Love Is Ǝvil

15 So Dark and So Cold, My Friend's Don't Know

The motor was running smoothly. The head lights illuminated the street in front. His heart was pounding loudly in his chest. Still he could feel the rough grip around his throat and the pierced tongue on his cheek. A cold shiver ran through his body.

He didn't watch his steps as he walked away from his car. His feet led him to the door, unerring on their way. They knew where he needed to go, even though his mind was somewhere else or actually, his mind was nowhere.

The doorbell rang.

Commotion behind the door. Finally, it opened and a teenage boy stood in the door frame. "Dad, it's for you!", he called back into the house.

"You know, you don't open the door this late." Ryan appeared in his field of view "Marshall?" Late, he said? What time was it? Marshall looked at his watch, but his eyes couldn't focus on the delicate details of the watch face.

A strong arm was put around his shoulders, a soft pull into the house. "Trenton, turn the car off." Ryan led him into the kitchen and Marshall fell on the chair more than he sat down. He buried his face in his hands.

How the fuck did he end up in a situation like this? Probably something like this had been bound to happen. A matter of statistics. Somebody had to be the butt end of the joke and tonight this was him. Usually that was him. Why him? How was he so fucking bad at this? He always picked the wrong people to be with. Even for a stupid, shitty hook-up he regularly picked the wrong people. Never this bad, though. This was just crazy! Did he look that much like a victim? He didn't really think so, not anymore at least. He wasn't a scrawny 16-year old anymore. That time was long gone and he had no desire to have it back. He had been beaten up enough in his life. He was a grown fucking man, for crying out loud. He turned 38 next week. Thirty-fucking-eight years old. And he worked out on most days. Why was he getting attacked? And how the hell did he almost not make it out of there!

A touch at his shoulder. Marshall flinched and looked up.

Ryan looked at him quizzically and slid a coke over to him. "You okay?"

"Do I look like I'm okay?", he huffed. He wrapped his hands around the cold can, interlocking his fingers so they wouldn't shake anymore. Didn't feel like it worked.

Ryan hesitated for a second. "Did something happen?"

Marshall let out a pained groan.

A warm hand rested on his wrist, a thumb gently stroked his skin. The tremble in his fingers stopped and a warm calm spread from where Ryan touched him. It didn't spread far, but it was there. Marshall's eyes rested on the dark skinned fingers on his wrist, slowly the fine lines of Ryan's tattoos came into focus. "I ... this guy ... he ... attacked me."

Ryan's hand still lay on his wrist, softly caressing with his thumb.

"He attacked me", Marshall repeated with more strength in his voice. His hand let go of the can and rather held on to Ryan's.

A gentle squeeze. "Did he get anything?"

Marshall looked up. He withdrew his hand immediately and stood up. "I ... I should go. It's late. I ..." He turned to the door but a weak pull on his sleeve held him back.

"What's up with you?" Ryan looked at him confused.

Marshall bit his lip. "You know." He freed his arm. "You just don't care to remember." He had no headspace for their fucking pretense right now. Quickly he left the kitchen and hurried to the front door.

"What? Marshall!", more confusion. Fast steps coming after him. Another pull on his sleeve, stronger this time. "Wait a minute. What are you talking about?"