Mark glared at him and nodded. Griffith’s safety came first, revenge would be dessert. He detested people like Leon. People, who genuinely believed their sexual needs and desires were somehow above someone else’s autonomy. Who just gave themselves the right to take choices away from others, and stomp all over bodies for their own pleasure. Griff was innocent and naive, and just thinking of Leon taking that away from him sickened Mark to the core. His own life had been nothing like Griff’s, who had so little experience, sheltered by privilege and the love of his family, and yet both had fallen prey to the kind of predator that stalked in the dark to snatch an opportunity.
Mark hadn’t had the capability to say no to Walt, who’d taken him home from a bar when Mark was just fifteen, but what happened after was permanently ingrained in him even though he’d been drunk. He’d felt dubious about the experience back then, but chose to ignore that, considering himself all grown up. By now, he knew that Walt, who was over forty, shouldn’t have touched him.
He was thirsty for blood.
Leon shook his head. “It’s ketamine, okay? Now get those cuffs off me!”
“I will.” Mark opened the switchblade and pressed it to the bottom of Leon’s ear. “But first, you listen to me. This is it for you. Consider this your restraining order. You come within a hundred feet of him, you try to talk to him, you text him, and I will come for you. Do you understand?” He lowered himself so deeply he was breathing on Leon’s cheek. “And I will do much worse than today. Maybe it will be so bad that you will decide to go to the police. But I’m a crazy motherfucker and I might just like it in prison. It won’t matter where I am when both your knees are bashed in and you can’t play tennis anymore, will it?” He pressed Leon’s face into the ground and cut the earlobe off in one quick move.
Leon’s muffled scream made the ground under their feet tremble, and he might just have bitten into the dirt to keep himself quiet. A whine escaped his lips when Mark tossed the cut piece of flesh into his face.
“There, you can keep your diamond stud,” he said before freeing Leon’s hands and letting him go.
As he made his way to Griff, he kept watching Leon from the corner of his eye, in case the shitstain wanted to go after him, but that wouldn’t be the case. Like a dog with its tail between its legs, Leon grabbed the piece of his ear, and darted down the lawn, holding on to the side of his head.
Mark’s anger simmered even harder when he noticed that Griffith was shivering on the ground, dressed only in a thin shirt. He quickly pulled him up, but the boy couldn’t stand, so Mark resigned himself to picking him up.
Griffith’s head rolled back when Mark pulled him closer. Despite his slim build, all that wiry muscle made him deceptively heavy, and Mark was glad that his car was close. As gently as he could, he pushed Griffith into the back seat before joining him and shutting the door. The blond head dropped to his shoulder, and despite his limbs remaining dead pieces of flesh, there seemed to be some understanding in Griffith’s eyes. He tried to speak again, without much success.
“I know, I know. It’s okay.” Mark stroked the damp blond hair, overcome with such a desperate need to protect him that for a moment it felt like a flood his body wouldn’t be able to cope with. He would protect Griffith, no matter the cost.
So he chose a number on his phone that he would have otherwise avoided like the plague. By the time Dana’s sleep-hazed voice crackled in the receiver he was almost sorry that she picked up.
“What.”
There was no point beating around the bush, and she would understand that. “I’ve got a guy here. Eighteen, about 135-140 pounds, on ketamine. What do I do with him?”
Dana was silent for a moment. “That’s creepy, Mark. You’re calling to ask me how to fuck an unconscious guy? He should be pretty easy.”
Mark snarled. “No! Someone else drugged him. I want to know how to help him. Will he be hungover? Can I give him something to lessen the effects? What are the risks?”
Dana exhaled, as if she absolutely needed him to know what a nuisance he was being to her beauty sleep. “Did he have just that? How did he ingest the drug?”
At Mark’s side, Griffith gave a soft whine, and his pinky moved briefly on Mark’s thigh, as if he wanted to scratch him for attention. Mark instantly felt guilty for finding that cute. He gently hugged Griff and kissed his temple. “Some alcohol, but not much, and he most likely had the drug in it.”
Dana briefly explained that the drug was normally used as a general anesthetic and that Griffith shouldn’t be at risk of overdosing if he’d been given a fixed amount of it in the form of a pill. Her suggestion was to let Griffith sleep it off but keep an eye on him, so that he wouldn’t choke on vomit, or in case any other adverse effects took place. But according to her, the whole thing shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours.
Mark put the seatbelt on Griffith and gently stroked his cheek, unable to comprehend that someone wanted to hurt a person so sweet and break his trust forever.
This was it. Charlotte could wait for their chat. It would happen one day, but now, Griffith needed him way more. It was crystal clear to Mark that the boy had had a crush on him since day one, but Mark had been too busy wallowing in self-loathing to do anything about it.
Maybe this was exactly what he needed. A clean slate. Someone pure—day to the night in which Mark had been living for most his life. Wasn’t this what Domenico and Seth had wanted for him? For Mark to experience the world through a different lens?
And judging by what happened tonight, Griff needed him, too. Someone who would treat him like the prince he was and cherish him from the top of his blond head to his cute pink toes.
For now, Sleeping Beauty needed to rest.
Chapter 10 - Griffith
A nauseating, sour aftertaste lingered in Griffith’s mouth when he slowly came to. The fluffy duvet enveloped him in warmth as if it were a cloud of vapor, but the dryness that had turned his tongue into a piece of bark eventually made him open his eyes.
The fact that the duvet was navy blue didn’t alarm him at first, but when one recollection triggered an avalanche of memories, he sat up and stared at a blank white wall while his heart drummed ever faster.
He’d been at the club, spoken to Charlotte, and then... and then he got drunk so fast he’d been struggling to remain on his feet. Memories were just broken pieces of last night. There had been someone’s feet walking alongside his own, but what then? What then?
His head felt foggy and tense, as if there were thin needles biting into it through the skull, but no matter how hard he fished for information, not much would come out of the abyss that was his mind.
Whose house was this?
How had he gotten here?
At least there was a glass of water on the bedside table in the bare-bones room, so he downed it as if he’d reached an oasis.
Only then did he focus on something that made him stiffen.
He was naked. Well, he did have his underwear on, but other than that, only the warmth of the bedding covered his skin. He looked around in growing panic, only to notice that the bed was in a mezzanine, so one of the walls was missing, opening up the space into whatever (and whoever) was downstairs.
Because someone was there. The sound of a sizzling pan was as obvious as the washing machine tumbling some laundry.
Desperate for some information, Griffith looked at the three shelves of the bedside table, and knowing that there was no one to see him, he opened the first one.
Condoms and lube assaulted his senses, and he took his time to breathe again as his brain frantically tried to stitch last night together. The picture it made was becoming darker by the second, even if still fragmented. A hand touching his chest and his thighs. He couldn’t remember how it felt, but he’d seen it. He’d seen it.
Had he had sex last night?
Clenching his teeth, he shut the drawer, and went on, finding nothing of value to him in drawer number two. The third contained a thick b
ook, and Griffith frantically pulled it out in hope that it could contain the data of the person whose house this was.
It felt startlingly heavy, but that didn’t alarm Griffith until he lifted the leather cover and dropped it on the pillow, paralyzed by fear.
There was a gun inside.
A gun.
Just to make sure it hadn’t been a hallucination, Griffith gently lifted the cover again, but there was no mistaking the large metal firearm for anything else.
What was this place? Was it a real gun?
He looked in again, and confirmed that in his experience, which consisted of shooting clay pigeons, it was real.
The sound of someone hissing followed by a clang of metal reminded Griff that his host was downstairs. His host who had a gun and a bunch of condoms, and who had likely touched Griffith in ways he’d never been touched. And now he could barely remember a thing.
He quickly put the journal back in the drawer and rubbed his arms, afraid to move and see who it was that brought him here. If he had a gun, could it be they were a cop? No. A cop wouldn’t have had sex with someone too drunk to remember anything. Someone else then? Someone much worse?
Griffith pulled up the duvet, stiffening against the piled-up pillows when he heard footsteps.
Someone was coming up the stairs, and there was nowhere for Griffith to hide. His breath sped up and he was getting nauseated all over again. His muscles went rigid when a bush of dark curls appeared above the railing, and then he went completely still when he saw a familiar face.
Mark stepped into the bedroom with two steaming plates and smiled at Griffith as if he’d come from a different dimension. One without a hidden gun, a night of lost memories, and a sinking feeling that something was very wrong.
Wait.
Was this Mark’s place? Had he slept with Mark?
“It’s you,” he said weakly, and the delicious smell of fried food somehow triggered another bout of nausea.
Mark snorted, and his hips, clad in low-hanging pajama trousers, tilted slightly. “It is I. Are you okay?” He put the two plates on the bedside table and Griff saw two perfect, sunny side up eggs on a bed of some kind of hash with sausage and potatoes.
Griffith forced more air into his lungs when they refused to expand, and the inhale gave him an unpleasant rush. “I... what happened? Where are my clothes?”
Mark raised his eyebrows and sat on the massive bed. “Griffith. What didn’t happen?” In a moment that completely stunned Griff, Mark reached to Griff’s foot peeking out from under the bedding and tickled his toes.
Griffith pulled it back under the covers, never looking away from the familiar face. His head came up with nothing even when Mark’s eye met his, so brown and intense Griffith lost the plot for a few seconds. “I don’t— I don’t know.”
Mark sighed and leaned closer, and for once it was not a body Griffith longed to touch but a threat. “You don’t remember? You got so loud I had to hold your lips closed so you wouldn’t wake the neighbors.”
The emptiness in Griffith’s brain was presenting him foggy, dark pictures, but was he imagining things, or was it true? Without thinking, he rolled out of bed on the other side, pulling the duvet with him. A pressure thickened in his throat as he covered himself, looking back at Mark and grabbing the railing for stability. “No,” he whined, shaking his head, adrenaline flooding his body in anticipation of danger.
It was as if he’d suddenly gotten tunnel vision, but no matter where he looked, he couldn’t flee the bedroom without walking past Mark.
Mark spread his arms. "No? But I thought you liked me, babe? Come on, Griff. All you said was ‘yes’ last night.” The fucker snorted and stood up to approach.
Charlotte was right. This was a nightmare. Mark was a nightmare. What else would Mark do now? Blackmail him?
Griffith pulled the duvet around him, his entire body pulsing when he thought of that odd sensation last night, of that numbness and heaviness of limbs. Had Mark really not cared that Griffith wasn’t himself last night? “So what? I don’t even remember you coming to the party! I don’t remember,” he said frantically.
Mark walked up to him and put his hand on Griff’s where it rested on the balustrade. “You don’t remember how good I made you feel?” He leaned over, breathing loudly, but Griffith flinched away.
Before he could stop himself, fear and resentment overflowed in the form of a sob. “I wanna go home.”
Mark stared at him with the one eye wide open. “Griff… No. No, no, no, no. Don’t cry, don’t cry. I was kidding. It was just a joke!” He raised his hands and showed his palms in defeat.
Griffith clenched his teeth and rapidly turned away as tears threatened to spill. Everything was a blur. “Is it? I don’t know. I d-don’t remember. I felt so weird. And I’m naked.”
He couldn’t hear Mark walking up to him, so he cowered in panic when Mark put his arm around Griffith’s shoulders. “Because you puked all over yourself. I’m washing your clothes now. I’m sorry about the joke, I just—something could have happened, you know? You have to be careful. Leon spiked your drink, and I assure you he wouldn’t have been a gentleman. Now stop crying, it’s okay.” Mark pulled him in for a hug.
Griffith shuddered and buried his face in the duvet, physically unable to stop shaking. “No, it’s not. Why? We’re friends. Why would he do that?”
Mark gave a deep sigh and sat on the bed, giving Griff the much needed space. “Because you’re really pretty, and he wanted his dick in you. There’s no nice way to put it. Sorry.”
Griffith squeezed his eyes shut to stop the tears from flowing, but it had the opposite effect, and two slid down his cheeks, leaving behind damp trails. Leon could be a menace sometimes, he could be mean, but this? “Why? He’s not bad looking. I’m sure he could find someone else. I don’t understand,” Griffith said, remembering the Halloween party and the insistent way Leon had shadowed him all evening, only to leave once Mark declared he was staying. That had been an uncomfortable experience, but Griffith would have never thought Leon could be capable of... rape.
Oh, God. He could have been assaulted.
Taking a deep breath, he hugged the wall, trying to gather his thoughts.
“I don’t know,” Mark said in a softer voice. “Because he was set on you. But nothing happened, and he will never bother you again, okay? You’re safe. I made you breakfast. I didn’t even sleep here, I slept downstairs, on the sofa. I’m sorry for making you feel bad, I really am.”
Griffith took a deep breath and wiped away his tears before looking back, still scared and sad but with hope slowly blooming in his chest. “What do you mean? What happened last night?”
Mark watched him so intently it was giving Griff goose bumps. Something had changed, and he couldn’t pinpoint what. “I’ve dealt with him, you don’t have to worry. And then I brought you here, that’s all.”
Dealt with him? What did that mean?
“There’s a gun in your bedside table,” he said weakly.
To that Mark stalled. “Oh. Snooping, were we?”
Griffith pulled the duvet tighter around him, and it suddenly occurred to him that it might have been smarter if he hadn’t mentioned it. Still, he gulped down air and looked back at Mark. “Is he dead?”
Mark laughed out loud and collapsed to the mattress, giving Griff a great view of his nicely muscled chest. “No, Griff! He’s not dead. I had a little argument with him, that’s all. And the gun is just an air gun. It’s all legal, I even have a licence.”
Was it a licence to kill?
Griffith chose not to pry. Now that he knew what really happened, the fried breakfast smelled delicious.
“Thank you,” he said softly.
“Anytime, sweetie. Though I’d rather this never happens to you again.”
Mark got up and pulled a T-shirt off the small rail of clothes in the corner. As Griffith accepted the garment, it occurred to him what Mark had said. Sweetie. Mark called him sweetie.
He nodded, suddenly unable to look away from Mark’s eye. It seemed so deep, with layers of color that invited him to jump in head-first. “It won’t,” he said and dropped the duvet, quickly pulling on the gray T-shirt, which was two sizes too large on him.
“You wanna eat downstairs? It’s one of my breakfast specials.” Mark wiggled his eyebrows and picked up the plates, leading the way.
“One of your recipes for two?” whispered Griffith, following him after hesitating for only a second. He had no idea how to handle this kind of situation, but Mark showed him so much kindness that his only option was to follow.
The sitting room downstairs was pretty bare as well, but at least it was spacious thanks to the tall windows and lack of clutter. A blanket lay on the sofa where Mark had slept, but it was hard to pay attention to decor when Mark walked in front of him, those glorious wide shoulders moving gracefully at arm’s length.
Griff wasn’t sure what was happening. Was he being flirted with?
Mark put the plates on the counter in the kitchen in front of two high stools. “Yep. So that I can impress those who stay over.”
Griffith drew in a sharp breath, but despite the fear still lingering in his flesh, he approached. “Do you... often have people staying the night?”
“You’re the first, but I hoped the circumstances would have been different.”
The kind of hot and cold treatment Mark was giving Griff since they met was a minefield of false hopes. Was Mark so comfortable with gay people because he grew up in that kind of household?
He couldn’t stand it anymore.
“Different how?”
Mark cocked his head. “I wish you weren’t hurt, and I wish I could have slept in that bed too. I’m bisexual, Griff. If you haven’t noticed.”
Griffith wished he still had that duvet to hide behind, because he had no idea how he should react. He did like Mark. A lot. And Mark had saved him from assault, acted like a gentleman and—
“Oh, God, you saw me vomiting,” Griffith whined, covering his face with both hands as shame overcame his entire body. “I am so, so sorry.” The sound of the laundry tumbling in the washing machine was a reminder of the reality dawning on him.
A Breath of Innocence Page 13