YOU SHOULD CALLED ME
1154 Words
Lucys pov
Marcus's hiss was repeated, his eyebrows knitted together as he dabbed antiseptic on the cut in my head. I shuddered, the burning sting pulsing through me.
"Keep still." His voice was curt, his irritation barely concealed.
I hadn't even made it through the doorway before he arrived. One minute I was fumbling with my keys, the stranger's suit jacket still around my waist, and the next, Marcus appeared—eyes scouring me, voice strained with repressed anger.
I barely had time to breathe before he pulled me in, closing and locking the door behind us.
Now, as he gently bandaged my wounds, he was calm again. But in a way that was far more threatening than his outburst.
"I wish you'd quit that restaurant, Luce. Please."
His tone was quieter now, but the desperation in it could not be missed.
This was not the first time he'd spoken this to me.
And every time, I told him no.
I clenched my fists in my lap, the guilt I knew so well creeping in. Marcus had the money. Hell, he was a billionaire, the CEO of one of Chicago's most successful companies.
He could take care of me.
He had begged me—begged me—to let him help, but I was too proud, too needy to prove I could do it myself.
"I don't want to need you," I whispered.
Marcus exhaled sharply, reaching for the nape of his neck as though he was physically restraining himself from losing his cool.
"Why didn't you call me, Luce?" His tone was rough now, tense. Pained.
I swallowed.
"You should have damn well called me.”
Marcus's jaw worked as he prowled the perimeter of my apartment, his fists tight at his sides.
"The thought of some other guy nearly getting their way with you—" he exhaled roughly, voice trembling with tightly contained rage. "And that moronic cunt who tried to get you into his vehicle… Lucy, you could've been badly hurt."
The blatant worry in his tone caused my heart to expand with a known warmth—one that I had no right to feel.
Then his voice dropped, lower, more devastated.
"What would I tell your mom? I promised her I'd look after you always after her accident. It's barely been five years, and already… I almost let her daughter get raped."
Oh.
So that was why he cared so much.
Not because I was something more to him,besides a friendship of over a decade, Not because he felt anything for me except guilt and duty.
Just a promise.
I swallowed, forcing the bitter lump in my throat down with a weak smile.
"It's okay, Marcus. I'm fine."
His head snapped in my direction, his eyes frustrated and dark.
"You're not fine, Luz. Heck, you haven't been fine in years."
I flinched at his tone, but then he gestured around the apartment, forcing me to really look.
And damn it, he was right.
The walls were rotting, pieces of paint and plaster crumbling off like dead skin. Water was dripping from at least six spots in the ceiling, the damp smell mixing with the faint aroma of stale coffee and something I did not wish to identify. My couch—if it could even be called that—looked as if it had been through war, beaten black and blue by the sun, rain, and every other extreme weather factor.
And yet… this was mine.
My life. My struggle. My independence.
Marcus sighed heavily, then kneeled in front of me, grasping my hands in his. His touch was soft, too soft, and warmth rushed through me, unwanted, undeniable.
"Please, Lucy. Let me help you. I’m begging you."
His voice was quiet, almost desperate.
"Work for my company. Be a bloody cleaner if you like and work your way up. Just let me help you."
I pulled my hands back slowly, forcing my voice to stay even.
"So I can be what? Your charity case? Your pity project?" I shook my head. "So your mother can validate everything she's ever suspected about me?"
His face twisted in frustration, hands pulling through his hair in frustration.
"Lucy, that's not—"
"I don't want to get where I am because my best friend gave me a leg up."
His frustration boiled over. He leapt to his feet, dragging his hands over his face.
"Fine." His tone was bitter, abrupt. "Then borrow money from me. Or something. I don't know. Let me at least push you in the direction of what you actually want to do."
And still, I said no.
I said no. I said I had to be independent. I said I could do this on my own.
And he just stood there, staring at me like I was the most frustrating person in the world.
Then something in his expression changed.
"Alright," he said slowly, like an idea had just struck him. "Let me suggest another company to you."
I blinked, surprised.
"What?"
"They're a competing firm to my own. Their CEO is an asshole, and we don't see eye to eye, so I won't be able to put in a good word for you. Whatever job you get will be on your merit, and whatever he pays you as salary will be his choice—not mine."
My mouth opened.
"If you can keep the job, great. If not. you can go back to working at the café." He maintained eye contact, tone steady. "Just promise me you'll take the offer."
He was negotiating.
And for some reason, I couldn't refuse.
I exhaled, then nodded decisively.
His entire body sagged in relief.
"God damn it, Lucy, you drive me crazy," he muttered, his forehead pressed against mine.
My heart skipped a beat.
And then, before I could even respond, he kissed my cheek—softly, hardly there.
"Try to sleep," he whispered. "I have some work to take care of."
And just like that, he was gone.
I let out a soft sigh and rose to my feet. Putting on my glasses, I walked to the cabinet in which I kept most of my medications. I reached inside and pulled out the aspirin, taking it dry despite the unpleasant taste.
Not even bothering to dress, I climbed onto my makeshift bed, the springs creaking beneath me. The pounding in my chest would not subside, but I suppressed my mind.
I was not going to think about Marcus.
I wasn't going to think about him.
I said it over and over, forcing my mind to go anywhere else.
And yet—his face ran through my mind.
The handsome stranger.
His metallic grey eyes.
The way he spoke—like he didn't care what came next.
He was the opposite of Marcus. Cold, detached, dangerous.
And yet, the way my body responded to him… that disturbed me the most.
- Writer
