Page 9 of Darkness and Duress
With my palms braced on the porcelain sink, I hung my head between my hunched shoulders and tried to pull at the threads of mantras and meaningless bullshit quotes in an attempt to bring me back to reality.You are in control. You are the master of your mind. You can get through this.It was all utter bullshit but I was floundering with the one thing that always triggered me—loss of control.
The phantom fingers of Henny’s hands lingered on my skin, making it crawl and stretch too tight. I'd thought overpowering him, threatening him, switching up the power would help me regain control, but it had done the opposite. Somehow, it made it worse. I was fooling myself if I thought for one second I'd gained any sort of power in that split second. Instead, I'd fallen into his trap and given him the power to fuck with my head.
My knuckles grew white as I gripped the sink tighter. Each breath was a little easier, but only by the smallest margin. I was so fucking livid. Underneath my anger, a slick coil of something disturbing writhed and squirmed—fear. Brandon Fortini terrified me. Not because he was a threat. I feared him because as much as I wanted to hate him, I knew he wasn't a threat to anyone in the traditional sense. He did threaten my foundations in a way I'd never reveal to anyone. Especially him.
I tried to force the lingering sensation of his hands on my skin from my mind, battling the constriction in my chest and the quivering of my muscles. God, I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to take back the control he’d stolen and wield it over him like a knife. I wanted to hold his life in my hands and squeeze so he knew exactly who held the power. The terrifying thing about that was the fact that he wanted it just as badly. His eyes betrayed his wanton desire the second my weight forced him into the couch and his hands came into contact with my skin. It was sick and twisted and utterly disgusting. It was dangerous. It was terrifying and alluring. God, my head was so fucked up.
So was his.
I lifted my gaze and met its haunted reflection in the mirror. The disaster that I found there was enough to distract me from my brush with depravity. Forcing myself to concentrate on my feedback loop of self-help bullshit, I methodically neatened my clothes, wet my face, tidied my hair, and washed my hands. Theremnants of my panic still slithered cold and slimy in my gut, but I was stronger than this. I was in control.
I left the bathroom but detoured to the bar on the main floor. I needed to bolster my tenuous grip on my sanity before braving the lounge again. Watching Brandon throw himself at whomever was closest had been a test of my patience all night. Watching his friends take advantage of his advances had taken that patience and thrown it through a spin cycle. I knew full well the appeal of casual hookups and friends with benefits. Brandon’s almost desperate attitude didn't fit either mold. It was the second time in a day that I'd seen uncomfortable situations involving him and his group of so-called friends. Sure, I hated him with every fiber of my being. I hated the loaded power imbalance of their twisted relationships more. Natural, considering how desperately I sought control in my own life.
I nursed my scotch glass and skimmed the crowd of dancers to distract myself from the dark spiral of my thoughts. My mood always tanked at the end of the day. Alcohol helped add some false buoyancy, but the tendrils of darkness forever lingered just on the fringes, waiting for me to let my guard down. My recent panic was fodder for the shadows, so I used the sights and sounds around me to push back and keep control over my mind. Bright lights. Happy faces. Groups and couples moving fluidly to the pumping bass of the sound system. Thump. Thump. Thump. The music became a defibrillator forcing my heart to beat steadily in my chest.
One drink became a second before I felt steady enough to return to the lounge overhead. Try as I might to ignore it and all the uncomfortable feelings it had inspired, my ears still managed to pick up the intermittent laughter and hoots of the men I'd left behind in my flight. It was time to leave. As their new, albeit reluctant leader, I felt a duty to ensure they did so safely.
Each step up the staircase felt ominous as I climbed. Their stamina for the nightlife was impressive and alarming. I knew I would make no friends while demanding they all leave for the night, but business was business and I wasn't in the business of making friends. As soon as I ascended high enough to glimpse the group, my resolve shifted into icy hot fury. For the third time today, I witnessed a scene that made the contents of my stomach churn.
Henny was sprawled on the couch, boneless and missing his shirt. Molly sat astride his lap with the bottle of scotch poised over his slack-jawed mouth. To either side, Poncho and Red knelt on the cushions, snapping cell phone selfies as they poked and prodded and pinched at his bare skin. Every touch had the barely conscious man writhing and whining. Whatever their fucked up dynamic was, this wasn't okay. Nothing about it was okay. I stormed up the last three steps and advanced with all the bottled up rage simmering in my chest.
“What the fuck is wrong with you animals?!” I grabbed the back of Molly’s jacket and hauled him from Henny’s lap before chucking his startled body to the floor. The bottle rolled from his grip to clank against the metal railing. A waterfall of expensive scotch rained down on the dance floor below, but that was the least of my concerns. My hands flew to the next target. Poncho’s phone hit the floor microseconds before his body did. With lightning fast movements, I yanked Red to his feet and shoved him toward the lone man standing. Gramps caught him with a grunt.
“Yo, what the fuck, Marco?!” Molly scrambled to his feet and clenched his fists. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”
I whirled on him, coiling my fingers into fists with a low growl. “Me? Who do you thinkyouare?”
“Back off, prick!” A hand shoved at my shoulder from the side and impulse drove my fist in an arc to connect with the offender’s gut. Poncho folded in half with a groan.
“You should all be ashamed of yourselves!” I flicked a hand toward Henny, still slouched in the cushions of the couch and completely unaware of his surroundings. “What the fuck were you thinking?”
“Bro, chill. He loves it.” Red shook his head with a laugh. “Ask him yourself.”
“I would, except he’s fucking unconscious!”
Their gazes snapped to and fro, silently communicating with one another as they drew into a line and stared me down. Occasionally glancing toward Henny behind me, their drunk expressions moved through a plethora of emotions before they scoffed and snorted and made crude gestures. Thankfully, one by one, they turned away to head for the stairs. I spit in their direction to rid my mouth of the slick bile climbing up my throat.
The fact that they all abandoned their supposed friend in a public place just added more fuel to the fires burning in my chest. I hated this man with every fiber of my being and I still had enough human decency to know you never left someone in such a vulnerable position. The only member of the crew that had shown any care or consideration for him was Jericho and he had fucked off hours ago, so he wasn't ranking any higher in my book as I turned and scanned Henny. Warily, I approached.
“Brandon, get up.” I kicked his foot and waited for a response. He stirred, barely. I kicked his foot again. “Wake up.”
“Mmmngh. M-no.” He waved a hand before letting it fall limp over his stomach.
He was drenched in alcohol, glossy under the low lighting as it tracked rivulets down his chin and over the contours of his chest. His hair was matted and sticking up in places it shouldn't. I collected his shirt and jacket with a twitch in my jaw. FiguresI'd get stuck with him. No good deed went unpunished. To make matters worse, the entire crew had conveniently forgotten to put money toward the bill. Anger rolled through my veins as I handed my credit card to the waitress. The money wasn't the issue—it was principle at that point.
I glanced back toward the limp lump of a man I despised and swept a palm over my face. Fucking morals. I cursed my mother for raising me right as I slung Henny’s clothing over my arm and returned to stand in front of him.
“Brandon, get the fuck up.” I shook his shoulder and earned myself another moan of discontent. This close, I could see the red marks left by his friends all over his chest, neck, and arms. Even amongst the intricate tattoos, I could tell a number of them were hickeys. Discomfort returned to my gut with a slick, oily roll. It made me sick in the worst of ways.
I muttered a reluctant apology and shifted closer. I was no better than the animals who'd just left as I searched the pockets of his jeans for the valet slip. The invasion of his personal space assaulted my senses with too many things all at once—my scotch on his breath. The faint aroma of his sweat mingling with deodorant and cologne. The soft, barely-there whimper at the end of each faint exhalation. Retrieving the small ticket, I shifted back enough to search his face for signs of consciousness.
“Bran, we need to go.” I patted his cheek and sighed again when his response was a delayed, incoherent mumble. “Fuck you for making me do this the hard way.”
My torso bent low as I grabbed his arm and pulled it over my shoulder. We both grunted as he nearly melted to the floor despite my arm wrapped around his waist. He was so completely disconnected from the world around him, I resorted to dragging him down the stairs and to the front desk to retrieve my credit card and turn in the valet ticket. All things considered, Iprobably shouldn't be driving, but we were close enough to my apartment building that I was willing to take the risk.
My skin crawled over the dozens of eyes tracking our movements. It definitely looked a certain type of way to have a muscled man in a three-piece suit physically dragging a half-naked, barely conscious man out of a nightclub at one o’clock in the morning. We garnered even more attention as I manhandled him into the passenger seat and secured him in place with the seat belt. Whatever. Fuck them all. I knew I was doing the right thing.
I tipped the valet kid a hundred bucks and climbed into the driver’s seat. The difference in height between my passenger and I became apparent as I adjusted the seat to accommodate my longer legs. I glanced to the side and found Henny propped up against the window, looking far more vulnerable than he had just moments earlier. The harsher street lighting and quieter surroundings stripped away the pretense of excitement and debauchery found in nightclubs around the city. Now, he looked as young as he was, and painfully vulnerable. As much as I hated him, I sympathized with him, too. It took a broken man to see the damage in another man and Brandon Fortini was clearly suffering from something if he were willing to let himself be used and abused in the name of friendship.