13. Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Thirteen
Marco
“ C ome on, big guy.”
God, his voice was so fucking irritating. Why the fuck was he ruining my nap when I was so fucking tired ? Didn't he know how tired I was? The stupid fucker knew everything else about me, so he must know that, too. I batted at him and failed—his grip was surprisingly strong around my wrist. Or maybe I was just that tired.
“Nice try, but we’re not getting kinky in the car when you can't even keep your eyes open. Up, Marc. We’re almost there.” The hand around my wrist tugged and I moved with the motion despite wanting to stay right where I was. Every muscle felt like Jello. My brain felt like soup. Soup would be good right about now. Jello, too. Tight arms around my torso slowed the spinning spiraling swirl.
“Jesus fuck, man. You weigh a fucking ton. Use your fucking legs for two God damn seconds.”
My back hit cold metal and I let my head roll with the motion until it thunked against something hard. Good enough. I could sleep here, probably.
“For fuck’s sake…”
I let my head loll toward the sound of his too-loud voice. He had a nice voice. Too much swearing, but it was funny sometimes.
“Luca, please tell me you're in the city.”
Huh . I didn't hear Luca. Why was Bran talking so loud?
“Thank fuck. Come to the garage. I can't get your dumb fuck brother upstairs alone.”
Okay, rude. I tried to lift my arm, tried to punch him in his dumb fuck mouth, but it was too hard when I was so fucking tired . My hand connected with something soft and warm, so I settled for holding on to keep the tilt-o-whirl ride from knocking me over. Man, I loved the tilt-o-whirl ride. And the loopy coasters. Maybe I'd join a traveling carnival. Yeah, that sounded awesome.
“M’gonna buy… rolly coasster.” I pawed at the soft warmth and mumbled more words.
“Right. Okay. You do that, baby.” Warm hands pressed into my cheeks. Not warm. Hot. His hands were so hot and it felt so fucking good . “Marc, hey. Stay with me. You can sleep in a minute.”
“Yeaahh. S'nice. Ssleepover. Alwayss wanted… when you’n’Luca’d… shoulda ‘nvited me.”
“Holy fuck, what the hell did you guys get up to?”
Hey, that was my little bro. Man, were we really gonna have a sleepover? Fuck, that's so cool. I was always so fucking jealous of them as kids.
“Him. It was all him, courtesy of seven shots of liquor in about seven fucking minutes. I'm surprised he's still conscious… barely.”
Brandon. Bran. I leaned toward his voice. Or maybe that was gravity making me move? Fuck that bitch. So tired.
“Shit, Marc!”
“Marco!”
“Come on, baby.”
Too much touching. Too much. Too… much…
“Dude, no. We gotta call Ma.”
“Shut up, Luca. We aren't calling your mom. Do you think he wants her to find out like this?”
Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. Fuck, everything was so loud. Too loud. Why was the world spinning so bad? Why was it so hard to breathe? Why were they yelling?
“I don't give a fuck what he wants, Henny! That shit is no joke and I don't know if you can mix it with liquor.”
“So fucking Google it!” The rattle of pills in plastic bottles hitting the ground blasted through my skull like bombs detonating. Like gunshots. So fucking loud. My voice was even louder as I groaned. Why was everything so fucking hard?
“See? He ain't dying. He's just fucked up.”
“Check his pulse.”
My world went topsy turvy again as the surface I was laying on moved, dipped, shifted. Oh God, I was gonna hurl if it didn't stop moving. Icy fingers hit my neck and panic rose with the bile. Don't touch. Don't touch. Don't touch!
“What am I even looking for?” Bran. Bran was so close.
“Uh… slow or weak or some shit. Check his breathing too.” Luca. Why was Luca here? Where was here? Where were we?
“Yeah, we’re good. He's running a damn marathon in La La Land.”
The too-cold fingertips brushed through my hair and… oh. That was nice. Do that again. My words came out all wrong. Why couldn't I get my mouth to work right?
Oh God… oh God, don't hurl. Don't hurl. Up became down, left became right, the world spun out as my body moved… no. As someone else moved my body? What the fuck was happening?!
“Easy, baby. Easy. Let it out. I've got you.”
Bran, help me. Please?
Bile. Black crept into my blurred vision. Fuck, my whole body hurt. Why wasn't anything coming up? Why couldn't I stop retching?!
“Fuck, that's gnarly.”
“Shut the fuck up and get me a washcloth, Luca.”
Black. Black, black, black. So fucking tired…
End me now. The dagger in my head needed to get the job done because this misery, this suffering, was too much. I wanted to claw my skin off but I could barely lift my arm. Why was it so damn bright? There was no way in hell I was opening my eyes. The light already burned my retinas. Burned straight through my eye sockets, down my throat, and into my gut.
Movement at my back sent my heart rate into the stratosphere and it burned even worse in my chest. Burned like a gunshot wound—deep and gnawing and relentless burning. Please, just let me die.
“Hey… shh. Take it easy. I've got you.” Warmth, a gentle weight, crept over my side and around my chest. “Relax. I'm not gonna hurt you.”
“Mmkay.” Damn, was that my voice? What the hell happened?
“Want some water?”
God, no. That would involve moving. “M’no.”
“Go back to sleep, baby. I'm right here.” That should have pissed me off or petrified me, but it was Bran. Bran was everywhere. The scent of him was seared into my sinuses. With a slow exhalation, I let the darkness consume me again.
I'm never drinking again. Everyone always says that in the pits of a hangover, but I really meant it. I knew better. I fucking knew better. I'd been down this road so many times and the result was always the same—a temporary high, a brief glimmering reprieve from the heaviness in my head, followed by absolute misery and clouds of depression that were impossible to claw my way out of. I fucking knew better.
Judging by the play of light over the floor, it was way too fucking early in the morning. Cinder blocks weighed me down, both inside and out. I couldn't move the weight from my chest. My feet were numb under another immovable object. I blinked the grit from my eyes and took in my surroundings with a slow, painful move of my head. A hand bearing a bright amber tiger lily tattoo lined in black was clamped tight over my shirtless chest. A motionless amber and black Rottie sprawled over my legs. Fuck my life. Bran was plastered to my back and the fact that Essa was here meant Luca and Nico were likely nearby, too.
It took so much effort to pull myself free from my restraints. Once I managed to sit up, another flash of amber caught my eye. Three amber orange pill bottles in a tidy row on my black nightstand stared accusingly. I should have felt something about that as bits and pieces of last night crept in with consciousness, but I couldn't feel anything but misery. What did it matter? Nothing mattered. None of it mattered. I fought through the aches and pains, gritting my teeth as I climbed out of the bed and shuffled to the bathroom.
My clothes were in a heap on the floor beside the toilet and the odor of vomit was ripe in the air. Emptying my bladder brought only the slightest bit of relief. Rinsing my mouth out with the tap almost made me believe I was human. A splash of ice water on my face made me feel something for a brief moment before the darkness crept back in.
“Morning, sunshine.” I flinched and recoiled at the sound of Bran’s voice. “Hey, no. Sorry. It's just me. Gotta take a piss.”
I stood motionless, hunched over the sink as he slipped into the room on silent feet and unbuttoned his pants. Why was I staring at his dick? Why didn't he care? What the fuck was my life?
“You should eat something.” Bran shook his dick and tucked it back into his pants before invading my space to wash his hands. Our eyes met in the mirror. “We're going to get out of your space, but I want you to promise me you’ll eat something and call if you need anything.”
I nodded, barely, and tore my eyes from his reflection. “Thank you.”
“Nothing to thank me for. Get some rest, Sad Panda. I'll stop by later.” His fingertips swirled over the nape of my neck and sent a shiver down my spine as my eyes fluttered closed. Why did his touch feel so good? I hated to be touched. Except for him.
I stood there, still hunched over the sink, as Bran left the room. I stood there listening to muted voices from the kitchen. I remained there long after the sound of the door closing in the distance blanketed my home in dangerously loud silence. Only once I was absolutely sure they were gone did I finally move, intent on one thing and one thing only.
I crawled back into bed and pulled a pillow to my chest, burying my face into the downy softness and clinging to it like a lifeline. His pillow. The one that smelled like him. The only bright spot in an impenetrable darkness I didn't think I'd escape.