A Breath of Innocence

by K. A. Merikan

  Griffith shook his head and grabbed the folds of the coat even tighter. The clothes on his back were the last keepsakes he had of Mark. “He seemed so genuine. And so caring. Why would he do this? Maybe Charlotte was right all along?”

  “That he’s a con? I don’t know… It’s not like he stole anything from you. I mean… except your virginity.” Nisha let out a small laugh and nudged Griff’s knee. “Too soon?”

  It was far too soon, but the dumb joke did manage to elicit the first almost-smile out of Griffith in a week. But then, the somber mood settled back in, and he shook his head. “I waited until I thought he was trustworthy. How do I ever fall in love with anyone again?”

  Nisha took a deep breath and just hugged him. “We’ll figure it out. But I’m not joking, Griff, this bullshit calls for some proper revenge. Have you seen him in his flat? I wanna beat his arse.”

  Griffith rolled his eyes. “You’re not going to beat him up. He’s all muscle. Wouldn’t even feel it.”

  “So? He wouldn’t hit a girl. Then again, he is a total shitstain, so who knows.”

  Despite his own anger, Griffith’s first instinct was to defend Mark. He stopped himself before he said something Nisha would have surely chastised him for. “He’s gone.”

  “We can still fuck up his flat. Leave a message that’s loud and clear.” She squinted, looking toward the window.

  “What? No, we can’t do that,” Griffith said, even though something about that idea made him a bit less sad.

  Nisha shrugged. “Why not? At least it’ll hit him where it hurts. Didn’t you say the flat’s pretty fancy?”

  “Yes, but what if he calls the police on us?”

  “We’ll wear latex gloves. We’ve got loads under the sink.”

  Griffith licked his lips. “The balcony door is the same as ours. We could unlock it with a credit card.”

  Nisha jumped up from the sofa and pointed at Griff. “Now you’re talking. I can’t believe he treated you this way, especially after we’ve both been so welcoming!”

  Griffith shrugged and looked outside. It was already past sunset, and with most of the windows around the courtyard dark, they could pull this whole thing off without anyone spotting them.

  But had they already decided? Were they really about to break into Mark’s home and wreck it?

  “Okay.”

  “Oh!” Nisha turned to Griff with her finger in the air. “We could do this thing where you put shampoo in someone’s toothpaste, move things around, swap sugar for salt…”

  Griffith slowly rose to his feet and glanced at her. “I just to want to wreck everything.”

  Nisha nodded. “Got it. I’ll change, and let’s go.”

  Griffith worked on autopilot. He wouldn’t have come up with this on his own, but all it really took for him to dive head-first into crime was a push from Nisha. For once, it didn’t matter that neighbors could see him in dirty clothes. Nothing really mattered other than the goal ahead, so he put on a pair of sneakers, slid the gloves over his hands and watched Nisha climb the drainpipe with as much proficiency as if she’d learned exactly that in gymnastics class. He still didn’t fully believe they were doing this by the time he walked up to Mark’s door and Nisha welcomed him inside.

  They kept the lights off to avoid neighbors spying on them, but it only made the whole thing more eerie and prompted Griffith to put on some music to add rhythm to their actions and release the tension in his shoulders.

  “Griff?” Nisha wiggled her eyebrows and shoved some notebooks off the kitchen counter. They fell to the floor in a series of thumping noises.

  He did nothing at first, staring at the fallen items, but in Mark’s pristinely tidy flat, even such minor disarray made him smile. He grabbed the portable wine rack and carried it to the sink, then opened one bottle after another and drained their expensive contents. The alcohol was soon followed by olive oil and any sauces Mark had in his cupboards.

  He wasn’t sure if it made him feel anything, but he was smiling.

  Nisha nodded, dancing in place as she emptied spice bottles onto the counter. “Good thinking. We don’t want to be too loud. I bet he has nice sheets, right?” She grabbed the last bottle of red out of Griff’s hand and wiggled her eyebrows.

  He laughed and pushed her arm gently as his heart skipped a beat. He bet that cologne Mark used was expensive too.

  Dropping the bottle of ketchup into the sink, he moved toward the hallway. He felt lighter by the second as his body followed the melody coming from the speakers in pirouettes and quick, rhythmical steps. The wooden floor squeaked under the soles of his shoes as he rushed down the windowless corridor, breathing in the dusty scent of a flat that hadn’t been visited for some time.

  The darkness pulsed around him, and the farther he was from the dimmed brightness of the sitting room, the sharper his senses became. He would have sworn he could sense Mark’s cologne already.

  A hand came out of nowhere and pulled on his face, grabbing so hard he couldn’t make a peep. Cold steel pressed against Griff’s Adam’s apple and the disbelief that it was actually happening was so profound he couldn’t even hear his own heartbeat. Pressed against a man’s chest, knife at his throat, and with his stomach virtually empty, he instantly got dizzy.

  When a voice whispered against Griffith’s ear, sharp as the blade against his skin, he could no longer breathe, because the man sounded exactly like Mark.

  “Who are you?”

  Griffith didn’t know what terror was before this moment. He lost control over his body which shook in a violent tremor. Something stung the skin of his throat, and then his knees gave up.

  A clang of metal against the floor brought him back to reality, and he woke up floating above the floor, with strong arms holding him up and the musky scent of cologne tickling his senses.

  “What are you doing here?” Mark asked, sounding much softer this time. Still Holding Griffith up with one arm, he patted the wall to turn on the light in the corridor. Griffith wanted to scream, but no sound left his mouth when the darkness dispersed in the bright glow of the lamp above.

  Mark’s face was as handsome as Griffith remembered it, his hair in a perfect tousle, and Griffith didn’t know what the hell happened until he grabbed the door handle and pulled himself up from the embrace just in time to see a blade glint on the floor.

  It was stained with blood.

  He touched his throat with trembling fingers, only to see red on them as well.

  Mark stared at him with a frown. “Are you okay? Show me?”

  Griffith pushed him back with all the strength he didn’t have since their breakup. He wanted Mark to physically feel just how much he’d hurt him. And still, the damp trickle on his neck and the coppery smell made his brain spin and scream out in panic. What the hell was this? Why didn’t Mark just call the police if he thought someone had broken into his flat?

  “Don’t touch me,” he hissed out but had to hold himself up by the wall when his still-soft legs didn’t provide all the support he needed.

  “Griff, calm down. It’s okay, it’s just a scratch.” Mark hovered inches away, but at least didn’t attempt to grab him again.

  Bit by bit, Griffith was realizing that just like he could see Mark with perfect clarity in the bright light of the corridor, he too had been revealed. In a crumpled coat, hair in disarray, unshaven, wearing Mark’s clothes, and in a stained T-shirt that now had an addition of blood at the collar.

  Not only had Mark hurt him—now he was also witnessing just how low Griffith had fallen.

  Griffith shook his head, backing away toward the sitting room. His hand left a bloody print on the white wall, and the sight of it had him close to hyperventilating. Mark had cut his neck with a knife! What the actual fuck?

  Mark followed him at the same pace, keeping distance constant. They left the knife on the floor, but in the narrow corridor, but Mark seemed to grow an inch with each step, attentive and sleek like a cheetah following its prey.
>
  “How about you sit down, huh?”

  Behind his back, the door leading out of the flat cracked open, but a split second after Griffith saw an eye flash in the gap, Charlotte rushed inside in a whirlwind of anger.

  “Oh, my God! Griff! Are you okay? What did you do? What caused the alarm in your mobile phone?” she yelled at Mark who held his hands up.

  “I told you to stay in the car!”

  Griffith stumbled, almost falling over as he entered the dark sitting room, his breathing tattered and dull, as if there wasn’t enough oxygen in the air. The floor shook under his feet.

  “What were you doing in the car with him?”

  Nisha must have turned on the light in the sitting room, because brightness blinded him for a second, and he heard frantic steps down the metal stairs from the mezzanine.

  “Griff! What happened?” she asked, approaching him fast, but then slowed down when her gaze fell on Mark and Charlotte. “Yes, we did come into your flat. Big deal after what you’ve done to him!”

  Mark licked his lips, silent and calculating, as if this mess was something he could keep under control.

  Charlotte stood in the background, looking perfect in her dusky pink coat, dressed for a date. Griffith shook his head, trying to gather his thoughts, but they all gravitated toward the one answer that made sense.

  The odd tension between Charlotte and Mark. Mark always gravitating where she was, followed by attempts to get closer to Griffith. Then, their unexpected breakup and Charlotte’s good humor the following morning.

  “You’re together, aren’t you?” he whispered in the end, pulling away from Nisha’s hand when she tried to touch the small wound on Griff’s neck.

  Charlotte rolled her eyes, as if his accusation were a nuisance, but Mark stepped forward, still with his palms up, as if Griff was some shivering rabbit that needed to see the predator was unarmed.

  “No, Griff,” Mark said. “It’s nothing like that.”

  But it was something. Something that had been going on behind his back from the day he met Mark, perhaps even before that. Was sleeping with Griff some sick way of getting back at Charlotte? Had he been just a chess piece in their game?

  “You used me to get to her,” he said in a low voice that was a strain on his vocal cords. “And you,” he pointed at Charlotte, half leaning against Nisha as he started once again getting lightheaded, “you wanted to scare me off, because you were jealous! You’re my sister. What the actual fuck?”

  “I’m your sister, and I told you from the start to stay away!”

  Mark stepped forward, tense as he looked between them. “Calm down everybody. There are a lot of misunderstandings here.”

  Something cracked inside Griffith. Before, he’d avoided making much noise, to not inconvenience the neighbors, who had no fault in all this, but now he no longer cared. His chest was a bomb about to explode, and if someone asked him to calm down one more time, he could kill them. Kill them.

  “Fuck you. You’re a liar. I told you everything. You made me trust you, and it was all fake. You don’t have the right to tell me what to do,” he shouted and grabbed the plastic bin, tossing it at Mark. Unfortunately, it was empty. Shame, because he wished to drown Mark in rubbish, where he belonged.

  Mark stepped back fast enough to avoid getting hit and didn’t even flinch when the container cracked once it landed on the floor. “It wasn’t fake, it’s com—”

  “Complicated?” Nisha stepped forward. “Oh, spare us the sob story, you shitnugget!”

  Charlotte kept her distance but watched Griff’s every move. “What did he do to you, Griff?”

  Oh, she did not.

  Griffith stormed her way. Mark tried to grab him on the way, but Griffith pushed him back again and approached Charlotte, for the first time struck that she was in fact smaller and frailer than him, as if it had never occurred to him before.

  He wanted her as dead as his heart was.

  “I wish you weren’t a girl.”

  “I don’t care,” Nisha said and pushed Charlotte so hard she hit the kitchen counter behind her. “You fucking slag! How can you do this to your own brother?”

  Charlotte raised her arms. “What the hell is going on?”

  Mark stepped between them and grabbed Nisha’s wrist. “That’s enough.”

  Griffith wouldn’t have it. Without thinking, he balled his hand into a fist and punched Mark’s face so hard the impetus threw him at Nisha. “Let her go!” he shouted, even though she was already free. Wide eyed, Griffith saw a streak of blood roll out of Mark’s nose and across his lips.

  Good. The bastard deserved this and much more.

  “You are both dead to me, do you hear me?” he screamed out, pulling Nisha away from the kitchen, followed by two pairs of eyes. “I don’t want to see any of you ever again. I’m done with this!”

  Mark held on to his face, his one eye wide with shock. Yes, Mark. Griffith could in fact land a punch. Even if it was the first one ever and made his whole hand ache. For a second, Griff thought back to the knife and what Mark could do with it if this punch angered him enough.

  With every step, he and Nisha moved faster, soon ending up in a breathless run. He didn’t even look back anymore. Never in his life had he been part in something this outrageous. Even when Mark broke into uncle Stephen’s house, at least they hadn’t wrecked anything.

  When Nisha slammed the door behind them and secured all the locks, Griffith couldn’t breathe.

  Chapter 21 - Mark

  Mark knocked on the door to Griffith’s apartment. Again. What a clusterfuck.

  Charlotte had already left, so they didn’t manage to arrange any details of visiting Allen, he’d cut Griff’s throat—even if just ever so slightly—and now he was locked out, unable to explain himself.

  He’d spent the last few days at a hotel to avoid coming back here and having to face Griff, because he’d known that if he were to look into those hopeful blue eyes and reject the feelings they revealed, his resolve to stay away would break.

  He couldn’t even blame Griff for wrecking shit in his apartment. He deserved it all for breaking his trust. He’d hoped Griffith would have had enough time to calm down and start healing the disappointment of the breakup, but seeing him made it so very clear to Mark that Griffith was very far from moving on. The bags under Griff’s eyes had spoken volumes about sleepless nights, and his usually put-together self was a shivering mess draped in clothes he’d borrowed from Mark a long time ago.

  Listening to Griffith’s voicemails had been excruciating, but he taunted himself with them, replaying every single one, even though he’d much rather cut his own finger than hear Griffith cry. He’d never felt worse in his entire life and was starting to think that the decision he’d made for the sake of the child who didn’t even know him might leave Griffith scarred forever.

  It sickened Mark that he’d stepped into the life of someone so pure, so trusting, and ended up causing such havoc. Over the past few days, he’d told himself that at least he’d given Griffith a great first time, the kind he didn’t have, but what did that matter, if he wasn’t there for Griffith afterward, leaving him in this spiral of grief. It was no longer about Mark’s own sacrifice.

  Yes, he was responsible for his son, but he’d made Griffith trust him, and that was another responsibility that needed to be honored.

  He’d been so, so stupid to ignore Griff’s desperate pleas for contact.

  “Nisha? I know you’re there. Can Griff hear me?”

  “Go away. He doesn’t want to talk to you,” she said sharply, her voice so loud and clear she was likely leaning against the door from the other side.

  “Come on… I’ll explain everything if you just let me in.” Mark rolled his forehead over the door, frustrated to no end and running out of things to say. He’d spent the last half an hour going over the same conversation again and again, because he didn’t want to disclose private issues in front of Nisha.

  “So yo
u can pull him into your sticky web again? No thanks. You did enough damage already. Go and fuck Charlotte.”

  Mark took a few steps back and had a look at the door. It was old, but the lock seemed simple enough for him to breach.

  “I’m not fucking Charlotte!”

  “Why are you hovering around her like a fly over shit then?”

  Mark had to take a deep breath to keep himself from slamming his fist into the door and screaming at her, because in this neighborhood that would have warranted a call to the cops.

  He glanced at his phone to see if Griff possibly texted him in secret from Nisha, but instead, he saw a notification on Flawr that Griffith, the only person Mark followed on there, had checked in at the stables.

  The fuck?

  Had Nisha been just keeping Mark busy all this time? And how did Griffith get out? He couldn’t have climbed out the w—

  Mark swallowed a curse. “Did you get into my apartment through the balcony door?”

  Nisha sighed on the other side of the door. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said in a tone that suggested that she absolutely did.

  He took a deep breath and walked off, heading for his car. Griffith needed to prepare his horse for riding, so if Mark got to the stables fast enough, he wouldn’t lose him. How would he explain what was happening though? He didn’t know.

  What he did know was that he’d felt like a piece of shit since the day he left Griff and there had to be a better way to handle things. He fucked up so bad.

  The rush hour was thankfully over, so getting to the stables only took him around a quarter of an hour, but he still felt like he was late when he’d locked the car and ran into the brightly lit hallway that led between two rows of pens. The scent of hay and animals penetrated his nose, but he had tunnel vision, completely focused on one goal—reaching Percival’s stall in record time. He half-expected to find Griffith in there alongside his mount, but the box was empty.