Timeline: The next day

Rating: Pg-13

Chapter 20

Feel What I Feel

"In one touch, you can speak volumes." –Tobin Bell

"Damn it," Amanda moaned, contorting her arm at an awkward angle behind her back to rub a tender spot. The area still ached from the impact of Eric's pole colliding with her shoulder blades. Although the once massive bruise spanning her entire back faded away, the injury still caused her spine to periodically pulsate with pain. In the midst of another intense spasm of agony, she heard Mark stroll into the warehouse. The squeaky door he usually entered through alarmed her to his presence as effectively as a door bell.

"Even better," she groaned, her hand clutching the edge of her cot. She'd rather barricade herself in her room than face him. Either she'd look at him and her anger would flare up again, or she'd feel guilty for lashing out at him yet again. Then there was the most awkward conversation of her life to look forward to, an undoubtedly lengthy verbal analysis of why every time he brushed against her she wanted him to passionately kiss her.

Oh come on, you want a little more than that, Amanda. You want to hop on top of Mark and ride him like a mechanical bull at rodeo week. He'd probably thrust like one too…

She blushed at the thought, and immediately shoved the image out of her mind. She should still be seething! He was not off the hook. Mark may have had good intentions, but he had still helped Eric do something awful…something that had almost ruined her life if John had not saved her. Although Mark had helped John, and inadvertently, this meant he had helped her too. So his negligence as Eric's superior had been a contributing factor in making her old life a living hell, but by being John's assistant, he had given her a new life, a better life. Damn it. The situation was so complicated. He was so complicated…

A throbbing sensation diverted her attention from her swirling thoughts and onto the present moment. It felt like a knife sliced through her flesh and trailed along her spine in a straight vertical cut. Rapid flashbacks of Xavier cutting off the skin behind his neck invaded her mind, and the mental image somehow made her pain sharper. She felt on the brink of crying…but no, that was an understatement. She felt like using. That would certainly take her mind off of the excruciating, spiteful reminder of her fight with Eric. Even now that bastard had found a way of hurting her, and worse, making her want to give in to the release of heroin one more time. But she'd rather someone actually slice her open than go through that hell again.

"Amanda, are you okay?" She heard his concerned voice through the slightly ajar door. He peered into her room, saw that she was decently dressed, and opened the door as far as possible before a pile of clothes acted as a doorstop and prohibited it from moving further. Of course she should have known better than to expect he'd actually leave her in peace. She took a deep breath to calm herself. Her muscles relaxed. Her fingers loosened their grip on a pillow she hadn't even realized she had seized. The awful sensation in her back mitigated slightly.

"I'm fine," she said, looking up at him. Mark loitered in the doorway. He glanced around with curiosity. The few times he'd passed by her room, he'd never bothered to study the inside, not that there was much to see, just books and dirty clothes flung around carelessly, and a few simple pieces of furniture, including a dresser that contained rare family photographs and more pairs of lacy underwear and their matching tops than Mark Hoffman could possibly fathom stuffed in the bottom drawer. Although he usually preferred imagining them actually on Amanda instead of nestled in a small cranny of her room. It wasn't her choice though. She had decided to start anew, but she still wore the clothes of her past life, and that past life had involved a vocation that required she wear lingerie and kinky costumes five times a week. He noticed one particular pair…of course it had to be red, her best color… wedged between a gap, slightly poking out of the drawer. Mark pretended not to see it and tried to stop imaging what color she was currently wearing.

Not the time, Mark…leave it at the door, he reminded himself.

"I'm sorry about what happened yesterday," he said. He continued to hesitate by the door due to a slightly irrational fear of Amanda's chaotic room swallowing him and a much more realistic fear of being unable to resist kissing her again.

What are you really sorry about? The argument or the fact that we almost kissed? she thought.

"Are you sorry about what you did, or just sorry I found out?" she asked, going with her first assumption.

"I'm sorry you had to find out from John. I should have told you. But it's not exactly the easiest subject to bring up."

"Hmm…an uncomfortable subject that's not easy to bring up. Wonder what else you could possibly be referring to," she jeered, and instantly regretted it. Mark had come to her,humble and apologetic, and she had relapsed into another spontaneous outburst. It was like watching wildfire spread, flames flickering in unpredictable patterns, as unstable as Amanda's constantly changing emotions.

"Why do you do that? Why do you always lash out at me?" he asked. He sounded angry, as he had every right to be. It had been difficult to approach her about this, particularly difficult for him to come to her and apologize, no less, for something that he had done that had accidently hurt her. And she couldn't even calm down long enough to even hear his explanation.

"Because I'm sick of your lies, Mark! And I'm sick of this passive aggressive crap. You bottle everything up inside, but it's so obvious you hate John, you hate me, you hate being here! You think you're so much better than us, so why don't you do everyone a huge fucking favor and go."

"I don't hate you," Mark said instantly, forgetting to remind her that he couldn't exactly go when John was still dangling that blackmail over his head… particularly the part Amanda didn't know about…No, all he could think about was how entirely wrong she was about that part of her rant. He didn't hate her. At times she infuriated him beyond reason, brought out a hostile side of him he'd usually been able to repress, but hate wasn't the right word for how he felt for her. Even if it was, he didn't hate her nearly as much as he cared for her. She was wrong…so wrong…

"You do hate me. That's why you let Eric ruin my life," she said, her hand back to clutching her pillow again, staring up at Mark as he stood at the entrance of her room, able to retreat at any time. She wondered what button she'd have to push to get him to leave, because she was persistently pushing all the ones she could, like a child's first ride on an elevator, and yet he wasn't backing down.

"It was before I even knew you," he said, defending himself.

"That doesn't matter!" Amanda shouted, her nails digging into the plushy cushion sitting on her lap.

"So you get a second chance, an opportunity to start over and make amends, but I don't? Don't you think that's a little hypocritical, Amanda?" He crossed his arms, accentuating his point with all the sanctimonious conviction of…well…the man he despised the most. John Kramer. Not that Mark was aware of the man he was subconsciously imitating.

"I realize I did something wrong. That's the difference," Amanda said. "You still think you're a fucking hero."

He slammed his hand against the door. His bangs splashed across his forehead, shadowing his eyes.

"I know I made a mistake, Amanda! A big fucking mistake! And I paid for it! I'm still paying for it, every time I walk in here and have to take orders from that mad man and watch you descend further into this insanity, I'm paying for it! You look at me like I'm the bad guy, and you look at John with these hero-worship eyes, and it's like…it's like…" His voice cracked.

Why can't I have that? He thought. Why can't you look at me that way?

He couldn't conclude his tirade like that. No, that was far too petulant. But nothing else but the incensed jealousy he felt would come to mind.

"Amanda, I screwed up. I realize that now, I do. If I could go back and change what happened, I would. Because in the end, nothing good came of it. You got hurt, the person I wanted Eric to plant evidence on got out eventually anyway, and everything backfired. But that was before I even knew you. You got a second chance at a new life…why can't I get a second chance too?"

"Why do you feel this need to make everyone pay for what they did, Mark? Who made you judge and jury?" Amanda asked coldly.

Mark shook his head, looking away in frustration. After a short pause, he continued talking, half in and out of her room, his face and body still turned away from Amanda.

"When I was a kid, my family was in a car accident. It left me and my sister orphans. The fucker that killed them got away with it."

"Well, that's awful but…you said it was an accident, Mark. Accidents happen."

"He just left us. The driver in the other car didn't even stick around to help. Not even man enough to bear seeing the carnage he created. I mean, maybe he couldn't have done anything to save them, but he sure as hell could have tried."

A hit-and-run drunk driver who killed half his family…so that's what makes Mark Hoffman who he is. The vengeful seeker of justice, no matter who gets hurt in the process.

"So is this the guy you tried to get Eric to plant evidence on?" Amanda asked, her fingers nervously tugging at the corner of her pillow like an unsurpassable tic. Daniel's twitchy behavior had rubbed off on her a little.

"No. I never found out who he was," Mark sighed.

"So…who was it then? Who did you hate so much that you'd let Eric plant evidence on him? Who was it, Mark? Or do you even remember anymore? Was it just one person, or was it every fucking case you've ever had?"Amanda snarled, remembering her trial, if it could even be called that. Amanda Young's case, played out in the courtroom of sham trials and barely disguised bias. The worst fifteen minutes of her life. A written report from Eric Matthews, all lies, and a bag of drugs that weren't even hers had caused the judge to rule that she'd violated her probation. The verdict cost her prison time and a downward spiral into even harder drugs than the ones she'd been meddling in and out of before.

"It was one time, Amanda. It was just once…" he said, looking at her desperately.

"Who was it, Mark? Who was it? Whose life did you screw up that time because you couldn't get over some petty grudge? Whose life did you ruin? Well, tell me, I'm waiting; this has got to be good. Tell me, Mark! Tell me!"

"The man who fucking killed my sister!" Mark yelled. Silence saturated the atmosphere, but it wasn't filled with animosity anymore. It was the silence that shadows dark confessions, sudden car accidents, the revelation of a patient's terminal diagnosis, the identification of a loved one's body, the end of a eulogy, the end of a child's innocence. Amanda looked as though Mark had just slapped her across the face, even though all he'd done was spun around and yelled with...was that…

Oh my God, he's crying.

"Amanda, I can't take this anymore. I'm sorry. I've made it very clear that I'm sorry for what I've done-"

"I'm sorry too," she blurted out. She felt like leaping up and embracing him, comforting him for the pain she'd caused him. "I didn't know…"

"Well, now you do," he spat out, tacking on a bitter smile at the end. For a moment, he was entirely shut off from the world around him. His eyes were open but he wasn't seeing. Mark sensed the present moment with dim awareness, but he wasn't experiencing it, he wasn't seeing Amanda or her cluttered room or even the space surrounding him. He was seeing several years ago, he was reliving that moment where he'd collapsed to his knees and held Angelina's hand, kissing the back of it because he loved her so very much and he was sorry, so sorry, he'd hesitated too long before he intervened. Because he had seen the signs, and he'd done nothing. Because he couldn't kiss her forehead like he usually did; blood had smeared over it and her neck had been gashed so deeply her head could have severed from her body had he applied even the slightest pressure. Because he'd failed her. Because even though he'd loved her, in the end, that love had not been enough to save her.

Amanda's heart ached to watch his face cringe with the return of unbearable recollections. A resurrection of memories better left forgotten, until she'd dredged them up to the surface of his conscious.

Who's life did you ruin, Mark?

The man who fucking killed my sister.

Someone that I knew was damn well guilty and needed to be locked up.

I'm paying for it…I'm still paying for it…

"I guess I can understand why you did it," she said, shifting nervously. "Why you would do that…if he…if he killed your sister…"

Mark seemed to come back to her for a moment, his eyes looking up at Amanda, unwavering, as though he had to convince himself she was really there. He wasn't so sure of anything at the moment. His face seemed to sag, his faded eyes looked haunted, trapped between two worlds, the past and the present, the living and the dead.

"After you asked Eric to…do you this favor, you couldn't just turn him in for the other cases…so you were…well, you were kinda stuck keeping quiet."

"Yeah," he said, his eyes gazing up at her, praying she'd see the situation through his eyes, appreciate the reasons for his secrecy. He desired some kind of validation for what he'd done, someone to understand he'd been a man with no options, a fact John had failed to see. And most of all, he just longed for absolution, from Amanda, from anyone really. But not even Amanda knew the whole story...

"I'm sorry," Amanda whispered. Mark's tears had come and gone so quickly Amanda would almost think she'd hallucinated them if the streaks hadn't remained as a lingering reminder. "I guess I shouldn't have…overreacted until I knew all the facts. I'm sorry about what happened to your sister. For what you had to go through."

Mark nodded his head, wiping away the wet residue on his face, a little ashamed but mostly just emotionally worn out from their latest argument. Amanda was about to say something about the tears, how she hadn't meant to hurt him so badly, but she forgot her apology once the sharp spasm of pain searing through her spine shook up her thought process. The back ache had remained dormant and forgotten for several minutes, and the sudden relapse into pain had brutally intensified. Amanda recoiled and her face grimaced in response.

"Fuck," she groaned.

"What is it?" he asked, relieved for the disruption, although greatly concerned for her as well. He dashed over to Amanda, nearly tripping on a fallen stool, and kneeled down next to her.

"My back. It's nothing," she said quickly, imaging Mark retrieving the medical kit. Him and his damn gauze and magic fingers that sent thrilling waves of delight through her body every time he even brushed against her.

"It's clearly not 'nothing' or you wouldn't be wincing," he accused.

"Well…it's my back. Ever since the fight with Eric, my spine…it hurts sometimes."

"How badly? Dehabilitaing? Can you still move?" he asked. He turned to look at the area on the small of her back that Amanda gripped with her hand.

"It's not that bad," she lied, willing herself to shut up and be strong. "Probably just pulled something…"

Mark slid her hand away and began rubbing her back in small circles, kneading in a clockwise motion. She arched her back, at first surprised by his fingers on her skin, relieved from the pain he seemed to be shedding away more and more with every rotation of his thumbs.

"You don't have to…" she said, looking over her shoulder and gauging his expression. All of his facial features were neutral, and he appeared to be concentrating on her back as though it were a crossword puzzle rather than a tender spot on her body he was touching, making her heart hammer in her chest in rhythm with his hand movements. He casually unclasped her bra and continued to ascend up her back, causing Amanda to emit a sudden gasp of surprise.

"That's really unnecessary," she mumbled, enjoying the feel of his fingers rubbing against her anyway. Her body seemed to have other ideas though, and instead of pulling away, she merely writhed against his hands…into his hands.

"You can…you should stop," she repeated, becoming a little breathless as the pressure deepened. His thumbs performed the majority of the action alleviating her pain. It was his sneaky fingers that sent Amanda's imagination spiraling into the dangerous territory of her fantasies as the tips of his fingers fondled her sides, casually brushing against her ribs and nearly touching the edge of her breasts as his hands traveled upwards.

"Amanda," he said, his mouth treacherously close to her left ear, delving her even deeper into her daydreams.

"What?" she whispered, her eyes closing as the fantasy progressed. Fantasy Mark was so much further along in pleasing her than reality Mark…already caressing parts of her that were unfortunately still clothed…

"Shut up," he said, reverting back to a normal voice.

Damn it, damn it damn it.

She obliged, too lost in enjoying the sensation to care about something as trivial as words. She inhaled deeply and let out a half moan that partly got caught in her throat. The sound amused Mark.

"You have knots in your back…to much stress from that damn pointless argument," he said.

"Mmmm…then don't stop," she said. She didn't intend for it to sound so seductive, but they were both aware that she had indeed given him an invitation. It would be so easy to retort with a witty reply, to tease her…but the mood wasn't right. A jovial atmosphere was required for that kind of banter, and the gravity of what had just transpired a few minutes ago still clung to their minds like a desperately needy child grasping onto a parent figure.

"Does that feel better?" he asked after several minutes had passed, slowing his movements to a near stop. For a moment, she was unable to produce real words.

"Uh-huh," she finally managed to get out. "John should design a trap that involves twisting someone's spine or snapping it in half. It's the most painful fucking thing ever."

Mark chuckled, but she detected that it was a fake laugh, as mechanical as Billy the puppet's. Amanda felt awful, knowing that was her fault. But her mind quickly shifted from what she'd done to him to what he was doing to her. His hands were sliding around her back now, no longer impelling into her muscles, but rather stroking her skin, as though he were deriving enjoyment from touching her now. Amanda looked over her shoulder and saw a familiar look in Mark's eyes…dazed, glossed over, hypnotized…that same look he had before he kissed her. Was he really thinking about that now? Or was his mind still lost somewhere else, in a time long before Amanda even knew him, if indeed, she even knew him now.

"Amanda," he breathed against her neck.

"Yes?" she near moaned. His hands had taken on a combination of caressing and kneading, and he must have, had to be, intentionally paying more attention to her sides than before. Once he'd come so close to her breasts she was almost sure he was going to slide on up and palm both of them.

"That kiss…we have to talk about it eventually…" he murmured.

"Okay. So let's talk about it. Why did you kiss me?" she asked.

Mark raised an eyebrow, not that Amanda could appreciate the gesture from her position.

"Why'd you stop?" Amanda protested when his hands lowered. Still in contact with her skin, but immobile, refusing to cooperate with her wishes until she fessed up.

"Why did I kiss you? Amanda, I think it was pretty reciprocated situation."

Amanda blushed, smiling slightly as she thought back to that day.

"Okay, so it was," she admitted. "Well, why do you think it happened?"

"I think it's pretty obvious, Amanda," he said, his hands sliding up several inches to highlight his point. He leaned forward so that his face neared hers. She rolled her eyes to the side to match gazes with him. His eyes brightened up as he stared at her, so luminescent despite nothing bright enough in the room to bring out that kind of shine.

"I want you, and I'm pretty confident that you want me as well, or you wouldn't be letting me put my hands all over you this freely…"

Amanda scowled.

"My back hurts. Do you really think I'd just make that up because I'm so desperate I have to scheme to get you to put your hands on me?" she snapped. He smirked, his first real smile since their conversation began.

"No…but what about that night in Euphoria?" he asked slyly. "I'm pretty sure your back wasn't hurting then…"

"Okay, okay. So…" Amanda said, her thoughts tossed away as he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer to him so that his chest pressed against her bare back, and she was literally sitting in his lap. She gasped in surprise at the sudden bold move.

"I suppose it's not fair to ask you to do all this talking and thinking while I'm touching you like this…so what do you say we stop…talking and thinking for a little while," he asked, sliding his hands up…and up…his index fingers nestled right beneath her breasts.

"I think…that sounds like the best idea you've had all day," she smirked, sealing it with a kiss that ended not in interruptions or outbursts, but only in more passionate kisses.

Author's Note: I'd kill for a back massage from Mark Hoffman (or Costas Mandylor). Hell, I'd kill just to GIVE him a back massage…if it includes the happy ending. :D

Alternate name for this chapter: Feel Up what I Feel

Btw, I'm pretty sure you guys are going to really like the next chapter…it picks up right after this one.