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“I’m not doing this with you.”
“Why not? Why won’t you tell me what is wrong?”
“There’s nothing to tell!”
“The hell there isn’t! Marcus, you won’t even look at me when I want to talk about this! Why won’t you let me in?”
“I am letting you in! I’m telling you there is nothing wrong!”
“Don’t lie to me. Please.”
“I’m not lying to you!”
“Yes, you are. Please, talk to me. Tell me what is wrong. I can see it in you, how it weighs you down. Let me in, talk to me.”
“There’s nothing to talk about! I mean it and I’m not going to fight about this with you!”
“Fuck you with that bullshit!” You push the words through clenched teeth, trying to keep your voice from rising. “I can see the dark circles, I can see you are not sleeping! I wake up too when you wake up from a nightmare and leave the bed covered in sweat! Marcus, plea–” He throws his hands up as a violent growl leaves his chest, cutting you off abruptly. It’s a deep sound, full of white-hot anger and frustration. A primal wave of something you’ve not heard before.
As the growl crashes into you - sweeping through your body like a vengeful tsunami - it makes you jump unconsciously. It’s almost like you can physically feel the force behind the sound and it pushes you to take a step back. The movement snaps his attention to you and his eyes widen as he realizes what he has done. What his voice alone made you do.
You’ve never been scared of him, never. There’s never been a need to be scared. Marcus is kind, compassionate, and patient. Never angry, never frightful. But now Marcus can see the tendrils of fear sweep up from the earth and wrap around your ankles. They tug you into their embrace, the darkness crowding you like a blanket and covering you, whispering sweet nothings in your ear about how he is wrong, how he is bad. Your arms mimic the movement of the shadowy vines and you shield yourself with them, creating a barrier between you and him.
You are protecting yourself. From him.
Understanding dawns on him. The same dark tendrils coil around him like a snake, squeezing the air out of his lungs. Marcus hadn’t even realized how up in your face he’d been, how close you’d both navigated in the heat of your fight. How he and he alone made that fear appear, grow and latch on.
He knows he’s not a small man physically, but he’s never felt smaller than this. He feels like he should drop to his knees, beg for your forgiveness, and promise he’s never going to raise his voice to you. But the words and actions do not come, he’s just left standing in the middle of the destruction.
A deafening silence settles between you, while you wait for his next move. It grows and grows like weeds on a summer day until it snaps in half. Marcus’ eyes fall shut and he shakes his head, his mouth moving without a sound, almost like he’s berating himself in his head.
“I’m going…” He swallows hard, finding his voice while his entire face remains tilted downward. He rubs his neck, burning hot under his icy fingertips, forcing the next words out of his scratchy throat. “I’m going to go. Give us both a bit of space.” A pause before a whisper. “I’m sorry.”
Saying the words is like eating glass, the small shards cutting deep into his cheeks but he bears it and lets the pain center him. He’s earned that pain ten times over. Somewhere in his mind, there is still a small flicker of hope that you’ll stop him but when you only nod, a jerky movement that doesn’t reach your eyes, he physically feels it die out.
You really fucked up Pike, a grave voice inside him tells him and Marcus can’t help but agree. And on your first fight as well. It’s a feat few men can accomplish, the voice continues to mock him and he presses his shoulders in, hunching to avoid the imaginary lashes.
His movement toward the door feels heavy, laden with guilt. The silence has changed from deafening to threatening and he feels the weight push him down, slow his steps even further. When he arrives at the mahogany wood, Marcus feels like he’s run a marathon. He stops at the door, his back to you and he wracks his brain for something to say, something to make this right. But there is nothing.
It’s all said and done. All that remains is ground zero.