bound; governed by fate or extremely likely to occur.
"Face it, Marco. You and I are bound to one another. Even after all this time, even despite the consequences of our love, you can't keep yourself away from me-and neither can I."
M A R C O / R O M E S S A Did We Lose Our Minds? trigger warning: mentions/depictions physical violence
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L A N A | D E L | R E Y - Off to The Races "They would rue the day I was alone without you."
—
If anyone were to enter Marco Reus and Romessa Bensaïd's penthouse apartment at three in the morning on this particular night without any sort of explanation whatsoever—as the police had—they would've instantly figured that someone had been killed.
Blood red wine was all over the kitchen floor, while shattered dishes were strewn all over the place. The neighbors in the apartment below theirs had reported screaming and yelling, crying, the sounds of objects breaking left and right. When the two police officers entered the apartment by force, they ultimately traced everything to Marco's living room—where a distraught Romessa sat, next to one of Marco's shattered glass Player of the Year awards, with her head in her hands.
Marco sat next to her, using his trembling left arm to hold a lit cigarette—the same tattooed arm that had, moments earlier, been used to roughly shove her. Romessa wasn't the only one who was hurt. The bruises on Marco's neck and the scratches on his arm made it clear that foul play had occurred. It was a clear-cut case of a violent domestic dispute, and if a single soul found out about what'd happened, hell—meaning the media—would break loose.
"Herr Reus, we received a complaint—the people who live below you called..." the police officer spoke, evidently shocked and starstruck by the scene. He looked between Marco and Romessa, who were both clearly distraught. "Is everything okay here?"
Marco let out a breath. He knew Romessa was capable of being violent—her fight with Jessica had made that obvious—but he never could've expected the alcohol to turn her into the monster she'd been minutes ago. "Everything is fine," he muttered, standing up and offering both officers a sturdy handshake. "Thanks for checking in, but we can handle it."
The second officer—one who was obviously unconvinced—looked around. The multi-million dollar apartment was bigger than the average house, yet somehow, the couple had managed to trash it completely in their rage. Frames preserving jerseys that Marco had played his most significant matches in were broken, as was the 2018/19 Player of the Year glass trophy that Romessa had angrily shattered. "Is there anything we can do?" The officer finally spoke, gazing skeptically between the couple. He knew exactly who they were. His teenage daughter once ran into Romessa at an Italian restaurant, and it took her ten minutes to muster up the courage to ask for a photo. The officer himself was a huge supporter of Marco Reus; he'd been watching the famous footballer play since his Mönchengladbach days. His son had even worn a Reus jersey to school that morning. What would people like them—and the rest of the world—do, if they found out about what the officers were witnessing?
