Marcus: The Things We Don’t Say

The silence was loud. 

Gaping.

The nurse had just called Jordan my boyfriend. 

Everyone in the hospital had to know Jordan Arthur. That meant she was new. I waited for Jordan to correct her. To say something. And when he didn’t, I turned towards her. “He’s not my…”

“It’s fine,” Jordan cut in, not looking at the nurse. He stepped back, putting a healthy distance between us. I felt the cold air of the reception wash through me without his hands. 

"We'll manage," he told the nurse, flashing his playboy grin at her. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes or pay attention to the sudden burn in my chest. 

The nurse nodded, heat flaring up her cheeks as she turned around and disappeared down the hallway. Jordan always had that effect on women. 

I stared at him, and he stared right back, angling his head. I was the first to look away. I needed to leave here. 

"Your balance sucks," Jordan murmured, bending to get my crutches. He placed them under my arms. I was so close to asking why he was still there with me when, obviously, his girlfriend had been trying to reach him for a while now. 

“Move, Marcus,” he breathed when I didn’t do anything after he helped me with the crutches.

“You didn’t correct her,” I said, nudging towards where the nurse had disappeared through. 

Jordan shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “It didn’t seem important. And I’m sure it was a joke. Everyone around knows my preference. Pretty boys don’t do it for me.”

It stung. It shouldn’t have mattered. It really shouldn’t have. So, why did my heart feel like it was about being twisted out in the most brutal way possible?

***

The examination didn’t take long, even though the doctor was surprised to see me. It was a minor ligament damage and some bruising. Nothing had changed. I was under strict instructions to stay off my leg longer than I wanted. 

Jordan stayed through all of it, sitting by the wall, typing away on his phone. He didn’t have to, but he did anyway. By the time we left the hospital, it was raining heavily. 

“You hungry?” Jordan asked suddenly. 

I blinked. “What?”

“Focus, Marcus,” he breathed. “You are smart. Food. Heard of it before?”

I was blushing way too much, but it was too late to hide my face. I thought he would be appalled by it. I was certain our short moment together was already coming to an end. But he just smiled, shaking his head slowly. 

"I'll take that as a yes, then," he murmured. "I was going to have lunch with some of the guys, but…"

“I can’t…”

“I’m not going to put you through that, pretty boy,” Jordan said as we reached the underground parking lot. His car still hadn’t been moved. No other student could attempt to do what he’d done. “My friends will eat you raw.”

Perhaps it was the way he said it, or maybe it was just the mischievous glint in his eyes as he leaned to pull the door to the passenger side open. I dropped into the seat, holding my breath as he closed the door and walked around, sliding behind the wheel.

Jordan didn’t start the engine yet. Instead, he laughed under his breath, shaking his head. Did I really amuse him that much?

“You need to learn to breathe, pretty boy,” he drawled. “Breathe.”

I released the breath I had no idea I was holding, pressing my lips tight against each other. Jordan looked comfortable. Maybe a tad too much. And free. I’d seen him in crowds. There was always an air around him. 

Air of affluence, pride… There was something different today. 

The shrill of his phone took over the silence. I was certain it was Heather, but when he glanced at the screen and his shoulders stiffened, I knew it was something else.

Someone else.

One of his other girlfriends, perhaps. 

But he kept staring at the screen, color draining slightly from his face. 

“Jordan?” I angled my head. 

He didn’t look at me. Instead, he hit the receive button, then disconnected it from the speaker. “Hello.”

A pause. 

And after what felt like an eternity, his lips moved again. “You’re here?”

An ex-girlfriend? A fling? Sex-partner? God knew he had a reputation to keep heaven busy for all eternity.

Jordan moved slightly in his seat. He reached to run his long fingers through his curls. “When?”

Another silence.

I watched as he gripped the phone harder. It made me sit up, my eyes worried and wary. 

Finally, he said quietly. “Yeah. I’m coming now.”

When Jordan ended the call, he didn’t say anything. For a moment, he just sat there, staring ahead blankly. He was scaring me. 

“Jordan…”

“My parents are in Los Angeles,” he breathed. Something about the way he said it made my stomach churn. His tone was twisted, like he was dreading it. 

It was fear. I could sense it a mile away. 

“I can go home from here,” I said, staring up at him. He had to be at least a foot taller, even while sitting. “I’ll just call James…”

“No.” His refusal was abrupt. “I brought you here. I might as well just take you home. My parents can wait.”

“I don’t think…”

“It’s not up for a conversation, Marcus.”

He called me Marcus, not pretty boy. Things must be really bad. 

"Your house is closer to the hospital than mine, right?" I asked. Everyone knew where he lived. Or at least, almost everyone. It was the Arthur's mansion here in Los Angeles, heavily guarded. No one in my circle had ever been in there. Of course, how would that have been possible?

We were from two distinct sects. 

“Yeah,” he answered, nodding. “Why?”

“I really need to pee,” I whispered, as if scared that if I said it out loud, the embarrassment would be more. 

Jordan nodded and started the engine. “Okay.”