Chapter 23
TIM
Iwake, clinging to Mark.
After I blew him, I came on his stomach and then we cleaned up again before heading to bed. The morning light shines across his pretty face. His eyes closed, I can see the welts around his face from the blows he took.
My abs are already turning purple. Those guys were a lot of things, but they sure as fuck weren’t weak.
I kiss him softly on the back of his neck, hoping not to wake him.
Even holding him this close, being next to him like this isn’t enough.
I want to be inside him. I want to be pushing into him and knowing we’re as close as we can possibly be.
It was all my fucking fault.
That’s the only thought that keeps replaying through my mind right now. If I hadn’t been at that party last night, Mark wouldn’t have gotten hurt and I wouldn’t have this nagging pain in my gut—one I know isn’t caused by the welts on my abdomen.
It reminds me of why we’re not a good idea.
His whole deal coming into this was he didn’t want to get hurt, and now look what I’ve fucking done. The fucking mess I’ve made of things.
I’ve hurt him.
Bad.
If I wasn’t in his life, he’d be lying in bed with some nice kid. Someone who’d take care of him.
Or some asshole like Greg.
I think it’d be better for him to get hurt like that than by someone like me.
At least they wouldn’t put his life in danger.
I grab the purpling area on my belly and pinch.
I deserve that for what I did to him.
He’s too good for me, and I’ve always known that.
This is just a wake-up call. One I’ve needed.
I needed a good slap in the face to be reminded of who I am…what I am.
And why Mark deserves better.
I’m so fucking selfish, though, even the thought of losing him—the thought of not having him here right beside me—is painful.
When did my life become like this? When did all my thoughts start to be about some guy?
Since Mark.
He stirs, shaking me from my self-defeating thoughts.
“Fuck,” he whines.
“Are you okay?”
He blinks and turns to me, a smile spreading across his face.
“You worried about me?” he asks, and I can hear the playfulness in his voice, but I’m not feeling playful right now.
“How do you feel? Do you need me to get you another pill?”
“I don’t think it’s anything ibuprofen can’t handle.”
I stroke my thumb across the side of his face, where there aren’t any marks and run it through his hair.
“I’ll go get you some,” I say.
He grabs my arm.
“Stay,” he says.
I think he can sense my distance right now—this intensifying worry that’s reminding me I’m no good for him.
“I’m getting you the pills,” I explain, pulling from him.
I fetch him some painkillers and a glass of water from the kitchen.
“You want me to make you some breakfast?” I ask. “Eggs? Sausage?”
“I want you to calm down and get into this bed with me.”
“I’ll make you some eggs.”
I head into the kitchen and get started on breakfast.
He needs to eat.
I check my phone to see if Nanna’s responded to my text to see if she’s awake yet.
She has. Just says: Hope you had a good night. :)
As I mix three eggs in a cup, Mark steps out of the hallway to his bedroom, and I see him through the opening above the bar.
He hasn’t put on a shirt.
Looks groggy as fuck, but I know most of it is because his face is swollen. But even with his face banged up, he’s still fuckable as hell.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“You don’t have anything to be sorry about.”
“The one fucking thing you said to me when we got into this is that you didn’t want me to hurt you, and now look what I fucking did.”
“You didn’t do this. Some asshole at a party did.”
“That guy wouldn’t have decked you if I wasn’t a fucking dealer.”
“Tim. I’m not a fucking kid, and it was just a fight.”
“That’s the reason you can’t parade around like that.”
“Parade around? You mean spend time with my boyfriend? You mean act like other fucking couples?”
“We’re not any other fucking couple, and you knew that getting into this. You knew that we couldn’t go around—”
“It was a weird coincidence.”
“Shit happens sometimes like that. People are drunk or high and weird.”
“I’m fine.”
“But what if you hadn’t been? What if something had happened to you? Do you have any idea what that would have fucking done to me if that guy had seriously fucked you up? The thought fucking makes me wanna fucking die.”
His expression shifts from anger to concern in an instant.
“Tim, it’s fine. Please don’t make this a bigger deal than it was.”
“It is a big deal.”
He must know what I’m thinking because I can see it all over his face. Bruised as it is, he can’t hide how worried he is from me.
I turn and get to work on his omelet, hoping it’ll give me time to think.
You fucking know what you have to do.
But I don’t want to. This time with him has been so fucking amazing. It’s given me fucking hope. Made me want to do better things with my life, but last night reminded me of reality. The sort of reality Jesse was telling me about.
Life isn’t a fairytale.
It’s hard, and people get hurt.