Two Can Keep a Secret || Mark Tuan (Got7)

8

Mark swallowed the lump in his throat, wondering if he had actually heard him right or if he had just fallen headfirst into one of his worst nightmares.

Your father inched closer. "I asked you a question."

"Um," said Mark; it was the only response he could manage.

"How long have you been having sex with my daughter?"

Mark searched his brain for the answer that would most likely keep him alive, but resorted to, "A while."

Your father was running out of patience. He clenched his jaw and his nostrils flared. "Define that for me."

Mark remembered the first time you had moaned his name. He took you in the backseat of his car and for days had the scratch marks down his spine to show for it. It was the day his mother had announced her engagement to your father.

Fear evaporating at the thought, at the reminder of anger and rage, Mark snapped, "Since the day you proposed to my mother."

"For god's sake," your father roared.

The entire drive home was a melodramatic meltdown for you, because you had finally realized you were ready to come clean. Carrying this secret by yourself was destroying you. You desperately wanted your mother. She would know what to do, would know how to temper your father and make him see reason.

That gave you an idea. From what you knew of her, Mark's mother was a kind woman and had always treated you with affection and respect. She could be your unexpected ally in this. She could act as a buffer to your father.

Pulling into the driveway, your heart sank when you saw all the cars were present. Everyone was home. It was now or never.

The moment you opened the front door, you could hear shouting.

"What is going on?" exclaimed Mark's mother, barreling into the living room. "What are you doing?"

"I want him out," your father yelled, pointing at Mark and putting distance between them before he did something that warranted himself a trip to jail. "I want him gone right now!"

Ms. Tuan was far more concerned with protecting her son than appeasing her future husband, as any mother would be. "Mark, go stay at the old house," she spoke levelly.

You closed the door behind you, drawing their attention from all the commotion. "What's wrong?" you asked worriedly as you surveyed the overturned table and the broken lamp on the floor.

"Don't come in here," Mark warned, calling your name. He moved in your direction, rifling in his pocket for his car keys.

Your father set his eyes on you and chastised you by your full name, dripping with disdain. "You've been spreading your legs for him in my house," he shouted at the top of his lungs. "Under my goddamn roof!"

"Oh, god," was all you could say, eyes wide. Your father had never spoken to you in such a way and you were immediately rooted in place. Fear gripped you tight. Your heart pounded and your stomach twisted. Any minute you were going to color the carpet with bile.

Mark whipped around, having placed himself between you and your father, and growled, "Don't yell at her."

A look passed over Ms. Tuan's pale face then as she glanced frantically between you and Mark. She noticed the way he shielded you, the way his face tensed with anger at your father's words. She knew her boy and she realized this wasn't about sex or revenge.

Your father completely ignored Mark and stomped closer to you. His fiancee braced her hands on his chest, trying to slow his progress, while you backed to the door at Mark's guidance.