Annihilation - Book Three

Chapter 12

Marcus is a better man than I am in many ways, and while I try and find fault in him for his obvious distaste for my behavior, he doesn't have it in him to turn me away entirely. He sees me at my weakest and raises me to where I should be, and gods, do I wish I wasn't like this. 

I wish I were okay on my own and that I didn't have these moments of doubt and desperation when I sought the comfort of another man. I'd been doing so well that I hadn't even entertained the thought since Verando jumped off the boat, and now, faced with losing him, I found myself spiraling into the fear that I would truly be alone again. 

 I was healing, I was doing better, but then I gave in to that temptation, and I found the sick parts of myself again. It seems Verando, Alpha, Randy—whoever he is—brings out a side of me that I try to hide from. My desires, my illness, my lack of self-control—all spill out in an uncontrollable gush that threatens to overwhelm this new persona I've designed so carefully.

Am I doomed to be reckless forever unless I'm with someone who's not right for me? 

I think about Prince Nicolas, who led the army into Ziduri, but I was reckless then, too. Maybe I'm destined to be alone if I want to be sane and keep a happier side of myself. But the truth was, without him, I wasn't happy. I was defaulting to a version of myself that was easier to stomach, that I could hide behind and disappear into the murk of the personality I'd been trained to present. 

Despite our differences, I loved him, in a way I'd never encountered before. We were both putting on a show for everyone while denying ourselves. 

Marcus is capable of talking me off the ledge, he listens to my babbling and deflects my want to screw the madness out of my life, he's a gentleman I suppose. Where I thought he would be harsh and angry, he's forgiving and understanding, and the anger from earlier came from his worry for his friend and my obvious lack of control. Perhaps even a little hurt, though Marcus has his own mask to hide behind.  

As much as I didn't want to, we talked about the book and how I was totally lost in it. I was addicted, and for a moment, I wasn't even myself. I was some strange being who was unable to think of anything but finding new ways to keep using the powers that flowed through my body, even if it meant hurting Verando in the process, though I had convinced myself I was healing him.

 I spilled my fears on him, and I liked the way the book made me feel. 

Shouldn't practicing your trade feel good? Much like the change into a wolf can begin to feel good to some lycans, my trade was an endorphin rush, else we would never want to use it. But being logical, he reminds me that many lycans lose themselves to their wolves; it was a risk Verando had run when they realized just how dominant Alpha was. I'd seen it firsthand; it was a constant battle he fought. 

Ever hopeful, he hints that just because something feels good doesn't mean it's right.

 I must be growing up because I know where that statement leads. It brings me back to myself with the reminder that I was trying to find comfort in another man's arms. Being here was temporary; it wasn't fair to use Marcus, and my body language had not yet learned to follow my heart.

It was unfair for me to come here and lay my feelings at his feet, but for the first time, I didn't feel the need to pay for friendship. I stand up and apologize for taking his time. Like a true friend, he allows me to leave without agreement or hesitation. It only took a lycan war and threats of total destruction to encourage me to make better choices for my friends and find my self-worth.

 I return to my room and sleep off my neediness, proud of myself for making the decision to remain alone. 

When I wake up in the morning, I'm in a rush to see him and Tonic, and at the same time, I drag my feet. I don't want to know that he died in the night, that he's truly gone, and the fear rests in the pit of my stomach. Dark circles rim my eyes; I'd tossed and turned all night, envisioning that I was the reason he'd stopped breathing. The only way I'd found sleep was to imagine how he'd felt beneath me, his cheeky responses, his concern over his vulnerability, and the way he touched me so gently.