AGAROS : The Love Betrayal

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Chapter 7

Marc was the type of guy who always overdid it with his stories about girls. And now, he was attacking me with his question about my love life.

— So, Pet, have you found a girlfriend yet?

I looked at him, bored.

— Not really thinking about that right now.

I ignored him and threw a punch, not really aiming to hit him. It was just a reflex, a way to vent the rage bubbling up inside me. Marc dodged it easily, laughing like an idiot.

— Stop being such a buzzkill, Pet. Life's not all about punches.

I gave him a forced smile. Then he turned to throw a punch at my ribs. I barely managed to dodge it, but he still got me.

— Who's the one not focused now, huh? he teased, smirking.

I straightened up, a glint of challenge in my eyes.

— Your guard, I already told you.

He stared back at me, daring me to react. It was a dance we knew well, a silent battle between us. Then, without warning, I took advantage of a moment when he was distracted and swept his feet from under him with a quick move. He fell like a sack of potatoes. The floor echoed as he hit it.

— Whoa, man, you didn't hold back...

I stretched out my hand to help him up, a smile tugging at my lips. We got each other, even when everything seemed to be going wrong. That's what our friendship was.

— Anyway, seriously, Pet, you should come crash the party next weekend. It'll do you good to get out, you're way too closed off.

Normally, I would've gone with him to that party. But right now, it was like everything was passing me by. Marc was suggesting another outing, like he didn't notice I wasn't in the game anymore. It felt like we were living in two different worlds. He was skimming the surface of everything, and I was sinking beneath it, not knowing how to escape. I could pretend a little longer, but deep down, I knew it wouldn't get me anywhere. Maybe I was just tired of playing that game.

I shrugged, still indifferent.

— I'm not going, Marc. And honestly, I just don't care.

— You're such a pain, Pet. But hey, you know where to find me if you change your mind.

And he left without any further ceremony, leaving me alone with my thoughts, a bit of anger, and a knot in my chest. But I wasn't going to give in. Not today.

The mood shifted suddenly. The coach walked into the room, as he always did: quick steps, intense gaze. But today, something was off. He looked tense, almost nervous. That wasn't like him. Normally, even if he was late, he was calm, collected. But today, he seemed... rushed. Almost like he was trying to hide something. His shaved head gleamed under the lights, and his graying beard contrasted with his dark, troubled eyes.

— Sorry I'm late, he muttered, without offering more of an explanation. No class for a few days. I'll leave these for you, and you'll clean up the room.

He tossed some envelopes on the counter and quickly left, not even glancing back.

I stood frozen for a moment, the envelopes he left on the counter staring back at me like silent witnesses to his odd behavior. Why hadn't he given us more details? Why the hurry, that evasive look? I could still see him in my mind—his shaved head glinting under the light, his graying beard, but especially his expression... worried. That wasn't normal. But I couldn't quite put my finger on what was wrong.

It felt strange. Too strange. This was exactly the kind of situation where I'd miss a detail, and later regret not digging deeper. A shiver ran down my spine. Something wasn't right. Something was off.

♧

It had been thirty minutes since the coach left. We had finished cleaning up the room and decided to head to Marc's place for a shower. We were both exhausted, but it was always better to hang out with him than go back to my place.

On the way, we started talking to pass the time. The streets were quiet, the night had already swallowed the city, and the downtown area, usually packed during summer, seemed to have disappeared under a blanket of calm. The streetlights cast a soft glow, and car headlights sliced through the darkness, giving the scene an almost magical atmosphere.

— So, where were you the other morning?

— I told you already, I was working at Patty's.

— You're lying, dude, he laughed. You did something else that morning, like always.

— Shut up for a second, and move your ass, Gadget. My body's overheating, and I'm sweating like crazy.

— You're such a pain. But don't worry, I'll find out where you're sneaking off to every morning.

— Yeah, right, I said, raising an eyebrow, smirking.

— By the way, did you get another job? he asked, a bit more serious.

— Not yet. It's hard to land something.

— I hope you find one, he said sincerely.

I smiled at his remark. It warmed my heart because he was one of the few who actually cared about me. And that mattered.

Then, suddenly, Marc stopped in front of a shop window. He seemed lost in thought. I walked up and took a look. I didn't get it. Why was he getting all excited over a chocolate display? That was far from one of his usual things.

— Damn, I'm so good-looking. It's obvious why Charlotte can't get enough of me.

— Marc, the narcissist's back, I muttered, shaking my head. But yeah, with your blonde hair, perfect skin, and dancer's body, you could totally be a model.

I let out a small laugh.

— What are you talking about? he scoffed, laughing. You know I hate those kinds of guys. You're trying to act all tough, but you're just like me. Aside from your black hair and tan, we're the same. You've got the same body as me.

I laughed and tugged him to get us moving again.

— Let's go, we're outta here before we freeze into ice cubes.

— True, we can't let our model bodies get ruined, he added, bursting into laughter.

After changing into some clothes I'd left at his place—because yeah, I sometimes crashed at Marc's place—I went downstairs to wait for him in the kitchen.

Marc had this habit of overdoing it with his cologne, layering on chains and rings, just going overboard. Me? I was simple: t-shirt, black pants.

Sitting at the table, I fiddled with my phone when Mr. Wind, Marc's dad, walked through the room. He threw me that usual look of his, that cold, disdainful gaze. Mr. Wind's look was always ice-cold, as if nothing had ever changed. But this time, it felt different. It was like this look was saying more than usual, like he was blaming me even more for something, even though I hadn't done anything wrong. The look he gave me carried more than just contempt. It carried a weight. But I knew he'd never accepted me, and that was something that probably would never change.