My face is still warm as I wander through the house, riding the afterglow of this morning's shower activities. Who knew married life could be this incredible? I mean, I still can't remember our wedding, but if every day starts like today did, I understand why I locked this down.
The doorbell chimes, pulling me from my thoughts. Must be Mark.
I swing the door open, and there he is, sandy hair sticking up at odd angles like he forgot to brush it this morning. He smiles when he sees me, that familiar grin that makes me feel like we've known each other forever.
"Hey, Mark," I say, stepping aside to let him in.
The smile drops from his face so fast it's almost comical. His eyes widen as they fix on my neck, then dart to the bandage on my temple. Pure horror washes over his features, draining all color from his face.
"Jesus Christ," he whispers, stepping inside like he's entering a crime scene. The door closes behind him with a soft click that feels oddly final. "She choked you... and what did she do to your head?"
My hand flies instinctively to my throat, covering the purple fingerprints Emily left behind. Heat crawls up my neck for an entirely different reason now.
"Oh no, no, nothing like that," I stammer, feeling my face flame even hotter. "The head was just a slip, and the choking was... you know... kink stuff."
Mark's eyes somehow get even wider. "Kink stuff," he repeats flatly.
I nod, trying to look casual about it. "Yeah, you know how it is."
"No, Charles, I don't know how it is," Mark says, his voice rising slightly. "Those bruises look like someone tried to strangle you, not like some sexy bedroom accident."
I step back, uncomfortable with his intensity. "Look, it's fine. Emily and I are... exploring things."
Mark's expression darkens as he looks past me, his jaw clenching tight. "Well then, what the fuck is that?"
I follow his gaze to where he's pointing at the bottom part of the wall. There's dried blood still visible on the paint, and the drywall is slightly caved in where my head connected with it. My stomach drops as I realize I never cleaned it up.
"Oh shit," I mutter, suddenly feeling light-headed.
Mark’s eyes dart between my face and the bloodstain, panic rising visibly.
"We need to go to the police," he whispers, stepping closer and gripping my arm. "Right now, dude. This isn't okay."
"No, no, it's fine," I say quickly, instinctively moving to stand between him and the evidence. "It was an accident."
"Like hell it was!" His voice rises before he catches himself, lowering it again to an urgent hiss. "That's your blood on the wall, Charles. If we don't take this to the cops, I literally can't help you. This is beyond me."
Something in his desperate tone makes my chest tighten. I can see genuine fear in his eyes, not for himself, but for me.
"Look, I appreciate the offer, I really do," I say, placing my hand on his shoulder. "But I'm not leaving her, Mark."
He steps back like I've slapped him, shaking his head. “You’re the opposite of how you used to be.” Under his breath, he mutters something I can barely catch, his eyes fixed on the floor.
"What was that?" I ask.
"Nothing," he says, but the defeat in his voice is palpable.
With a heavy sigh, Mark moves to the couch and sinks down, his body language screaming exhaustion. He rubs his face with both hands before looking up at me again.
"You two are honestly going to be the death of me someday," he says, resignation etched into every word.
I shift my weight from one foot to the other, suddenly uncomfortable with Mark's intensity. His concern is touching, but he doesn't understand what Emily and I have. What we've built together these past two weeks.
"Look, man," I say, leaning against the wall opposite him, careful to avoid the bloodstain, "I get that you're worried. But the thing about people in abusive relationships is that you can't help them until they actually want to help themselves."
Mark just stares at me, his mouth hanging open slightly. The silence stretches between us for several seconds, his eyes wide with disbelief.
"That's YOU!" he finally bursts out, his voice cracking with emotion. "You're the one who doesn't want to help yourself!"
I can't help the smug smile that spreads across my face.
"Because I'm in love," I say simply, like it explains everything. And to me, it does.
Mark throws his hands up in exasperation. "Charles, you are the dumbest fucking man alive, you know that?"
I laugh, crossing my arms over my chest. "There's no way that's true. I'm just choosing passion over fear."
"Passion?" His voice rises almost to a shout. "She could literally kill you! This isn't some romantic movie, those are real bruises on your neck!"
I touch the purple fingerprints circling my throat, feeling a strange flutter in my stomach. "If a woman with those muscles kills me, I'd die happy, Mark."
He stares at me for a long moment, then lets out a deep, defeated sigh. All the fight seems to drain out of him at once, his shoulders slumping forward. He looks suddenly exhausted, like he's been carrying a weight I can't see or understand.
"I assume Emily said we can't go to the city today?" he asks quietly.
"You assume correctly," I confirm with a slight nod.
Mark rubs the back of his neck, disappointment etched across his features. "That's a bummer. I wanted to take you to Newbury Comics. They've got this whole section I thought might trigger some memories."
"Fuck, that sounds pretty cool actually." I can't help the genuine regret in my voice.
“Yeah dude, it’s sick.”