“Your pain,” I said. “Makes me want to tear some shit apart.”
His lips formed an O.
I grinned at the stunned expression and reached around his body to unlock the door. With the heel of my palm, I shoved it open and placed my hands on his hips. He matched me step for step as I guided him into the apartment, blinking when I threw the door shut and flipped all the locks.
Eyes wide and curious, his shoes squeaked when he rotated and took in the sight of my apartment. Shaky fingers tugged at his bottom lip the way they always did when he was thinking. His sweatshirt was clenched in the fist of his other hand, and he dragged it behind him like a blanket when he put one tentative step in front of the other.
My apartment looked like a stock photo, one you’d see in an overpriced, gaudy frame or a website for people who got horny for furniture. Living room on one side, kitchen on the other, it was all pretty standard until you reached the end of the foyer and came eye to eye with a curved, iron staircase.
It reminded me of the one my father used to throw me down.
My bedroom was at the top of the landing, flanked by a few extra that I’d kept empty. The door to the gym was at the end of the hallway. It was the room I spent the most time in.
“Ohmygod.”Marcos stared at me. “I’m going to have to take out a loan to fix your door.”
“I don’t care about the door.”
“But I ruined it.”
“I like it that way.”
I wasn’t a fucking fan of the reason behind those marks, but I liked that they werehis.They belonged to me now, and I damn well wanted them.
Toeing off my boots, I left them in a crooked heap and peeled down the zipper to my jacket. The ache in my abdomen pulsed, but it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle, and I sure as shit would lift him if I damn well pleased.
Marcos spent every day in the hospital beside me, and though he started leaving in the afternoons to go to work, he always came back before the sun went down, looking like he’d been chewed up and spit out.
I should’ve ordered him to stay.
He started the nights in that ugly chair but finished it at the end of my bed, curled around my leg. Marcos was good at pretending, and every morning, he peeled himself from my body with warm cheeks and ignored where he’d been.
I wouldn’t let him pretend. Not anymore.
“Solnysh—”
My spine stiffened, and I took two heavy steps in his direction. He was pale-faced. Still as stone. The faraway look in his eyes had become something familiar to me now, as did the way his hands clenched right before he shoved them in his hair.
Chest falling, his body bowed forward like he was getting ready to scream.
“Marcos.” I curled my arm behind his back and forced his upper body to make contact with mine. His muscles shook beneath my touch. “Marcos, baby. Talk to me.”
“Blood.” His hands shot out and gripped my shirt, clawing at the bottom like he was trying to tear it off my body. “Blood. Blood. Blood. Too much blood.”
Son of a bitch.
I ripped the damn thing over my head and tossed it across the room. Freddy’s blood was smeared across the front of it, and though I’d barely gotten to have any fun, the shirt made it look like I’d been to a slaughter.
“You’re hurt!”
“I’m not hurt, Solnyshko.” I gripped his frantic hands and pressed them to my bare chest. “Look at my eyes.”
Chin sweeping upward, he made a weak sound. His eyes moved strangely, growing and shrinking like they had a heartbeat of their own.
“Good boy. I’m not hurt, okay? That wasn’t my blood.”
I guided his palms over the ridge of my chest, stopping just beside the bandage I still wore. His forehead fell against my sternum, and he stared down at its clean edges.
“What the fuck,” he mumbled, breathing roughly.
