Page 23 of Darkness and Duress

Now if only I could get my head on straight—or not so straight after all—about it. First, I had to pull it out of my ass and function. My identity crisis would have to take a back seat to my mental health crisis, but judging by the way he was content to clean up after my disastrous self, I suspected he'd understand. Maybe. Hopefully.

I really wanted him to understand.

Chapter Twelve

Henny

The unkempt disaster who left the kitchen returned a long time later a changed man. I wondered for a brief second what the fuck he’d found to snort or swallow or otherwise ingest that could explain the difference, but one fleeting moment of eye contact before he tore his gaze away told me the demons were still lurking and his mask was firmly in place. The pressure it caused in my chest was fucking uncomfortable. Marco d’Ambrosio was suffering and it turned him into a caged animal.

I examined his features even closer as he paced around the apartment, his tension building more noticeable with every long stride. When I first found him after shamelessly breaking into his home, I'd been relieved until I looked closer. It was rare to see someone so exhausted, they literally passed out sitting up, if I could even call his posture that. His hunched body was visibly crumbled under the invisible weight he carried. He'd flinched and cried out a soft, pained whimper when I pushed him back into the chair. His face, once it was visible, was gaunt and pale. Covering him in a throw blanket brought another whine to hislips before he settled down again. It was the most vulnerable I'd ever seen the stone wall I'd known since middle school.

The Marco in front of me after he had locked himself in his bedroom for over an hour was the more familiar version I’d always known and now that I knew the truth, I doubted every preconceived notion from the last decade. I had distant memories of a happier man, one who still smiled and would occasionally roughhouse with Luca and I, but those memories were few and far between, especially since his return from prison. While that was the culprit for his anxiousness and quick fight response, I realized his smile had faded long before he had been incarcerated.

“How long?” I sank back and let my shoulders rest against the upper cabinets where I was perched on his fancy granite countertop.

“What?” He stopped in his tracks and glared, wariness and tension playing over his face.

“How long have you lived with depression?”

My eyes remained locked on his expression as fear and anger dilated his pupils and made his jaw tick. If he clenched his jaw any harder, he'd break molars.

“I don’t have—”

“Jesus, the denial is strong with this one, folks.” I jerked my chin with a smirk. “Cut the bullshit. I ain't gonna tell anyone.”

“Fuck off. Fuck all the way off.” He pivoted on the balls of his feet and strode aimlessly toward the bookcases in the living room before turning and moving toward the window. The caged animal analogy became more and more fitting as he moved around the space. As cavernous as it was, I had a feeling he felt like the walls were closing in on him.

“C’mon, Marc. You know you can trust me. I'm practically family.” I hopped from the counter and recklessly closed thedistance between us. He hawkishly watched every step I took from the corner of his eye. “You don't need to hide this.”

“Fuck you.”

“Gladly,” I quipped back, poking the fire despite knowing I was liable to get burned.

He reeled on me with a look of disgust. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“A lot, if I'm being honest.” I tested the boundaries and lifted my hand to pat his chest, smoothing my palm down the front of his fancy suit.

I blinked and in the fraction of a second that my eyes were closed, my world spun in a circle. It all happened so fast, I couldn't process what had happened until it was over. My arm, the one I'd touched his chest with, was behind my back with his punishing grip holding my wrist between my shoulder blades. His free hand was hooked up under my jaw, and the domineering presence of his body was pressed against me, flush from hips to shoulders as he held me captive against his chest. His words were a feral hiss in my ear as his breath sent a shiver through my core and turned the fear and pain into a macabre thing of sheer pleasure.

“Don’t. Touch.” His hand pressed up higher along my throat, forcing my head back and sending swirly, lightheaded sensations through my brain.

“Yeah… ‘kay.” I swallowed, feeling the pressure of the action against his unyielding grip. His breath hitched, nothing more than a soft gasp and a rush of hot over the whorls of my ear.

“I mean it, Bran.” He forced my arm higher behind my back and tipped the scales too far into the pain territory. I cried out, nothing more than a tiny warble as I tensed, but his response was almost instantaneous. Where he'd once been the scaffolding that held me pinned tight and unable to move, suddenly I was freefalling as he pushed me away. I staggered three steps beforeI could regain my footing and turned back toward him in time to see him backpedaling. He pressed himself against the floor-to-ceiling window with a wild eyed expression and flushed cheeks. I was the one who had cried out, but he was the one who looked pained, his eyes pinging all over my face as his chest heaved with panting breaths.

“Whoa, hey…” I held my shaking hands up in a placating gesture. “Hey, just breathe, baby.”

I took a step forward and his head started shaking side to side, subtly at first but with more frenzy for each additional step I took. I had two choices—I could push a little further or I could retreat and leave him to his crisis. Basically, it wasn't even a choice at all. I'd already barreled my way through a dozen boundaries in the course of a few hours, starting with the classic breaking and entering.

“Bran,” he rasped, his breath coming out in short puffs that had to be making him dizzy. Fuck if it didn’t hit me square in the chest.

“What's going on in that head of yours?” I telegraphed my movements in slow motion, carefully adjusting his tie with only the barest brush of my fingertips over the material of his shirt.

He flinched, his jaw hardening and his lips pressing together into a thin line. The smallest shake of his head continued as I pushed the boundary further, letting a sole finger trail down the length of the tie. The moment hung on a hair-trigger as his fists clenched at his sides. Marco d’Ambrosio would likely be the cause of death on the certificate one day, but no one ever said I made good life choices.

“I'm coming in, baby. You need another hug.” One last step brought me as close as I could get without bringing our bodies flush. The sea green of his eyes was nearly eclipsed by the size of his pupils as his gaze darted back and forth, never leaving myface but never resting in one spot for more than a microsecond. “Tell me no…”

His jaw relaxed enough to let his lips part, but he surprised me with silence. Even as I spread my arms and rose up on my toes, he said nothing. Simmering tension met my palms as I rested them on his shoulders and the tension grew as I slid them further before finally enfolding him in my arms, but never did he utter the word I expected him to. Just like earlier in the kitchen, he froze before gradually melting. The mask of his anger fell away as his arms looped around my waist and with a heavy exhale, Marco let himself relax, just a bit, as I hugged him.

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