37. Preston #2
But then, Jude dragged him away from me before he could touch me, and my brain, being my brain, decided we’d completely forget about that moment.
Panic? We don’t do that. That’s why I made myself think it was because I hated him.
But in reality, I’ve been into him for a long time. I just refused to face it or even entertain it.
Now, I finally can.
“Are you going in?” Hayes asks from the driver’s seat as I stare at my reflection in the mirror, willing my hair to behave.
“What if he’s not there?”
“There’s a light on in the house, and I already confirmed he came home after practice. You can go anytime now.”
“Shut up, let me practice what I’m going to say.”
“You already did for the past hour, and none of it sounded natural, by the way.”
“Ugh! Okay, let me think about better options.”
“I don’t believe thinking does you any good.”
“Rude.” I slide my hair to the side. “How do I look?”
“Not dead, which is what’s important.”
“You done being me, Hayes?” I scoff, then swallow. “Here’s to nothing.”
“Good luck.”
After I get out, I place my hand on the top of the car and lean down to speak to him through the window. “If Marcus rejects me, your life will be hell, and we’ll be camping out here until he forgives me.”
“Oh God.”
“That’s right, you better start praying.”
My smile disappears as I walk to the black door, my heart in my throat. Right. It’ll be okay.
I hope.
With a deep breath, I hit the bell.
I can hear it inside, the sound long and loud. Was it always this loud?
My gaze strays to my surroundings, looking for what, I don’t know. Hayes, the traitor, has already left, and I’m all alone.
Maybe Marcus isn’t here. Sucking the corner of my mouth between my teeth, I pull on the bottom of my jacket, touch my hair, and then stop.
I’m nervous. Fuck. Me? Nervous?
Someone check to see if Julian performed a personality transplant while he was waking me up from the coma.
Wouldn’t put it past that freak to Frankenstein me into oblivion—
The door opens, and I freeze, all the words I practiced to an unimpressed Hayes earlier sort of flying out the window.
I know it’s been three weeks since I unofficially died, but it feels like yesterday when I last saw him holding me as blood bubbled out of my mouth.
Right now, however, he’s different.
Way different.
Gray sweatpants hang low on his hips, his naked chest looks the same with the bulging muscles and the draping chain, but his shoulders are hunched, his face is sunken. The brightness in his metallic eyes is gone, and all that exists are two pools of empty gray.
Like when I first met him. When he was soulless and lifeless.
The part that freaks me out is that his expression barely changes upon seeing me.
There’s some recognition, but mostly, he’s looking straight through me.
What have I done?
“Um, hi!” I lift an awkward hand in the air, summoning my cheerful tone.
“Surprise! I actually didn’t die. Hilarious, right?
Okay, I know it’s not, sorry for the bad joke.
I was in an induced coma, sponsored by Julian’s demons.
Long story that I won’t bore you with. But all you need to know is that you have full license to blame my dad.
He plotted the whole thing, and I totally had no idea what was up until a couple of days ago when I woke up.
Anyway, I came here to say that. Since I heard you killed Granny for me and stuff, I thought you should know I’m alive.
I also wanted to apologize for the trauma dumping through that long-ass letter.
My alter ego made me do it, and Hayes should’ve just burned it instead of giving it to you.
That’s all, I think. Just wanted to say hi. ”
I hold my breath after basically blurting all that out. Way to not know when to shut the fuck up, me.
Throughout my entire speech, Marcus’s expression doesn’t change. He listens in silence, eyes hollow, never quite meeting mine.
I get it. I wouldn’t want to look at me either if I were him.
“I’m really sorry,” I whisper, fidgeting in place, the cold air seeping into my bones. “I understand if you don’t want to forgive me, but I’ll keep asking until you do.”
He takes a step closer, and I take a step back, my body trembling at his nearness.
The smell of his aftershave slices through me like an aphrodisiac, and I can’t help inhaling deeply, pulling him inside me, making him part of me.
“Why do you even smell real?” he murmurs in rough, raw words, leaning close. The puff of air against my neck rushes down my spine, leaving goose bumps in its wake.
“I am real, Marcus.” I touch his arm, my fingers tingling against the bulge of his bicep.
God, it’s been a long time since I touched him, and my starving body is coming alive at the merest hint of him.
He jerks away, his eyes widening in increments as he blinks. “You’re…real?”
“That’s what I said,” I mumble, digging my fingers into his arm.
“How…”
“I just told you, because of the coma—”
He pulls me inside, and I gasp as he kicks the door shut and slams me against it, grabbing me tightly by the shoulders.
I wince as pain explodes in my chest. “You can hit me if you like. I deserve it, but maybe not too hard, because my chest still hurts from the gunshot. I’m not trying to play the victim, I swear…”
Marcus releases me and steps back, running a shaky hand through his hair and over his face before he clutches his jaw as he watches me closely.
My heart thuds when that color returns to his eyes, all bright and metal and so very Marcus, but there are lines of pain, too.
Deep and harsh and uncontrollable.
It’s because of me, isn’t it?
“I’m sorry,” I whisper again.
He lifts his gaze to me, something wretched flickering there, his hand clenching into a fist. “What for?”
“The lies. The letter. Leaving when you asked me to stay. I shouldn’t have done that, and I’m sorry.”
“You should be sorry for something else, Preston.” He steps toward me, placing a heavy, warm hand on my heart close to where my bandage is. “You should be sorry for this, for making me watch you try to kill yourself.”
My lips part. “How…”
“You think I wouldn’t have been able to see that suicidal look in your eyes when you took the bullet for Violet?
Because I did, Preston. I fucking did.” He purses his lips, his brows drawing together while a shine surfaces in his eyes, unsettling and wrong.
“You promised to live for me, but then you didn’t. ”
“I…I’m sorry. If it makes any difference, when you were holding me, I truly regretted it. I wanted to fight it. I wanted to stay alive. I think that’s part of the reason I didn’t die.”
A muscle clenches in his jaw, and I realize he’s holding all his emotions in when his strangled words escape. “Why did you do it? Why did you choose death over me?”
“I didn’t. I…” My uneven exhale is sharp and loud in the silence. “I would’ve never consciously chosen death over you, Marcus. You know that, right?”
“But I saw you do just that, Preston! Do you…” His body shakes with the force of his emotions. “Do you know how it felt to watch you go like that? My last image of you was you choking on your own blood!”
“I-I’m…sorry,” my voice breaks around the words, and I reach an unsteady hand for him, but then drop it back down. Do I even have the right to touch him after I hurt him so thoroughly?
God, what have I done?
I slide my foot back, my shoes scraping against the floor. “You have every right to be angry at me. You can hit me, punish me, do whatever you want with me, but please…please don’t hate me, Marcus. I can take anything but that.”
“I can’t hate you. I’m physically unable to. Even when I’m mad at you, if I see you flinching and being sad like right now, all I want to do is make it better.” He lets out a puff of air, his words unsteady. “Tell me, Preston, how can I make it better, so you won’t leave me again?”
“I won’t do that, I promise. For real this time.
Back then,” I step toward him, “I was in so much pain, and I thought letting death finally claim me was the perfect solution. Turns out, it wasn’t, and many people were hurt because of that.
I promise not to do it again. I’ll never throw myself in front of a bullet, and I’ll be serious about getting better. ”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because…” I gulp, the sound echoing around us. “I want you to trust me again. Trust I’d never run away or hurt you when the pain gets to be too much in my brain. Trust I’ll never allow the pain to get so bad that I’ll choose an easy way out.”
“You’d do that?”
“Yeah. For me. For us.” I take another step forward and wrap a hand around his throat, sliding my thumb over his pulse point. “For you.”
“For me?” His voice softens and so does his expression.
“For you, yes.” I stroke his throat, my heart feeling so light and full all at once.
“You’ve done so many things for me already.
It’s time I repay you, even a little, for your patience.
You made me feel worshipped and loved when I thought I was unlovable.
You gave me the safe space to enjoy our little games, and you never once judged me or pushed me to do what I don’t like.
And somewhere along the way, I started feeling…
things I didn’t want to feel. Things I tried to shove down so deep that they wouldn’t suffocate me.
But they didn’t. Suffocate me, I mean. Truth is, at that point, you were already in me, flowing under my skin and in every thought I didn’t say out loud.
You’re part of me in a way I don’t know how to undo.
I don’t think I can breathe right without you.
I don’t want to try. So if you’re still willing to be with me…
if you’ll give me a chance…I’ll stop running and face this properly.
I won’t let you down again. I swear it.”
He remains quiet even though his harsh breaths are echoing in the air.