Liability

Chapter 23 - Rhys

Warning: mentions of past sexual assault, non-consensual drug use and addiction

"Is there a fucking reason why you kept glaring at me all day, Martinez?" is Mark's opening line when Rhys opens his door. He is scowling and looking mutinous as if expecting Rhys to apologize for not welcoming him back after his disappearing stint with open arms.

"I don't know," Rhys muses, his tone cold even to his ears, and doesn't move away from the doorway. "Maybe because the last time you pulled this shit we found you barely clinging onto your life in our goddamn homeroom teacher's secret hideout. After begging a favor from Arnold Montgomery."

"So what? You expect me to say thank you? Or suck your cock in gratitude?" Mark snarls like a cornered animal, but Rhys can't find it in himself to give a single fuck at the very moment.

"Sorry, but I'm not into raping others," Rhys snipes back, knowing fully well that he's aiming below the belt and hits his target with deadly precision because Mark flinches and rears back, his bloodshot eyes widening and his already pallid face turning nearly translucent.

"Fuck you, Martinez," he spats and turns to storm away, but Rhys catches him before he could take more than half a step back towards the elevator. "Get your hands off me."

"Shut up, Mark, and get in. You're clearly totally out of it. Again."

"If you think I—"

"I said, get in."

Rhys lets Mark wrist go and watches as the other boy glares down at him. They are nearly the same height but Mark still has enough inches on him to claim superiority usually. Except at the moment, he looks like an empty shell that's on the brink of imploding. He is pitiful and Rhys wants to know what the hell he's been up to, what the hell happened since they rescued him from that parasite's clutches. Since Marks parents descended on their son and secreted him away while every sordid detail of that clusterfuck was efficiently swept under the proverbial rug.

They stare at each other for a long moment before Mark finally growls and pushes past Rhys and practically stomps into the apartment. He throws himself onto the couch in the living room and promptly snorts when he sees Rhys' laptop and what he's been doing. Rhys closes the door and bites back a sigh. He should have put at least minimalized the window.

"You're stalking that little bitch Armand? Really? You that desperate to suck his dick or what?"

"That's you." Rhys doesn't say that. He knows better than that, even if sometimes he can't help but feel resentment towards Mark for the mess he got himself and all of them into. Over a fucking bet. Because everyone knows that making stupid bets at Edison is basically mandatory for anyone who wants to climb the social ladder. If someone challenges you to a bet you can't back down from it. Unless you are ready to be humiliated left and right by the others. And Mark Goodman couldn't have that. He could never fucking back down from anything and now they are here for...

"So why are you really here?" Rhys finds himself asking.

Mark purses his lips and looks away. His arms are suddenly crossed across his chest in a defensive way, as if they could protect him from whatever madness his head is cooking up. Rhys sits in the armchair next to the couch and wills himself to wait Mark out. A part of him wants to believe they are friends. Really friends not just pretend to be thick as thieves for more power within Edison's messed up hierarchy. Believe that he fought so hard to save Mark from that monster's clutches because it meant more than easing his own conscience over the ridiculous hero complex Thommy keeps accusing him of having. But he knows better. He's surprised he has found someone he can trust in Thommy, even if he still struggles with accepting Thommy's role in his life too.