I sit on the edge of our faded blue couch, the one Ellie picked out because it “felt like a hug,” watching her giggle across the room. Her blonde curls bounce as she tilts her head, listening to Marcus ramble on about his latest woes. My best friend since high school, Marcus has always had a knack for spinning stories—usually ones that get him out of trouble or into someone’s good graces. Tonight, though, it’s different. Tonight, I can feel the air shifting, and I hate that I’m too paralyzed to stop it.
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Ellie’s the kind of girl who lights up a room without even trying—big green eyes, a laugh that’s half-chirp, half-melody, and a heart so open it’s practically a welcome mat. She’s naive in that way that’s both endearing and terrifying, like she believes everyone’s just one hug away from being a saint. I love her for it, but God, it makes me nervous. Especially around Marcus.
“Seriously, Ell,” he’s saying now, sprawled across the armchair with that lazy grin of his, “it’s been hell. The doc says it’s stress or some crap, but it’s messing with me bad. I can’t sleep, can’t eat—hell, I can barely function.” He rubs his temples dramatically, like he’s auditioning for a soap opera.
Ellie’s perched on the ottoman, knees tucked under her, leaning in like he’s confessing the secret to world peace. “Oh no, Marcus, that’s awful! Have they given you anything for it? Like pills or… I dunno, meditation?”
I clench my jaw. I know where this is going. Marcus has been my friend for over a decade—long enough for me to recognize his game. He’s not sick. He’s just bored, and Ellie’s his latest toy. I should say something, call him out, but the words stick in my throat. He’s been there for me through some dark shit—my parents’ divorce, that stint in juvie I don’t talk about. Calling him a liar feels like betraying a brother. And Ellie… she’d just look at me with those wide eyes and ask why I don’t trust her. I’d lose her over it, I know I would.
Marcus sighs, running a hand through his dark hair. “Nah, pills don’t do shit. Doc mentioned something weird, though. Said sometimes physical release helps—like, uh, tension relief? You know, endorphins or whatever.” He smirks, just for a second, and I catch it. Ellie doesn’t.
Her brows furrow, all innocence and concern. “Tension relief? Like… exercise?”
He chuckles, low and smooth. “Yeah, kinda. More like… intimate stuff. Releases all the good chemicals, resets the system. But I don’t have anyone, Ell. It’s just me, rattling around in that shitty apartment, losing my mind.”
I grip the armrest, nails digging into the fabric. He’s baiting her, and she’s walking right into it. I want to scream at him to shut up, but my voice is locked behind a wall of cowardice. What if she thinks I’m overreacting? What if she storms out, decides I’m the asshole?
Ellie’s cheeks flush pink, but her expression stays earnest. “Oh! Well, um… that makes sense, I guess? Like, science-y stuff. Gosh, that’s so sad, though! You shouldn’t have to feel like that.”
Marcus leans forward, elbows on his knees, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Yeah, it’s rough. I’d owe anyone forever if they could help me out. Just, you know, something quick to take the edge off.”
Her eyes widen, and she glances at me—finally—like she’s checking for permission. “Jake? What do you think? We can’t just let him suffer, right?”
My stomach twists. She’s got no clue what he’s asking, does she? She thinks it’s some innocent favor, like lending him a sweater or baking him cookies. I open my mouth, but all that comes out is a weak, “Uh… I don’t know, Ell.”
Marcus jumps in before I can recover. “Come on, man, you know me. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t legit. And Ellie’s so sweet—she’s practically a saint. Just a little help, that’s all.”
Ellie beams at the compliment, oblivious. “I mean, if it’s for your health, Marcus, I’d feel bad saying no. Right, Jake?”
I’m drowning. She’s looking at me with that trust, that bubbly faith, and I can’t break it. I can’t tell her the guy I’ve called my best friend for years is a sleaze trying to use her. So I just nod, hating myself. “Yeah. Sure.”
Marcus claps his hands together, grinning like he’s won the lottery. “You’re the best, Ell. Seriously. How about we step into the kitchen? I’ll explain it better—don’t want Jake getting all awkward over there.”
She laughs, hopping up with that spring in her step. “Okay! Be right back, Jake!”
They disappear around the corner, and I’m left staring at the empty space where she was, her giggles echoing faintly. I should follow. I should stop this. But my legs won’t move, and my mind’s screaming that if I push too hard, I’ll lose them both.
The kitchen’s only a few steps away, but it might as well be another planet. I sit there, frozen on the couch, straining to hear over the blood pounding in my ears. Ellie’s voice floats through the wall first, bright and chirpy as ever. “So, like, what do you need me to do, Marcus? Is it quick?”
My chest tightens. She still doesn’t get it. I can picture her standing there, twirling a curl around her finger, all wide-eyed and eager to help. Marcus’s low chuckle follows, and it’s like a punch to the gut. “Oh, it’s real quick, Ell. Promise. You’re a lifesaver.”
There’s a shuffle—shoes on the linoleum, maybe—and then a pause. I should get up. I should march in there and drag her out, tell Marcus to fuck off and deal with his “stress” some other way. But my hands are glued to my thighs, and all I can do is listen as the silence stretches too long.
Then Ellie’s voice again, softer, confused. “Wait, what? You mean—like, right now? In here?”
Marcus doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah, why not? Jake’s cool with it, right? And it’s just us. No big deal. Come here—closer.”
My throat closes up. I can hear the creak of the floor, her little “Oh!” of surprise, and then a rustle—like fabric brushing fabric. My mind’s racing, painting pictures I don’t want to see: Marcus stepping into her space, his hands guiding her, that smirk I know too well plastered on his face. She’s probably blinking up at him, still thinking this is some weird medical thing, not catching the hunger in his tone.
“M-Marcus, um… are you sure this is what the doctor meant?” Her words wobble, but there’s no edge to them—just that bubbly uncertainty. I know her too well; she’s not scared, just puzzled. She trusts him because she trusts everyone, because I let her believe he’s worth trusting.
“Trust me, Ell,” he murmurs, voice thick now, “this is exactly it. Just relax. You’re helping me so much—fuck, you’re perfect.”
There’s a thud—something hitting the counter, maybe—and then a gasp. Her gasp. High and sharp, like she’s startled but not stopping him. My nails dig into my palms, and I’m half a second from bolting up when I hear it: a low, wet sound, unmistakable even through the wall. Lips on skin, or worse. My stomach lurches.
“W-wait, that’s—oh!” she squeaks, and there’s a clatter—like a spoon or a mug knocked over. She giggles, nervous but not pulling away. “Marcus, you’re so silly! That tickles!”
“Yeah?” His voice is smug, edged with something darker. “Just wait, it gets better. Hold still.”
Another sound—zipper, maybe, or a belt—and my brain short-circuits. I’m on my feet before I realize it, legs shaky, but I don’t move forward. I’m stuck at the corner, peering around just enough to see shadows on the wall: two shapes, too close, her smaller one tilting back as his looms over. I can’t see details, but I don’t need to. The air’s thick with it—the rustle of her skirt, the hitch in her breath, his quiet groan. It’s happening. Right there, ten feet away, and I’m letting it.
“Jake’s not gonna mind, right?” Marcus says, loud enough that I know it’s for me. A taunt. “He’s a good guy. He gets it.”
Ellie’s reply is breathy, dazed. “Y-yeah, Jake’s the best. He… he said it’s okay…”
My knees buckle, and I slide back against the wall, out of sight. She’s not wrong—I did say it. I let this happen because I’m too spineless to storm in and yank her away. Because Marcus is my friend, because I’m terrified she’ll hate me if I ruin this weird little bubble she’s in. But now it’s real—her soft moans spilling through the air, his muttered “Fuck, yes,” the rhythmic creak of the counter as it takes their weight.
I clamp my hands over my ears, but it doesn’t block it out. She’s giggling again, mixed with little gasps, probably thinking this is some quirky adventure, while he’s getting exactly what he wanted. And me? I’m the idiot who handed her over, too afraid to fight for her, too weak to stop the train wreck I saw coming a mile away.
The sounds from the kitchen claw at me, louder now, like they’re mocking my paralysis. I’m still slumped against the wall, hands useless at my sides, every nerve screaming at me to move—but I don’t. Ellie’s giggles have morphed into something else, breathy little “ohs” that spike with every creak of that damn counter. It’s not just noise anymore; I know what it is. The rhythm’s too steady, too deliberate—wood groaning under pressure, over and over, synced with Marcus’s grunts.
“See?” he’s saying, voice rough but smug, like he’s proving a point. “Told you it’d help. Fuck, Ell, you’re—shit—so tight.”
Her reply’s a whimper, high and shaky, but still laced with that naive cheer. “M-Marcus, oh my gosh, it’s—wow, it’s a lot! Is this… is this really fixing you?”
I choke on my own breath, bile rising. She’s still buying it, still thinking this is some kind of therapy, while he’s got her pinned against the counter, skirt hiked up—I can hear the rustle of it, the slap of skin on skin. The creaking’s relentless now, the old Formica countertop banging against the wall with every thrust. That’s what it is—him driving into her, hard and fast, while she gasps and clings to the edge. I can see it in my head, vivid as a nightmare: her curls bouncing, legs trembling, his hands gripping her hips like she’s his to take.
“Yeah, Ell, it’s working,” he growls, and there’s a wet smack—his palm, maybe, landing somewhere soft. She yelps, then laughs, like it’s a game. “Keep going, just like that—fuck, you’re a miracle.”
I stumble forward a step, just enough to catch a sliver of the scene through the doorway. It’s worse than I imagined. She’s bent over the counter, dress shoved up to her waist, panties tangled around one ankle. Marcus is behind her, pants shoved down, his hips slamming into her with that brutal rhythm. Her hands scrabble at the countertop, knocking over a mug—it shatters on the floor, but neither of them cares. Her face is flushed, eyes half-closed, mouth open in a mix of shock and that dumb, trusting delight—like she’s proud of helping him.
“Jake?” she calls suddenly, voice wobbly but bright, mid-moan. “Jake, he says it’s working! Isn’t that great?”
Marcus laughs, a dark, jagged sound, and doesn’t even slow down. “Yeah, Jake’s a champ. Letting his girl fix me up like this—fuckin’ saint.”
My legs give out, and I sink to the floor, back against the wall again. She’s calling out to me while he’s railing her, and I can’t even answer. The counter’s banging louder now, the tempo picking up, and her gasps turn into little cries—sharp, needy, oblivious. I hear the slick sound of it, the way their bodies meet, wet and raw, and Marcus’s breathing goes ragged.
“Almost there, Ell,” he pants. “Just—shit—just a little more. You’re so good, so fucking good. Get your ass a little higher… On your toes. Perfect. Just like that.”
“Okay!” she chirps, like she’s acing a test, and then she squeals as the creaking hits a fever pitch. The counter’s practically rattling off its bolts, thudding against the wall, and I know he’s close—his groans are feral now, possessive. She’s whimpering, giggling, moaning all at once, caught in this absurd whirlwind of her own making, and I’m just… here. Listening to my girlfriend get fucked by my best friend because I didn’t have the balls to stop it.
“Oh god” he pants. “Just—shit—just a little more. You’re so good, so fucking good.”
Ellie, still on her toes to give Marcus better access, looks back up to him as if she's worried.
"I'm coming! I'm coming. Hold still! Aaaaah ah ah YES!"
There’s a final, loud slam—the counter jolting hard—and Marcus lets out a guttural “Ooooohh!”. Ellie gasps, then laughs again, breathless. Then for a bit… Silence.
“Oh wow, Marcus, did it work? Do you feel better?”
I bury my face in my hands, the shattered pieces of that mug echoing in my skull. She doesn’t even know what she’s done.
The kitchen falls quiet, save for a final clink—maybe Ellie picking up a piece of that broken mug. My head’s still buried in my hands when I hear her footsteps, light and bouncy, like nothing’s happened. Marcus’s heavier tread follows, and then they’re back in the living room. I force myself to look up, and it’s surreal—Ellie’s smoothing her skirt, cheeks pink but smiling like she just finished a craft project, while Marcus adjusts his belt with that lazy grin plastered on his face.
“Hey, Jake!” Ellie chirps, plopping onto the couch beside me. She smells faintly of sweat and him, but she doesn’t notice—or doesn’t care. “Marcus says he’s feeling way better already! Isn’t that awesome?”
I stare at her, then at him. He’s leaning against the armchair, arms crossed, looking smug as hell. “Yeah, man,” he says, meeting my eyes with a flicker of challenge. “Ell’s a goddamn miracle worker. Tension’s gone—just like that.”
My mouth’s dry, words stuck somewhere between rage and disbelief. “Great,” I manage, voice flat. Ellie beams, oblivious, and snuggles into my side like we’re all best pals again. Her skirt’s wrinkled, and there’s a faint red mark on her neck I didn’t notice before. I want to scream, to shake her and ask how she doesn’t see it, but Marcus is watching me, daring me to crack.