“No. I’m not using.”
“Look me in the eye and tell me again.”
When Marcus does I curse at the redness crawling in them. I don’t know how I missed it before. “I’m not using. I’m…selling.”
Oh, Dio.
Years ago when Marcus moved states to attend college here and later work at my company, I couldn’t say no because of our past. Something else that happened on that Thanksgiving night has ironically bound us to this promise…one that I resent.
We have never gotten along, but I continued to help him. He is my blood after all. There are times he’s asked to borrow thousands of dollars, and thinking he’ll use it for good or at least something legal, like starting up his own design business, I accept without question. Even though he’s never paid me back, I’ve maintained a fraction of faith in him. Looking back now, I’ve been too generous. Helping Marcus is a foolishly desperate move to keep him as part of the family.
Foolish.
I stopped the additional payments when I walked in on a drug trade in his office months ago. It’s irresponsible. I feel like a fucking tour guide in my own freaking building; and on the left it’s drugs in Marcus’ office, down a level and to the right it’s sex in McCarson’s office. Take your pick. Fuck no. It’s preposterous. This needs to stop. Marcus has always pledged he’s only the seller and that he’ll stop. I have never believed it and how he’s acting now is why.
“Do you know how bad this is, Marcus?” I can’t speak sense into him, no matter how hard I try. “If the police find you—”
“They won’t.”
“Let’s say they do. Are you prepared to throw away your entire life?”
“I’m careful with the people I sell to.”
“You’re twenty-three, Marcus! You have your entire life ahead of—”
“The only way the police will find out is if YOU tell them. Okay?” he hisses. I see the terror in his eyes, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. “If you tell them, I swear on my mother’s life that I will tell them everything.”
“Don’t you dare. They are two different situations. You promised me—”
Marcus cuts me off. Again. “Don’t tell a soul. You owe me! You fucking owe me this!”
I don’t see a man in front of me; I see hell. That wicked look in his eyes has been there ever since he learned the word ‘brother.’ Yes, he lost his father too, but I became an orphan that night. I admit I haven’t been the best to him, but I have my reasons.
What reasons does he have?
Marcus took my mother’s favorite pieces of gold jewelry and threw them in the river.
My father praised him.
He keyed my first car.
His mother laughed it off.
He set my bed on fire the day before I left for Seattle.
The happy couple said “it was going to be removed anyway.”
That nine-year-old playing with fire grew up to be a man toying with every opportunity in his precious life.
Marcus’ anger fluctuates as I stand motionless in front of him. I can’t give him more than I already have. A steady job. Steady pay. A steady family through my children.
“I don’t know what to say, Marcus…”
“Nobody cares, Giulio. You know where I was this past weekend? Jersey. My mom got remarried and wait a minute…oh, that’s right you weren’t invited.”
“Good luck to her. There’s no need to be childish about it, you know that I would not have gone even if I was invited after what she did to my mother. I want to talk some sense into you. I want to help you. But I can only explain it to you. I can’t understand it for you, Marcus.”
It happens in a split second.
He launches at me and his fist collides with my left cheekbone. I don’t flinch. My half-brother doesn’t stop there. He punches my diaphragm and keeps going. My breaths stagger but I don’t retaliate throughout the entire ordeal. I simply stare ahead at him with a clenched jaw.
He throws punch after punch. One blow to my stomach and I’m on my knees, suppressing the groans that threaten to escape.
Not for him.
Marcus kicks my side. Once. Twice. He screams, telling me to fight back and then switches to insults. All of which reminds me exactly of my father. It’s exactly what he used to do. I let Marcus treat me however he likes because I know the demons inside him will never stop without a release. I take it. Blow after blow. I do not care that I will wake up in the morning battered and bruised. All I care about is that Marcus wakes up tomorrow morning with at least one brain cell that tells him just how wrong he is.
“Marcus, what the hell?”
“Leave me alone, Bryce. He fucking deserves it.”
There’s a struggle between them. I miss it, too desperate to catch my breath.
“Get out of here! Innit enough you’re a dealer? Don’t add being a nutter to the title.”
I clutch my side, compressing the sharp pain I haven’t felt in a long while.
The front door opens and slams shut. Marcus is gone.
A hand is extended to me.
I smell bergamot.
Bryce.
It’s Bryce. Helping me?
“Your face is alright, it’s the body that will bruise up,” he says with a pinched expression, his nose scrunched up. “He shouldn’t have gone that far. Come on, up ya get.”
I stare at him perplexed and he has the exact expression. He’s just as astonished as I am that the Bryce McCarson is taking my side.
Has Marcus kicked me into the Twilight Zone?
I can’t forgive Bryce for what he did to Valencia, but what I can do is take Bryce’s tattooed hand. And I do, and Bryce helps me up. I thank him while adjusting my suit.
I attempt to work through exactly what just happened. Bryce stopped the altercation and as a result, made
