Darkness was something Marlo knew. He knew the darkness, and it knew him. The darkness was his safe place, the only place he knew. It was the place he’d go to hide when his mother was crying, when his father was yelling, when Elzo and Gregory were to far to find. The darkness is where Marlo would go to escape.
It was in the darkness, that Marlo felt safe.
The sound of yelling, of breaking glass and screaming. It echoed in the hallways, drifted upstairs and into the shared bedroom. He could hear the door slam open to his room, angry stomps over to the closet. Light. Pouring in, scalding his eyes.
His world was awash in color. Music played from a band. Smooth jazz. His mother’s favorite. It was her birthday. He didn’t remember how old she was. Each year it was the same. Put on the fancy dinner party suit, smile, then hide.
Hide from Giovanni, from Maria, from Isacc, Bartholomew, Nanny. Hide from them all. Under the balcony. In the corner near the stairs. Hide, so no one will notice you.

So no one will notice you when you cry.

He watched himself, small, fragile, weak. Eyes puffy and red, Giovanni’s hand was cruel as always. He watched as the older sons of business tycoons approached him, called him names he didn’t understand then. Names he understood now. Ugly American brat. Whore’s son. p***y. Scum sucker. Each name for a different view, from child to young adult, they called him names. The first blow was from Isacc. Spit in his face. The second from Marcus, a shove. The third, was from Derek. A kick. Marlo’s watched as the events unfolded, as his small, weak, little self lashed out, hands going for the boy’s neck.
Giovanni pulled him off of Derek, who got nothing more then a few cuts, tears running down his face, calling him a wild beast, that Derek had done nothing wrong.

No one came to Marlo’s defense. No one ever did.

Pulled into a room of red and brown. Polished desk something he once admired. Now a thing he feared.
“You little piece of s**t!” Marlo could still feel the sting of a hand across his face. Maria came in, said nothing. She watched as Giovanni went on, denouncing him, hitting him.
This was why he liked the darkness.
Elzo enetered the room, he looked scared, but he couldn’t do anything. Not against Giovanni. Never. He was bleeding on the rug, another stain. The Xanis patriarch lead his family back out the doors.

Elzo didn’t bother to look back.

“You’re worthless you know.” Marcus’s voice. An older voice. The voice of the one boy who stop beating on him out of understanding, but who would always think of him as lesser. Never to be equal. Not even to an adopted son of a mistress from his father’s friend. They sat outside, in the shade of the balcony, hidden away from the world. “You’ll always be worthless. He had Elzo. Why would he need you? A second son? Overall…”

“-Better off dead.” A painful echo. The sound of him choking on his dinner. Allergic. Everyone knew. Maria watched. Elzo stood in horror, yelling for someone, Giovanni...
Smiling. He could remember his words, as crystal clear as bells.
“Don’t bother Elzo. He’ll be dead before the paramedics arrive. Just sit and finish your meal.”
His father was watching him suffer, watching him die. His mother sat, as if nothing was happening. Where was Elzo? Elzo was gone. Gone. He was alone.

Always alone.
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“MARLO! MARLO! GOD DAMN IT MARLO!” Pain across his face, light flooded his world. Elzo. Elzo was there, there. Here, now. He was here, real, he wasn’t alone. “He said- Elzo, he said-“ Marlo felt his body shaking. He felt the sensation lingering. Choking. Death. Darkness, welcoming. The warmth of Elzo's embrace, a dream that haunted them both. A night that scarred them forever. “<I’m here now. It’s okay Marlo, I’m right here.>” Words in Italian. Words meant to comfort, to hide their secrets from the wondering onlookers.
They only made Marlo hold Elzo tighter, sobs wracking his body, the fear of loss to fresh.

The fear of abandonment, of death, too close to force himself let go of his last hold on his world.

His only hold to life.