Page 191 of Tis the Season to be Bullied

Marcus shakes his head. “Got a call. Had to leave.” Then he glances at me, his dark eyes black in the low light. “Roof?”

I nod, and trail him out of his room. He walks with stiff legs and a straight back, as if his ribs are sore.

He should fight back next time.

He should tell the police, social services, something.

But we’ve been through all of this, time and time again. It’s a never-ending cycle. Come morning, Marcus is always under the impression he somehowdeservedthe beating.

A low grade on a paper.

Fumbling a pass at the game.

Not hitting it off with the cheerleader he’s been chasing.

It never matters what I tell him, so I’ve stopped trying.

But I’ll never stop being here for him.

We’ve got each other’s backs, Marcus and I. Have since we were kids. Every time he got into a scrape, I’d help him out. Just like he’d do for me, no matter how bad the shit was I got myself in.

I owe Marcus Baker my freedom, if not my fucking life.

He saved me, and I’ll never stop trying to repay the favor.

It takes half the bottle of vodka before either of us speak again. We’re sitting on the mansion’s roof terrace, staring up at the stars that peek through a thin layer of cloud. Marcus brought his vape with, and he’s been tugging at it between gulps fromthe bottle. Thankfully, the weed in his vape slowed down the drinking. Marcus can handle a lot of booze, weed, and drugs—as can I—but with finals coming up, we both need clear heads on us. I know Dad would be beyond disappointed if I didn’t make my grades.

Marcus’s father?

He’d likely put his son in the fucking hospital.

“Can I stay at your place tomorrow?” Marcus asks quietly. He shifts in his chair, wincing briefly before smoothing his face.

I lift my fingers from my knee where I’ve been toying with a fold in my jeans. “Sure, man. But what about tonight? Is he?—”

“Doubt he’ll be back so soon. I’ll leave in the morning. Gives me time to pack a bag and shit.” Marcus’s voice fades away, his voice going thick. “Listen, Briar, thanks?—”

I wave at him, and he cuts off. “You know what set him off?” It’s none of my fucking business, but if I know Marcus, he’ll be blaming himself for everything come morning.

I see him shrug from the corner of my eye. “He gave me a job to do, and I fucked it up.”

“What, you didn’t get the trash out in time?”

Marcus tips the vodka bottle to his lips in response. Fuck it, I shouldn’t be prying anyway.

“You know what we need?” I sit forward, lacing my fingers together and letting them dangle between my legs. “Something to take our minds off this shit.”

“Like what?” he asks, but with zero enthusiasm. Can’t say I blame him—Lavish isn’t renowned for its distractions.

I sit back again, stumped. “Dunno. But I’ll come up with something.”

Marcus nods a few times as he hands me the bottle. I take a small sip and hand it back.

One of us has to stay sober. It’s a silent deal we’ve made ever since my party a few months ago.

“Wanna know something fucked up?” I ask quietly, tipping my head back to stare up at the stars.

“Sure.”

---