“You don’t scare me,” Marc stated without batting an eyelash. He sat back up, one leg crossed and just as dignified as before. “And I’ll tell you. You’re playing a game where you get to have everything you want and not answer for what you’ve done. How many of your dear friends know everything about you, Elliott? How transparent have you been? How have you hurt them? Oh, but it doesn’t matter, does it? Because they’re just so kind, aren’t they? So kind and sweet and forgiving. You begin to think it’s possible to be forgiven for almost anything. What’s a consequence? It’s not like you’re using them.
“Oh, and you can be dear friends, as long as you don’t think about how that puts them in danger. Because, surely, none of your dearest ones are compromised in any way? Sensitive? Vulnerable–”
The distant disdain in Marc’s eyes had sharpened like blades as he spoke.
“–To the types of people you engage with regularly? But I suppose that doesn’t matter. They make you feel fuzzy.“
While Marcus readjusted himself with poise, Elliott was unable to recover. To the contrary, his posture and his face had become fixed—unmoving—with tension and yet it was still a poor representation for the storm erupting in his heart at Marcus’ words.
The Gaillot was far behind the ability to self-soothe for this. Sure, he’d been making progress. But it was too soon for him to feel confident enough in himself or his actions. Something was holding him back.
That feeling that kept him trying to find meaning at the end of a bottle, in the arms of an attractive but ultimately detached stranger, in the physical and mental cage he’d allowed Sebastian to become. That feeling that kept him working for his family, even now.
It was the feeling that love was not for him, and that he’d been wrong all along for desiring it.
And it held a vice grip against his throat, stopping any objections from spilling from his lips. What was there to say? It wasn’t as if Elliott hadn’t thought the same damn thing on some days. That he’d been treated too well, and it was only a matter of time before everything caught up to him. To them too.
All for what? So he could have something that wasn’t for him? And wasn’t it on brand that his first instinct was to eject himself from this situation entirely? To run?
But there was one thing Marcus had wrong. Consequences. Those, he’d never been able to outrun. Even if they had to be handed to him by the world, and not those who deserved his apologies.
“What do you know about the consequences I’ve faced? What do you know about what I’ve lost?” That last bit wasn’t supposed to come out, just like his fists should not have been balling at his sides.
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