Page 10 of Darkness and Duress

My hands flexed and tightened around the steering wheel for the entire drive to the apartment building. More than a few times, I considered pulling over and ordering a cab or rideshare to send him home, but I didn't know his address, nor could I dump him on a stranger in this state and still live with myself after the fact. I was stuck between a rock and a hard place. The only option was a shit option that I hated to my core. Resigned to my unfortunate fate, I pulled the SUV into the underground garage and eased it into the parking spot closest to the elevators.

After executing the process in reverse, I had Henny’s lean body propped up against me as we rode the distance to my floor. For the first time since leaving prison, I was about to share my space with someone else. Unease danced over my nerve endings as a cold sweat sheeted over my skin. With will power I didn't know I had, I managed to get us both inside before locking the door behind us with a sigh.

He went willingly where I guided him, and the combination of his docile nature and my roiling anger caused another wave of squirming, nauseating ripples to roll through my gut. He sighed as I cleaned him up as best I could manage before laying him down on top of my comforter, another soft sigh brimming with contentment. I pursed my lips in detest, even as I drew a throw blanket over his body and turned away to drag the wastepaper bin to the edge of the bed. When I next glanced at his sleeping form, he had my pillow clutched tight to his chest and covering half his face.

I swiped my reading glasses from the nightstand and practically ran from the unwelcome intrusion on my privacy. There was no way in hell I'd be sleeping tonight. Especially not in the same room as this loathsome waste case. I kicked myself all the way to the door, even as I left it open so I could hear if he needed me. Just in case. Only because I didn't want him throwing up in my bed. That was definitely the sole reason. The only reason. The most plausible reason.

I refused to listen to the nagging voice in the back of my mind that told me I was full of shit.

Chapter Six

Henny

Fuck, my head hurt. As soon as I slipped from sleeping to waking, the throbbing pain was all-consuming. So much so, it made it difficult to figure out exactly what I was feeling. I shifted, very gingerly, and buried my face deeper into my pillow. Except it wasn't my pillow. The silky satin fabric was foreign feeling as I nuzzled my cheek into the downy softness. It smelled far more heavenly than my lumpy pillow ever did.

I rolled over, again moving slowly and carefully to keep the world from spinning out, and blinked to bring my surroundings into focus. The black ceiling overhead was definitely a far cry from the water stained mess of my apartment. I shut my eyes and grasped at the foggy, sparse memories as I took stock of my body to try and figure out what situation I had gotten myself into.

There was no deliciously painful ache in my ass or throat, so I must not have hooked up with anyone for once. Vague stinging pain as I ran my hands over my body revealed only tiny bruises and a collection of possible hickeys around my neck. I wasundressed except for boxer briefs. Given how soft the bedding was, I was honestly glad for the lack of clothing. The fabric was blissfully smooth against my skin. My mouth tasted like hot garbage. I could only assume I'd thrown up at least once post blackout. I wracked my brain harder, picking through the contents of my jumbled skull until—

Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck. A singular memory materialized through the brain fog and turned the blood in my veins to ice water. Marco weilding a warm washcloth as he crouched in front of me was not the memory I expected to recall. In fact, it was the last memory I wanted to recall. It was the absolute worst case scenario. A whole ass fucking nightmare. I wrestled against the divine pull of the super soft mattress and struggled into a seated position.

A slow scan of my surroundings jogged even more memories. The car ride home, the stumbling progress through his house, the way he basically dragged me into the en suite bathroom to spill my guts in his fancy as fuck toilet. More details met my eyes as I tried to reconcile my memories with the room I was seeing. Floor to ceiling windows hidden by automatic drapes. A tall bookcase on the wall opposite the bed. Black tile floors. Dark hardwood accents. Silky charcoal grey satin sheets and comforter. It was so him, and yet so unlike what I expected to find.

I crept from the bed and searched for my clothes, but I came up empty handed. The room was spotless. Painfully clean. Damn near unlived in. The only reason I knew it was Marco’s room and not a guest room was because he’d left the closet door partially ajar and I could see a glimpse of all his suits hung in pin straight rows. Sneaking like a thief through the night, I tiptoed into the bathroom and stopped short in surprise. A pair of sweatpants and t-shirt were folded neatly on the vanity alongside a giant fluffy white towel and a bar of soap still in the box. Beside them,there was a bottle of water, a toothbrush still in the packaging, and two Advil tablets. It was a startling kindness I wasn't expecting. Most likely, it was a trap.

Despite my reservations and rising shame, I inched further into the bathroom and gently shut the door. I really did need a shower, judging by the pungent aroma of alcohol seeping from my pores. I bumbled around the bathroom as quietly as I could, turning on the tap to the rainfall shower head as I boggled at the sheer wealth dripping from the surroundings. Marble tile, grey stone vanity, jet black toilet, chrome fixtures everywhere. Even the lighting was expensive. The mirror itself was illuminated. Lighting had been recessed in the floor of the shower as well as the ceiling. I searched and searched for a drawer or cabinet until an accidental nudge in the right spot had the massive mirror opening on whisper-quiet hinges.

I was once again stunned into paralysis as I accidentally snooped in his hidden medicine cabinet. I found the toothpaste at least, but it was the other items I discovered in the process that gave me pause. I told myself not to do it, even as my hand reached out to turn the orange prescription bottles so I could read the labels. Pindolol. Tryptophan. Nefazodone. My fingertips itched for my phone to look up the medications and what they were prescribed for. I retrieved the toothpaste and eased the cabinet shut.

After an indulgent shower, I dressed in the clothing and muffled a laugh at my reflection in the fog-proof mirror. I looked like a little kid in my dad’s clothes for how baggy they were on my smaller frame. I hadn't realized how his bulk would compare to mine until sliding into his garments. Shaking my head, I slipped from the bathroom to face the music. I'm sure Marco had more than a few choice words for me, none of them nice. I also really needed to find my clothing and phone.

Not knowing what time it was, I kept my footsteps quiet. A monotonic machine whirr coaxed me through the house until I determined the source—the dryer was running in the open floor plan kitchen. And by open, I meant wide fucking open. The living room kitchen combo was at least four times the size of my entire two bedroom apartment. To my left, the dark grey cabinets and white marble counters gleamed, illuminated by under cabinet lighting dim enough to not be offensive but bright enough to help me navigate. Just like the bedroom, there were virtually no signs of the space being lived in.

I cast my gaze to the right and admired the sweeping expanse of the living room. It was still night out, but a faint glow tinged the skyline visible through the massive floor to ceiling windows. The city lights twinkled as I took in the view. The furniture was modern and streamlined. Frankly, it looked uncomfortable as hell and matched the dominating, austere design of the fireplace and bookshelves. God, he owned a fuck ton of books. It was a cold, vacant atmosphere. I almost abandoned my search until an anomaly amongst the hard lines and off-putting vacancy of the room caught my eye.

A partition wall tucked in the corner only somewhat hid a soft golden aura of light. Like a moth to a flame, I crossed the high pile rug on silent feet until I could peer around the odd barrier. My breath caught in my throat and I pressed a hand to my lips to keep the sound from interrupting the strange sanctity of the sight laid out before me.

Unlike the rest of the furniture in the apartment, the armchair dominating the small little nook was overstuffed, too big for the space, and clearly well-used judging by the way it contoured around the body in it. The impressive, muscular, utterly relaxed body. A small table top lamp blanketed him in the golden glow that has drawn me toward him, softening his features and bringing out highlights in his hair I'd never noticed before. Abook was laid open on his chest, and the title had me stifling a small huff of amusement. The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck.

Marco fucking d’Ambrosio read self-help books? Marco fucking d’Ambrosio read self-help books with tiny wire frame reading glasses? Marco fucking d’Ambrosio read self-help books with tiny wire frame reading glasses while wearing flannel pants and fuzzy slippers?! I boggled at him, unable to reconcile the perpetually rage-filled man I knew with the version sleeping in front of me. He looked so… relaxed. Softer. Downright cozy.

Just as I took a step back, an abrasive, jarring buzzer made me jump. Marco startled with a soft cry, leaping from the chair in a move so sudden, I jumped again. I caught a brief glimpse of that haunted, wild-eyed expression he’d worn earlier in the evening before it disappeared behind a hardened scowl and murderous gaze. It happened so fast, I could have convinced myself it was never there, but the way his chest heaved with rapid, shallow breaths betrayed his inner turmoil. There was something hidden beneath the surface there. Something I wanted to break him open to discover. My thoughts were dangerous ones as I took another step back.

“Were you watching me sleep?” His voice dripped with disdain as his eyes dipped down and back up, giving me a once-over.

“No… yes… not on purpose.” I shrugged nonchalantly even as my adrenaline pumped and a thrill raced through my body.

“Get out of my way,” he grumbled, scooping his book from the floor to set it and the glasses on the small side table. He brushed past me with an intentional bump against my shoulder before stalking toward the kitchen. Knowing it was a terrible idea but not really caring about the potential consequences, I followed behind him.

He glanced over his shoulder with another sneer and a scoffing sound. He shook his head and scowled harder as I moseyed further and pulled the fridge open. He already caughtme watching him sleep like a fucking weirdo. Examining the contents of his fridge was hardly invasive in comparison to that. Once more, I found myself confused by what I was seeing.

Where I expected to find the classic bachelor pad staples like beer, liquor, and takeout containers, I found the entire Goddamn produce section of a fucking health food store. Leafy greens, containers of beans and sprouts, a rainbow of fresh fruit options, pre-sliced carrots and celery and even a loaf of some ancient grain bullshit people liked to call bread. Even the water was some electrolyte-enriched artesian shit, not the generic Poland Springs he’d left on the counter for me.

I reached to open the crisper drawer, but nearly lost my hand as the door slammed shut. I stood up just in time for Marco to bowl me out of the way with his bulk. “Get the fuck out.”

“What if I'm hungry?”

He muscled me out of the way, opened up an overhead cabinet, and retrieved a box of crackers before pitching it toward me. “Here.”

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