As was quickly becoming the norm, my interaction with Marcus was marked by long intense silences, a couple of dirty looks, and your occasional snide comment. So, in essence, we were actually getting along famously.
It wasn’t until he was dropping me off at my car after helping me pack up some things from my apartment that anything of note happened.
“You don’t have much family do you?”
I straightened almost immediately, forgetting the duffle bag I’d been trying to stuff into my trunk. The look I sent him was filled with the appropriate amount of venom.
“If by ‘much’ you mean ‘none at all,’ then no. I don’t.” A fact I was sure he was perfectly aware of, since it was as much a part of public record as my criminal history.
Sighing as if he’d rather be anywhere else, Marcus stuffed his hands into his jean pockets and leaned against the side of my car.
“There’s nothing wrong with being an orphan,” he told me. “Gabe doesn’t have any parents either.” He paused and his voice turned harsh. “The difference between you and Gabriel is that someone actually wanted him.”
I jerked back as if he’d struck me.
“I don’t mind if you two want to share some bodily fluids every now and then, but that’s as far as it’s ever going to go,” he continued, his eyes hard and cold as he watched me. Searching to see if the barbs he threw were drawing blood.
My lips tightened and I crossed my arms over my chest to hide the rage that had whitened my knuckles. “Last time I checked, Gabriel wasn’t some simpering virgin, so why are you playing the overly protective papa? Not that I mind. It’s cute, in fact. But I don’t think he’d appreciate you sticking your nose in his business when it’s really none of yours.”
He snarled at me, a throaty, angry sound that had me taking a step back even as he advanced.
“I’m doing you a favor. We may not be blood, but Gabe is family and I’m not the only one who sees him that way. Some of them aren’t nearly as forgiving as I am when it comes to little girls who like playing Gold-Digger. And believe me, love, compared to them I’m a goddamned Tickle Me Elmo.”
I couldn’t even enjoy mentally picturing Marcus giggling in hysterics every time someone poked his belly. I was too busy trying to bury the hurt his words had caused. I was angry, yeah, but a small part of me, the part who was reminded every holiday and birthday that she was an orphan, wanted to cry. I wanted that. Someone who would look out for me. Who would commit violence for me.
I bet it would be nice to not have to fight my own battles for once.
“Hey,” his voice was an unwelcome intrusion to my thoughts, “are we on the same page or not Conners?”
I shrugged as if I could care less. “Oh yeah,” I assured him. “I’m even a couple of paragraphs ahead.”
Getting into his car, his lips tightened in annoyance. I could have sworn I heard him mutter “smartass” before he revved his engine and drove away, but somehow I couldn’t enjoy the title as much as I usually did.
“The moon is my god now. I dance for it, I pine for it, and if it asked, I would kill for it.”