Tell Me When (18 page)

Chapter Thirty-Four

Amber

I watch, frozen in horror, as Marcus is attacked. One of the guys kicks him in the ribs. Marcus doesn’t so much as flinch, but then drops to his knees, unable to take any more abuse. I can’t believe he lasted as long as he did.

Another man pulls out a gun and aims it at him.
Oh
,
God.
They’re going to kill him.
The thought knocks me out of my frozen stupor and I snatch my cell phone from my pocket, berating myself for not having it out sooner. I manage to punch “9,” but my hands shake so much, I hit “2” instead of “1.”

I hear a shout and look up. Marcus is lying on the ground, unmoving. The thugs are casually walking away, as if they haven’t just beaten up a guy, but are simply leaving after a friendly conversation.

As soon as they disappear around the corner, I scramble from the car and race over to Marcus. I kneel next to him and blink away the tears at the sight of his messed up face. His eye is rapidly swelling and he has a small cut on his cheek.

I place my hand on his arm. “Marcus?” He’s breathing, but his breaths are shallow and it’s obvious from his grimace that he’s in a lot of pain.

His closed eyelids flutter for a moment before his beautiful hazel eyes peer up at me. “I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.” He somehow manages a cocky grin. I roll my eyes but can’t stop the small smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.

“Can you get to the car, or should I call for an ambulance?”

Holding his ribs with one hand, Marcus slowly pushes himself up. My heart clenches in a tight knot at how much pain the movement must have caused him, even though none of it shows on his face.

I help him to his feet, afraid to let him go in case he collapses again. He groans, then bites down on his lips to keep from betraying how much pain he’s really in. I wouldn’t be surprised if he inwardly shuts down, so I don’t know how bad things are. I did that all the time with Paul.

“Car,” he whispers. “Need to go to...youth center.”

“No, you need to go the hospital, Marcus. You might have a broken rib.”

“Youth center...then hospital.”

I want to scream at his stubbornness. “You can go to the youth center afterwards. I promise I’ll drive you there after the hospital.”

“I’m not going there till I’ve talked to Dave. I’ll take a cab if I have to.”

“Fine,” I huff. “But I’m driving.”

He doesn’t argue, though I can tell he’s not thrilled with the idea. I’m not a bad driver, so it must be a male ego thing.

I get him into his car and he gives me directions to the youth center. Once there, I help him into the building. Light spills from the crack under Dave’s office door.

“Dave!” I call out. “We need help.”

He appears a few seconds later from his office; it takes him only a second more to figure out Marcus is in even worse shape than he looks. He indicates for me to bring Marcus into the office and shuts the door behind us.

The room isn’t large, but there’s enough space for a couch, along with a desk and a bookshelf. Sandwiched between the desk and bookshelf is a file cabinet with a first-aid kit on top.

“He might have a broken rib,” I say. “But he insisted I bring him here first.”

“I hate hospitals,” Marcus mutters.

Dave grabs a couple of cushions scattered on the couch and props them against the armrest, while I retrieve the first-aid kit in case he needs it.

“Lie down,” he instructs.

Marcus looks like he’s going to say no, but then changes his mind and sags back against the cushions. While Dave scoots the hem of Marcus’s long-sleeved T-shirt up, I take hold of Marcus’s hand. His long fingers wrap around mine and he squeezes. I can tell he wants to squeeze harder against the pain but doesn’t want to cause
me
pain.

A bruise is already forming over his ribs where the man’s foot made contact. Luckily the skin isn’t broken. Other than that, I can’t tell how bad the injury is. But I can tell this isn’t the first bad injury he’s suffered from. Faded jagged scars dot his chest and shoulders. Nothing like mine, but I can tell they were once bad enough to need stitches, only he was never taken to the hospital to be treated.

“You want to tell me what happened?” Dave asks Marcus.

“Not really.”

Dave looks at me, eyebrow raised in question. Not knowing what to say, I shrug. If Marcus doesn’t want to tell him the truth, then I’m not going against his wishes. There might be a good reason he doesn’t want to tell Dave what happened. Or he’s just being an idiot and is letting pride stand in his way.

“I think I know what’s going on with Alejandro,” Marcus says. “He’s been recruited by Carlos’s gang. Or is in the process of being recruited.”

“Shit,” Dave mutters under his breath. “Well, either way you need to get your ribs checked out. You do realize, of course, the cops are goin’ to ask questions.”

“I’ll tell them I walked into a wall.”

My heart clenches for the second time at the realization Marcus has probably used that line before, and a mountain of other ones when his stepfather abused him.

“Can you drive him?” Dave asks me. I nod.

He helps me with Marcus. As we walk down the path, Alejandro pulls up on a bike. His mouth flops open as he takes in Marcus’s appearance.

“
¡Mierda!
What happened?” he asks.

Marcus narrows his eyes. “You wanna tell me where you got the bike from?”

“Didn’t steal it if that’s what you’re wonderin’.”

“Then it shouldn’t be too hard to tell me where you got it from.”

Alejandro glares at him, mouth pressed shut.

“Fuck. Are you screwing around...with Carlos and his gang?”

Alejandro lets loose a stream of Spanish before he races off down the street on his bike. Several people jump out of the way and yell curses after him as he continues past parked cars and rundown small businesses.

“Shit,” Marcus mutters, shaking his head, eyes never leaving Alejandro until the boy’s too far away to be seen. And even then he keeps staring down the street, as if expecting Alejandro to return at any second.

“C’mon.” With my arm still around his back, I nudge Marcus toward the car. He doesn’t move at first, but he eventually gives in and climbs into the passenger seat.

Once he’s in, I fastened his seat belt. The strap presses against the bruised area and a faint groan falls from Marcus’s lips. I give them a light kiss, to let him know everything will be all right. Before I can pull away, his hand drifts to the back of my head and he kisses me harder.

“Please don’t leave me tonight,” he murmurs against my mouth.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Amber

The empty white walls of Marcus’s bedroom glow softly in the early morning sunlight. Marcus’s arm is draped over my waist. It’s the only thing covering my waist. At some point during the night, the covers were kicked off, forming a puddle of fabric around my hips.

I glance at the alarm clock on his stack of textbooks. Even though I already suspected it wasn’t super early, I gasp at the glowing red “8:02 a.m.” I’m going to miss my first class, and maybe even my second one. I don’t want to wake Marcus up. He had a rough night. First, with being beaten up by the gang, followed by an excruciatingly long wait in the ER, and to top it off, he woke several times during the night with nightmares. Nightmares he refused to talk about.

If anyone needs more sleep, it’s him.

Careful not to wake him or accidentally hurt his injured rib, I wiggle from under the covers and search the floor for my long-sleeved T-shirt. I’m already wearing my jeans, but had agreed to remove my top at Marcus’s insistence. He wanted to feel
me
next to him, not my clothes, when he finally fell asleep.

I find the T-shirt and slip it on. Chase’s bedroom door opens as I step into the hallway. I quietly close the door behind me and raise my finger to my lips. His mouth slides into a knowing smile.

“Late night, huh?” he whispers. His grin vanishes when he sees my serious expression. “What’s wrong?”

I indicate for him to move to the kitchen and proceed to tell him in a low voice what happened. I can only hope that Marcus won’t have a problem with his best friend finding out the truth.

“You’re the only other person who knows what happened,” I say. “He refused to tell Dave or the cops.”

“Is he okay?”

“One of his ribs has a small fracture. He has a black eye and will be sore for a while, but he should be okay.”

Chase offers to drive me to school, and I wait for him to shower while I watch the news. Other than a possible gang shooting, there’s nothing of interest. If the karma gods are shining down on Marcus, the person who was shot was one of the men who attacked him.

“You ready?” Chase asks, coming out of the bathroom. A part of me had hoped Marcus would wake up before I left, so I could check on him. The painkillers must have really knocked him out.

“I bet I’m not the first girl Marcus has slept with who you’ve had to drive to school. Not that I was, you know, doing more than...sleeping with him.” My face grows hotter with each idiotic word.

Chase chuckles. “I’ve never had to do that. You know why?”

Because they’re not stupid enough to get stranded here without a car? Deciding not to point out the obvious, I shrug instead.

“You’re the only girl he’s brought home.” Chase opens the apartment door.

“Really? Not even Tammara?”

“Thank God not even her. You being here, Amber, is a huge step for him.” We walk down the hallway. “I’ve known him since kindergarten, and you’re the first girl, other than my sister, he’s allowed to get close to him. It’s about damn time. Marcus has had one fucked-up life, and I can tell there’re things he’s kept from me. But he’s changed since he met you. Changed for the better.”

I have no idea how to respond. I’m still stunned by Chase’s earlier revelation: that I’m the first girl Marcus has brought to his apartment.

Chase drops me off at my dorm and I race upstairs to get ready. Thanks to him, I’m not going to miss any classes.

Brittany’s back in our room when I return from the bathroom, my ponytail damp on the ends. She does her best to pretend I’m not here as she gathers her books. Not that pretending changes the fact I still have nightmares and wake up several times a week, screaming. I even had one last night. Luckily, Marcus was drugged up with painkillers so he slept through it.

Since I have a few minutes before I’m due to meet up with Jordan, so we can walk to class together, I pick up the unopened mail from my desk.

A new envelope sits on top of the pile. It’s identical to the one not forwarded to me by Mom’s assistant. Both are plain white envelopes with no return address. I select one and drop the rest back on my desk, then tear open the envelope and read the typed letter.

A
flower cannot blossom without sunshine
,
and man cannot live without love.
Max Muller

My mouth dries up like a pond in a drought. This can’t be happening. There’s no way Paul can know where to find me. I don’t use any social networking sites. And I’m studying at a different university from the one I told Paul I wanted to attend.

But even as I try to convince myself that, the evidence is staring right at me.

He’s found me.

I snatch up the matching envelope and rip it open. This time there are two separate pieces of paper. I read the first one.

For it was not into my ear you whispered
,
but into my heart.
It was not my lips you kissed
,
but my soul.
Judy Garland

My stomach threatens to heave at the memory of Paul’s cold, hard lips against mine. I toss the offending piece of paper down and read the next one.

Man dies of cold
,
not of darkness.
Miguel do Unamuno

I gasp, my body turning cold like the message. Just before Paul killed Trent, his love quotes changed to ones about man and death.

I sit down hard on my bed, staring at the messages in my trembling hand. “D-do you know where this other letter came from?” I don’t even look at Brittany, unable to tear my gaze away from the last quote.

“Some weird guy dropped it off,” she mutters. “He said something about it being delivered to his mailbox by accident. Are you okay?” Her last words hold a trace of concern.

I look up at her. All hints of concern have been transformed into curiosity. “What guy?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know his name.”

“What did he look like?”

“I don’t really remember. It’s not like I hang out with the losers around here.”

“Please try to remember. It’s important.”

“I don’t know. He was tall and skinny and wears glasses. And he might have curly blond hair.”

“Is he good looking?” Her description matches at least five guys living here. And those are just the guys I remember.

“He’s okay, I guess. Not exactly my type.” I’m not sure what her type is, so that doesn’t help much, though I hope it isn’t guys like the jerk who was harassing her the other night.

“Does he live on our floor?”

She shrugs, again. “Dunno. Maybe.”

I want to scream. Can she be any more unhelpful? I can’t even tell if she’s doing it on purpose to get back at me or if she genuinely doesn’t remember.

Since there’s nothing I can do until I talk to every guy in this building who fits that description, I collect my backpack from the floor. Then pause.

“That guy in the bathroom the other night....” I leave it at that, unsure what I really want to ask her.

She opens her desk drawer and rifles through it. “It was no big deal. Jack can be a jerk sometimes, especially when he’s been drinking.”

“So, he’s a friend?”

“Boyfriend.” She continues searching through her drawer.

I want to tell her she deserves better, but she won’t give a damn what I think.

I spend the morning in a daze. Memories of when Paul stalked me pound in my head. How could he even know where to find me? Wasn’t that privileged information? And even if it wasn’t, very few people know I’m here.

But then this is Paul we’re talking about. Stalking is what he excels at.

Except, how’s he doing this? He’s still in the psych ward. Mom or Grandma would have told me if he were free. Considering he’s up for two murders, kidnapping, torture, rape, and a host of other charges, I’ve been told I’ll never have to worry about him again. Once convicted, he’ll be locked away for a very long time.

I’m eventually able to breathe again, after spending what feels like several hours holding my breath. I’m safe. Paul can’t hurt me and he can’t hurt Marcus. The only person capable of hurting Marcus is Carlos.

By lunch, I haven’t heard from Marcus and my worries take a new direction. I try phoning his cell after my text goes unanswered. We were supposed to get together tonight to study, but that plan was made before he was beaten.

After my final class of the day, I pick up my mail, which consists of a single envelope. The same style of white envelope without a return address that I opened this morning. I’m tempted to throw it away unread, but that won’t change anything. Paul’s sending me a message and he wants me to figure it out, because whatever it is matters in his warped mind. And none of this is going to change, even if I want to live in denial.

With shaky legs, I walk up the stairs, my hand gripping the railing. It’s the only thing keeping me from collapsing on the stairs and tumbling down the steps.

Brittany isn’t in our room, which is just as well. No one can know about this.

I rip open the envelope and remove four pieces of paper. Like the others, each page contains a typed quote.

Everything is clearer when you’re in love.
John Lennon

I read the next ones in the order he put them in the envelope.

From the deepest desires often come the deadliest hate.
Socrates

Friendship is a single soul dwelling in two bodies.
Aristotle

Death’s in the good-bye.
Anne Sexton

It’s not just the quote that’s important, as Paul explained after he kidnapped me. The order of the messages is relevant, too. Paul has left the interpretation up to me, but it doesn’t take long to figure out what he’s saying. With the exception of the friendship quote, the idea behind the messages is similar to the ones I received just before Trent’s death. Only this time Paul has a friend helping him. I’m positive that’s what “Friendship is a single soul dwelling in two bodies” means.

His friend has been stalking me. Even with all my precautions, I’m still a target, and worse yet, so is Marcus. That’s what Paul’s trying to tell me. As long as I’m dating Marcus, he’s not safe.

Choking back a scream, I stare at the letters and envelope. The thing I love the most about him—that he would do anything for the people he cares about—will get Marcus killed if he knows the truth.

Because I can’t risk his trying to talk me out of what I have to do, I take the coward’s way out. I text him, my heart ripping into tiny pieces:
This isn’t going to work out between us. We want different things. Sorry.