⊰ 18 ⊱ When Love Hurts

I step into the lab, my heart pounding in my chest as I take in the familiar surroundings. The sleek metal table, the whirring machines, the soft glow of the computer screens—it all feels like a lifetime ago, like an entirely different world.

As my gaze lands on Ben and Pablo, hunched over their workstations, the reality of the situation comes crashing back. These men, my supposed colleagues, are not my friends. Their gazes flicker to me, a tense silence hanging heavy in the air as I make eye contact with them.

Suddenly, my heart is at my throat, an anxious spell overcoming me. I feel a presence at my back, and I glance over my shoulder to see Frank, his wide frame filling the doorway. He gives me a small nod, a silent reassurance that he’s here, that Marcel sent him as a *watchdog* to ensure that I’m safe from Ben and Pablo.

*They’re not allowed to talk to me about anything other than work.*

The thought sends a pang through my chest, a bitter reminder of the trust that’s been broken. My anxiety, fear, and timidity, I push it down, forcing a neutral expression onto my face as I approach the table. “Where are we at with the nano-drones?” I ask, my voice cool and professional, a stark contrast to the war waging inside me.

Ben glances up, his eyes meeting mine for a brief moment before darting away. “We’ve made some good progress,” he says, his tone carefully neutral. “I think we’re close to being ready for a field test.”

I nod, pulling up a chair and settling in. “Show me.”

The next few hours pass in a blur of equations and simulations, of tweaks, adjustments, and breakthroughs. Despite the tension in the room, the undercurrent of mistrust and resentment, we work well together. I can’t help but feel a flicker of pride as I watch the drones take shape, as I see my contributions come to life on the screen.

*We did it. We actually did it.*

As I push back from the table, stretching my aching muscles, I feel a sense of accomplishment wash over me. But it’s tainted, tinged with a bittersweet tang, a reminder of the price we paid to get here.

As the day draws to a close, I begin tidying up my workspace, my mind already drifting to Marcel, to the comfort of his arms and warmth of his love. But just as I’m about to leave, Pablo clears his throat, drawing my attention. “Mercy,” he says softly, his voice hesitant. “I just wanted to say—”

Before he can finish, Frank steps forward, a stern look on his face. “That’s enough for today,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Pablo’s jaw clenches, frustration flashing in his eyes. But he doesn’t try to argue. Instead, he nods, stepping back.

I turn to leave, my heart heavy, when Ben’s voice stops me.

“Mercy, wait.”

I glance back, my brow furrowing in confusion. But then I see it: the glint of understanding in his eyes, the way his gaze darts meaningfully to the electronic board behind him.

*“In physics, the concept of quantum entanglement is described as when two particles become so inextricably linked that they can no longer be described independently, no matter how far apart they are.”*

For a moment, I simply stare, the words washing over me. But then it clicks, the hidden meaning behind the seemingly random theorem.

*They’re trying to apologize.*

Without another word, I give him a small nod, the ghost of a smile playing at my lips as I turn and walk out of the lab.

I understand. I do.

I understand the position they’re in, the impossible choices they’ve had to make. I may not agree with their methods, I may not forgive the pain they’ve caused, but I understand.

As I make my way down the hall, I can feel Frank’s presence at my back, a silent shadow that almost feels nostalgic.

“Where’s Marcel?” I ask, my voice echoing in the stillness.

“In the parlor,” he replies, his tone even. “I’ll walk you there.”

*I don’t need a babysitter.*

For a brief moment, I’m annoyed. Annoyed that Marcel doesn’t feel like he can trust to leave me alone. Ever since I started seeing my therapist, Katherine, for over a week now, he won’t let me leave our bedroom by myself. Though he didn’t say it, it’s as though I’m on suicide watch. Although, realistically speaking, if I were to do it, I’d be far more likely to do it in the comfort of our bedroom. Not in the fucking kitchen or the hottub in the gym room.

With a nod, we begin our way to the parlor, down the stairs and through the main entrance hall. I can hear voices as we step nearer, the low murmur of conversation carrying through the open-door. I pause at the doorway, my heart stuttering in my chest as I catch snippets of the conversation.

“— Reyes is planning something big,” Rick’s voice drifts out, low and urgent. “We need to be ready—”

Marcel’s gaze lands on me, his eyes widening almost imperceptibly. He cuts Rick off with a subtle gesture, his posture straightening as he acknowledges my presence.

“Mercy,” he says, his voice warm, but tinged with an undercurrent of something I can’t place. “Come in, doll.”

Rick glances between us, understanding dawning on his face. With a small nod, he excuses himself, brushing past me as he exits the room, muttering, “Good to see you, Mercy.”

I nod gently, my gaze fixed on Marcel as the door slides shut behind Rick.

Then, it’s just us, the air thick with unspoken words.

Marcel rises from his chair, crossing the room to pull me into his arms. I melt into his embrace, breathing in the scent of him, the familiar warmth of his body against mine.

“How did it go today?” he murmurs, his lips brushing against my temple.

I sigh, my eyes fluttering closed for a moment. “Good,” I say softly. “We made a lot of progress. I think we’ll be ready for a field test in the next couple of days.”

He hums, but there’s a tightness in his voice, a tension that I can’t ignore. “Not soon enough,” he mutters, almost to himself.

I pull back slightly, searching his face, my eyebrows furrowing in concern. “Is everything going to be okay?” I ask, my voice small, almost afraid of the answer. “With Luciano, and the CIA…”

He cups my cheek, his thumb brushing over my skin in a tender caress. “You have nothing to worry about,” he murmurs. “I’m taking care of it. I’m taking care of *you*.”

I can see the tension in his shoulders, the tightness around his eyes. He’s hiding something from me, trying to protect me from the truth.

“What about the CIA?” I whisper, the words sticking in my throat. “Our deal… they weren’t supposed to know that you knew. What if they—”

“I handled it,” he cuts me off, his voice firm. “We renegotiated. You never should have been involved in the first place. You’re not at risk anymore, no matter what happens. I made sure of that.”

*No matter what happens? Does that mean…*

I search his face, trying to read between the lines, to understand what he’s not saying. “But what about the immunity for you?” I ask, my voice small. “What about—”

“Enough!” He snaps, his eyes flashing with a fire that makes me flinch. “I told you, I took care of it. Drop it.”

I shrink back, my heart pounding in my chest, tears stinging at the corners of my eyes. His harsh tone, the fire in his gaze, it cuts me to the core. But beneath the hurt, I feel a flicker of anger, of frustration, of resentment.

“You know, this is why we ended up here in the first place,” I say, my voice trembling as I pull away from his embrace. “Because you never talk to me. You never let me in.”

The look on his face hardens, confusion and irritation warring in his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

I shake my head, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. “You expect me to tell you everything, to *bare* my soul to you. But you? You keep everything locked away, hidden behind walls and secrets.”

His jaw clenches, his nostrils flaring slightly. “It’s my job to handle things, Mercy. To keep you safe, to protect this family.”

“And it’s my job to what? Sit quietly and look pretty until you need something from me?” I snap, the words tasting like acid on my tongue. “To let you make all the decisions, even when they affect me, affect us?”

He sighs, running a hand over his face. “Until we’re out of this mess, yes. That’s exactly what I need you to do.”

Tears blur my vision, a mix of anger and hurt burning in my chest. “Do you even care how I feel?” I ask, my voice breaking. “Did you ever really forgive me? Because this…this feels a lot like resentment.”

For a moment, he’s silent, his expression unreadable. Then, he shakes his head, his voice cold and distant. “You should go to bed, Mercy.”

I open my mouth to argue, to plead with him to just talk to me, to let me in. But before I can utter a word, he’s turning away, calling out to Frank.

“Take her back to the bedroom,” he orders, his tone leaving no room for argument.

In the next moment, the door slides open and Frank appears in the doorway, a stoic look on his face. He nods to Marcel, then turns to me, holding out his arm.

But I’m not having it.

“I don’t need a fucking babysitter,” I spit, my voice sharp.

I move to walk away, to storm out of the room and up the stairs. But Marcel’s hand darts out, grasping my arm, his fingers digging into my skin.

For a moment, we stand there, locked in a silent battle of wills. His eyes bore into mine, a mix of anger and frustration swirling in their darkness.

But I won’t back down. Not this time.

With a sharp tug, I wrench my arm out of his grip, feeling a grim satisfaction at the flash of surprise that crosses his face. Without another word, I turn on my heel and march out of the room, my head held high even as hot tears spill down my cheeks in silent tracks.

I can feel Frank’s presence behind me, a silent shadow as I make my way up the stairs and down the hall.

As we reach the bedroom, I pause, my hand on the doorknob. For a moment, I’m tempted to turn back, to run to Marcel and beg him to talk to me, to let me in.

But I can’t. I won’t.

*He resents me. I don’t care what he says. He’s still angry with me for what I did.*

…

*When will he ever not be angry at me again..?*

“He loves you, you know,” Frank echoes behind me as if reading my thoughts, his voice gruff but not unkind. “Don’t mistake his concern for anger.”

I nod, swallowing past the lump in my throat. With a shaky breath, I push the door and slide inside, closing it firmly behind me. I lean against it, my body shaking with silent sobs, my heart breaking in my chest.

*How did we get here..?*

It feels like I don’t know anything anymore.

All I do know is that I love him, with every fiber of my being. And I’m terrified that in the end, it won’t be enough. It kills me to imagine a world where Marcel and me don’t find a way back to each other.

*Please, God. Please, don’t let this be the end of us.*