"You're insufferable."
"Maybe," he says softly, "but you still can't keep your eyes off me."
"Maybe I don't want to."
♥___________♥
𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢
Playboy, arrogant, and egoistic-sounds like a typical jerk, right? But there's more to Marco th...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The cold air hit me as I stepped outside, Salem darting out ahead of me, his black fur barely visible in the night. He was always restless at night, full of energy, and I couldn't say no to his cute face. I leaned against the porch railing, watching him pounce around and finding leaves, a chuckle leaving my lips.
I crouched down to scratch behind his ears as he padded over. He nuzzled into my hand. It was one of those rare, peaceful moments. No chaos from the case, no James, no.... Wait.
My eyes caught a figure in the distance, stumbling slightly. My heart sank as I recognized that the messy dark hair.
Spoke too soon.
"James?" I muttered, standing up straighter. What the hell was he doing out here?
He looked... off. His movements were sluggish and uncoordinated. knew immediately something was wrong. He had an unfocused look in his eyes. "James." I called out louder, walking toward him.
He didn't respond, just kept moving forward, his steps uneven. My stomach twisted. Salem jumped into my hoodie and I headed to him. By the time I reached him, James was practically leaning against a nearby fence, eyes barely focused on anything. His lips were parted, breathing shallow, and he looked like he didn't even recognize where he was.
"James," I said again, my voice softer this time. I reached out, gripping his arm gently. His skin felt cold under my hand.
"Marco..." His voice was slurred.
"Jesus, James," I muttered, scanning him up and down. "What did you do?"
He didn't answer, just blinked at me, his eyes bloodshot. It didn't take a genius to figure out he'd done something stupid—drugs, probably, by the looks of it.
"You're coming with me," I said, looping my arm around his waist to help steady him. He resisted for a second, weakly pushing against me, but the man couldn't even walk straight. It didn't take much to guide him toward my car.
"Don't... need... help," he mumbled.
"Of course not," I muttered, dragging him up the steps and into the car. "But, you're getting it whether you want it or not."
I drove to my penthouse, a little farther away from my dad's house. Once we reached, I grabbed him and dragged him inside, I threw him on the couch. He collapsed onto it, head lolling back, eyes half-closed. I stood there for a second, watching him. This wasn't just a rough night. This was something else.
"James, what the hell did you take?" I asked, crouching down in front of him, trying to get him to focus on me.
He blinked again, but didn't answer. His eyes were starting to glaze over, and I felt panic creeping in.
"Shit, James," I muttered, slapping him lightly. "Stay with me, alright?"
I rushed to the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water and bringing it back. I pressed it into his hands, helping him lift it to his lips. He took a few sips, but it wasn't much.
"What were you thinking?" I asked, more to myself than to him.
He groaned softly, his head rolling to the side. "Didn't... think," he mumbled. "Too much... too much shit."
I exhaled sharply, I wanted to yell at him, shake him, ask him what the hell had gotten into his head. But it wouldn't help. Not now. Instead, I sat down on the edge of the couch, watching him closely. His breathing was slow but steady, and for now, that was enough.
Salem jumped up onto the couch, curling next to James as if sensing something was wrong. James absentmindedly reached out, his hand brushing over the her fur.
"You're an idiot, you know that?" I said quietly, more for myself than for him.
His lips twitched, like he was trying to respond but couldn't quite form the words.
I leaned back, rubbing a hand over my face, trying to think. I couldn't just leave him like this. He wasn't going to get better on his own. But I also knew he'd probably fight me the moment he was sober enough to realize what I'd done—bringing him here, helping him.
I glanced over at him again, his eyes now closed, his chest rising and falling slowly.
"Marco..." he mumbled, his voice soft, barely audible.
I leaned closer. "What?"
His eyelids fluttered, his voice a whisper. "You... left me alone."
I froze.
"What are you talking about?" I asked.
"You....hurt me," James blinked slowly, his words coming out in a fractured whisper. "You left... I thought... we were... friends."
I took a deep breath, "We are," I said softly, my voice firm but gentle. "We'll talk about it later. But for now, you need to rest."
James nodded weakly, his eyes closing. I settled more comfortably on the couch next to him, my hand resting lightly on his shoulder. I watched as James's breathing became slower and more regular, and I could see that he was finally starting to relax. I stayed awake, keeping an eye on him to make sure he was okay.
