because I am alone. I hope she will show up soon!
Somewhere in the bar you hear a phone chime with an incoming message sound but you pay it no mind as you suddenly see your colleague (and hopefully soon-to-be friend) walk into the bar. She gives you a hug and orders you the first round of drinks.
It is very easy to talk to her and you find yourself smiling a lot. It feels good to do that again. Till she asks about your relationship status and you don’t know what to say. You don’t want to ruin your nice evening but in the end you tell her anyway. She should know this about you when she wants to become your friend.
It feels nice when she hugs you again afterwards and orders you new round of drinks. You need this now.
Afterwards you feel a bit tipsy and stumble into someone sitting at the bar. “Oh. Sorry.” You murmur without looking at them. “It’s okay.” A warm hand touches your arm but is gone quickly as soon as you are steady again.
“Oh. He’s cute!” Your colleague grins but you are not in the mood for this. You wave her off and stop a taxi to get home.
*
The next day starts much too early and you only have time for a strong coffee and a quick text message before you have to go back to work. You hope that the cooking smells in the restaurant won’t make your stomach turn.
“Hey. You look a bit pale.” Your colleague greets you with a grin. “What do you say? You and me? The ballet? Tonight?” She grins and holds out two tickets. “I wanted to take a friend but she cancelled last minute. Is this your thing? The nutcracker?”
You swallow hard and nod. It is your thing. Or rather…it was your thing. Before…
[text] It has been three years. And I will go and see The Nutcracker again. You remember the times we watched it together?
You check your face in the mirror again more than you’d like to admit before you leave for the opera house. Your seat is great but again you can’t shake the feeling that someone is watching you. And if you start crying during the show your colleague is nice enough not to mention it.
Once the show is over you wrap yourself into your warm coat and walk down the long staircase. But then the prickling feeling of being watched is back strongly and when you look up you see… him.
A man. Standing there. Wearing a black suit, matching his black shirt and tie. His dark hair combed out of his face, a coat lying across his arm. He’s looking at you. Just at you.
He’s very handsome and you find yourself unable to look away as you walk down the last few steps towards him. He starts to smile and his whole face lights up. He’s looking younger when he’s smiling.
You don’t even try to side step him. There is just something about him that makes you feel…things you haven’t felt in a very long time.
“Hello. My name is Martyn.” His voice sounds vaguely familiar to you but you can’t place it -or him. Instead you find yourself holding his gaze and smiling back at him. “It’s nice to meet you. Martyn.”
*
The pretty banner was made by the pretty @once-upon-a-mystrade
You are still staring at the phone lying on the ground when you hear the bathroom door open. It takes all your strength to lift your gaze, to look at him.
He is looking very pale. Almost scared?
But then everything around you seems to come crashing down and you are filled with the sharp pain of betrayal, anger and grief when you end the call with trembling fingers.
“What did you do?” You ask, not recognizing the sound of your own voice.
“Does that mean you read them? My texts?” You fill sick in the pit of your stomach, your heart beating up in your throat.
He doesn’t reply. The silence seems to suffocate you. He opens his mouth to speak but no word comes out.
Then he lowers his gaze and you just know it is true.
“You read my texts…Those where my most intimate thoughts! I didn’t even tell any of that to my friends or my family.” Your sadness and anger makes your voice tremble and you hate it. You clench your hand around the phone in your hand and try not to start crying.
“Did you read them because you liked it? To laugh about me? To…get off on finding me!” Your voice is getting thinner and thinner and he’s just standing there not meeting your eyes anymore.
“In…the bar? That was you, wasn’t it? The opera house!” You gasped, breathing quickly. “Did you…stalk me?”
“N…” He starts to say, finally looking at you again, but you can’t stand it. Thoughts are racing in your mind and you just…you can’t breathe.
“I need to get…I need to get out of here.” You say even though you are in your flat. You just needed to get away from him. Now!
You scramble to get your clothes on when he comes up to you. “No…please…I…”
“No. You took him away from me. All over again. This was the only way I could speak to him…” Words are tumbling out of your mouth, you have no control over them anymore.
“No...” His voice is a mere whisper. “I didn’t take him away from you…He’s not..he’s not here anymore. But I’m here.”
His words break down the last of your barriers and you gasp for air while tears start to fall from your eyes. Your body hurts. Your heart hurts.
When you look at him again there is a wild pain in his eyes.
“I…I am here! And…I…I got those messages. I read them. They came to me. And they did something with me. They…changed something inside of me.” His hand flies up to his heart and you can’t take it anymore.
You look at him through the veil of your tears and push him away.
“What did you think would happen with the phone number? The messages? Where do you think there were going?” He asks, his voice louder now, desperate…
The louder he got the quieter you became.
“I don’t know.” You whisper and wipe your eyes. “I don’t know what would happen to the number…the text messages. But I know I didn’t think that some arsehole would read them…” You say, your voice breaking.
You give him one last look, see your own pain reflected in his face before you walk past him and out of your flat.
You have no goal. You have idea if he’d leave. You just know that you need to get away from him. As quickly and as far away as possible.
So you wander through the streets aimlessly, shiver in the cold December air. It matches the coldness of your grief, your hurt and takes away the last bit of warmth you had felt in the last few days.
You wander around till you stand in front of the Italian restaurant. You have got no tears left.
Your colleague sees you and takes you inside. Wraps a blanket around you. Brings you a hot coffee.
“What happened?” She asks and sits and listens till you have got no words left either.
“I will walk you home now.” She says and does just that. She makes sure you get home safely. She makes sure he isn’t there anymore. She cooks you some food that you can barely eat and then she makes sure you get into bed.
“I can stay here if you want.” She offers but you only shake your head. She did so much for you already.
“Alright. But I’ll be here again first thing tomorrow. I’ll bring breakfast.” She says and gives you a small smile.
“Thank you.” Is the first thing you manage to say again.
You listen to her leave the apartment and pull your sheets tightly around you.
They smell like him. They feel like his strong warm embrace.
As it turns out you still have a lot more tears left to cry…
*
The pretty banner was made by the fantastic @once-upon-a-mystrade
