13. Marley

CHAPTER 13

Marley

I ggy deserves the truth, but every time I attempt to force the words out my throat burns like it's on fire. I don't talk about the past. Somehow I've convinced myself that if I keep the darkness locked up in the prison cell of my mind, I can manage.

People don't need to know how every step I take is methodical, or once I follow through on a decision, instantly I think it will cause an apocalypse. The reason I've never had relationships is twofold; the first being I know the kind of hell it is to deal with my irrational mind and, two, I am terrified loving someone will cause an avalanche I cannot save myself from. Emotions can cause so much turmoil for me, and I'm not equipped to deal with any of it.

A rush of air floods my lungs as I inhale deeply, briefly forgetting the struggle before me. Iggy's eyes lock on mine as if trying to discern knowledge I don't feel I possess.

"I'm broken," I whisper.

My confession has the opposite effect to what I intended. Iggy leans forward and brushes his lips along my neck. "I'll put you back together."

I silence all the words littering my mind as the friction from Iggy's cock against mine increases.

"I want you more than I want food, water, or air," Iggy growls in my ear.

Iggy pushes off me and smiles. There's a gleam of mischief in his blue irises. He pulls his hand away from our dicks and instantly, I miss the connection and the heat of his touch.

"Trust me," Iggy whispers.

His hand moves down my dick like a silk glove before connecting the tips of our cockheads together. He spits down on our joined dicks and rubs our leaking pre-cum before gently tugging at his foreskin.

"Fuck," I moan.

"Spit on our dicks. Lube us up, baby."

I follow his command, spitting down on our cocks. Iggy pulls his foreskin up his dick before covering my cockhead with his free hand. The sensation is rough and mind-blowing. He covers our dicks with his hand, jerking us off in unison.

"Jesus," my head hits the wall with a thud, "it's like I'm fuckin' your dick."

Iggy bends down, his teeth grazing my neck before he sucks my flesh. He's rough and I know there will be a hickey there in the morning. "You are. You're also gonna be a good boy and give me a load of hot cum. I want you to fuck my dick like it's a pussy and fill me."

"Fuck," I moan at the filth racing out of his mouth. My hands grip the hair on the back of his head and I turn us around, slamming his frame against the wall .

"Your dick piercings are fucking unbelievable," Iggy says before I cover his mouth with mine.

The kiss is frantic, desperate, and needy. It's a lashing of tongues and the nibbling of lips. It's a kiss ignited by passion and lust. No one has ever turned me on like Iggy. Not once since I started having sex has it been an all-consuming fire like it is with him. I know this can't last, not if I want him in my life forever, but right now, in this moment, I allow those intrusive thoughts to slip away and I take what my body demands.

"Pick a safe word, Iggy."

"Banana."

"Do you have lube?"

"Yes, there is a small bottle in the front of my jeans."

My jaw tics and I feel the vapid burning of jealousy in the pit of my stomach at the notion he's been with anyone other than me.

"Who did you fuck today?" I grit between clenched teeth. My hand curls around Iggy's throat and I squeeze. "I don't want you fucking anyone but me. "

Iggy nods and I release his throat. "You sure sound possessive for a man claiming he didn't want this a moment ago."

"Shut your mouth and move your hand quicker. I'm going to cum in your dick, then I'm going to let it drip on the floor before forcing you to clean it up like the good little cum dump you are."

"Fuck, your piercings. Feel so good inside my dick."

Iggy's hand glides along our joined dicks with such fervor you'd think his life depended on how quickly he's able to make me come.

"That's it, Iggy. Good boy."

His forehead crashes to my shoulder, and he groans. "Fuck, why do I love it when you talk to me this way? Anyone else would've gotten a broken jaw, but with you, I want it. I crave both your words of degradation and praise. What have you done to me, Marley? What have you done and why can't I break free?"

My arms wrap around Iggy, and I pull him close, longing to stay with him like this forever. Here I'm not consumed with pain, doubt, and self-hate. At this moment, my mind isn't traveling at warp speed, confused and lost in space. Right now I feel a fucked-up sense of peace even though I know my current situation of bliss can disappear like a mirage in the desolate desert.

I give in and come, releasing into Iggy's dick with a groan. "Fuck."

Iggy's head lifts from my shoulder, and he stares into my eyes. "Guess they weren't lying about docking, but I don't want to come like this. I want you deep in my ass before I shoot my load. I want you to fuck me, Marley, but before we do, I need you to tell me your truth."

I pace the room, breathing slowly to control the fear in my chest that seems to grow larger and threatening to spin out of control.

"Talk to me, Marley. I promise no matter what it is, I'm not going anywhere."

I whirl around and shove my wrist in front of his face. "I got this tattoo to cover up how fucked up I really am. It was my first one. Then I kept getting them because being poked by the needle of a tattoo machine didn't make me seem as fucked up as walking around with razor blade marks on my flesh."

My eyes shut, and my mind travels back to that day. The day my entire world tore into pieces and I lost everything and everyone I cared about.

"Hurry, Marley," my father's voice boomed on the other side of the bathroom stall.

We'd been practicing for that moment for years. That was the moment. My audition with the New York Philharmonic. If accepted, I'd become the youngest pianist they've ever had.

"Just a second, Dad," I said as I dragged the straight razor across my wrist. A small mark, nothing too noticeable, couldn't have me bleeding out on the keys. I thought I could get by today, but I needed to see the blood. Needed to ease the pressure. My parents wouldn't care about my secret. My dad would probably tell me to do what was necessary to succeed. That's all he cared about, being able to brag that his son was a world-renowned pianist. Most days, I hated the piano. There were moments when I wanted to take an ax and pound onto the wood until it splintered and turned into dust.

The stall door vibrated from the banging of my father's fists. "What are you doing in there, Marley?" He jiggled the door handle. "You can't blow this."

I placed the razor back into my small kit and hid the box of shame in one of the side compartments of the satchel. Tucked away safely where no one could find it but me. Other musicians had drugs, I had a straight razor and Band-Aids.

I brushed toilet paper against the blood, covering the self-inflicted wound on my wrist with a small Band-Aid to ensure no blood got on the cuff of my crisp white shirt. Once I was composed, I flushed the toilet and watched as the evidence of my weak mind floated away.

My father stood with his arms crossed as I opened the door and walked out.

"Sorry, Dad, I had to take a leak." I pushed past him, washed my hands, and headed to the washroom door before turning to my father. "Ready? "

As we walked to the auditorium, my father slung his arm around me. He didn't say encouraging words to put me at ease. He didn't tell me he was proud of me or the audition alone was a phenomenal accomplishment most would never attain. My father pulled me to him and said, "Don't embarrass me up there, boy."

I got to the piano and played a piece I could recite in my sleep. A composition I had learned so completely that I didn't even require sheet music. I could see the judges from the corner of my eye. They looked impressed. I was in. Then I remembered my father's words and at that moment, I wanted to burn it all down so finally after thirteen years of devotion I could rest. So, I missed the last note on purpose.

"You're a waste of space," my father berated me on the ride home. "All those years I wasted on you, for absolutely nothing. Do you have any idea what you just did in there? Do you, boy?"

He went off for the whole car ride home, insisting I was worthless and wishing I had never been born. My tongue was incapable of working, unable to scream the words, It's okay, Pops. I wish I'd never been born too .

I often would think about how easy it would be to just be dead. No noise, no pressure, no anger, resentment or pain, simply quiet darkness. Death sounded like paradise to me.

That night, I stepped into the bathroom and stared at my reflection. Dark hair, gray eyes, a strong Cupid's bow, high cheekbones, a defined jawline. I appeared as if I were some teen heartthrob, which was amusing, since my grueling music schedule never allowed me to date. I wondered how it would feel if I slashed up the sun-kissed skin and blood dripped down my cheeks. My face distorted and mangled, like my life.

The more I stared at the mirror, the heavier the constriction in my throat. I needed something to relieve the pressure, to make the hurt stop. I opened up the straight razor and sliced my wrist. But once I made one incision, it wasn't enough. I needed more. The pain wasn't going away. So I jabbed the blade back into my flesh. Stabbing at my wrist until I passed out on the floor.

"You tried to kill yourself?" Iggy asks, his voice a whisper .

"No," I say, shaking my head. "I simply wanted to stop the pain."

The veins in Iggy's arms protrude as he fists the duvet on the bed.

My eyes shut. "If you want to leave, I understand."

"Leave?" Iggy asks. "I don't want to leave. I want to go back in time and beat your father's head in until all that's left of him is blood and guts. Imagine demoralizing your son so much, all you leave is a desire to die."

"I didn't want to die."

"You can call it whatever you want, Marley, but you were drowning, and instead of helping you, your father held your head under the water. Why didn't your mother help?"

"My mother was a dutiful wife. She believed her place was to sit quietly and obey all my father's wishes. It's why the first thing I did with our first paycheck was get Monica out of that house. There was no way I was going to leave her in toxic hell. "

"Jesus fuckin' Christ. Did you have anyone?"

"Monica. I had her."

"Why didn't she do anything?" Iggy asks.

"She was fourteen. What exactly was she supposed to do?"