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It’s dark out when Marc’s eyes open.
They do so voluntarily. It’s better for him. The alarm is always on just in case but he always wakes before it rings. He’s noticed his mood to be a bit better throughout the whole day when he isn’t awoken from the harsh blaring tune of his clock at 6 in the morning.
He needs to get up. Get dressed and go to school.
He stares at the ceiling for a while, the sun is slowly rising, illuminating his room in a lazy morning light, yellow and orange beams shining through his blinds. Everything seems a bit less grey this way.
Then his alarm goes off at exactly 6. It rings loudly and his hand comes up to his head with incredible speed, forcing the clock beneath his pillow quickly to muffle the sounds. He fumbles around on it for a while without really being able to see which buttons he’s pressing. He manages to turn it off eventually.
Then it’s quiet. He holds his breath, his eyes locked on the door, the pillow muffling the quiet ticking off his alarm clock, just a few birds chirp outside. Otherwise everything is silent. The house creaks and cracks every once in a while. Marc’s dad told him that it was normal when the wood was this old already.
It doesn’t make more sounds than usually.
Marc breathes out and decides to sit up once he’s sure he hasn’t woken anyone up. His bare feet hit the cold ground of his room. The dark oak wood floors, contrasting against his skin. He stares for a while, zones out without really realizing it. He snaps out of it when another door down the hallway creaks open.
His heartbeat picks up for a moment and his eyes snap up.
The doorknob turns after a moment, then the door slowly opens. His dad looks at him from the hallway.
“You getting ready? We’ll leave for school in 45 minutes.”
He says with a sleepy smile. Marc nods, breathes out and rubs his tired eyes. His father retreats and closes the door.
When Marc walks downstairs, dressed in some jeans and a grey sweatshirt, face washed, hair brushed and halfway styled to how he thought it looked good, it’s around 6:35. Still quite early. He’s not entirely sure he's even properly awake already.
He places his school bag next to the front door, then makes his way to the kitchen. Elias smiles at him, hands him a spoon and the bowl of cereal he’d prepared for him. Wendy is sitting at the table next to him. He strictly avoids looking anywhere near her direction.
So they eat in silence. Marc and Elias do. Wendy drinks some wine. He doesn’t want to make trouble, doesn’t want to upset his mom but for a second he thinks that maybe she’s starting to feel better. Because when was the last time she’s sat with them for breakfast? It’s been a long time. So he claws onto that thought. That thought that she might have wanted to see him before school. That she was starting to be better.
He puts his bowl into the sink, then changes his mind and quickly washes it up. He doesn’t want to trouble his mom and make her any work. So he both cleans and dries his dishes before placing them back in the cupboards.
“Bye mom.” It leaves his lips quietly, lacking confidence and certainty but he waves at her while walking to the door to make sure she knows he’s talking to her. He looks at her a bit longer than he usually does. She nods at him. Returns something like a grunt. More than he usually gets and he smiles softly. Not too much, just a bit.
He zips up his jacket and grabs his backpack from the door to go to school.
School is okay. It’s not good. He gets picked on a couple times, asks the teachers for help but they say it’s just fun and games. After the third time they tell him to just go play somewhere else where the meaner kids aren’t at. Then he does that and the mean kids follow him there, that’s when he decides to give up on it and eventually walks inside to spend the rest of his break in the bathroom. The teachers never really notice him slipping away. They don’t notice today either.
He gets called on in class a few times as well. He knows a few of the answers.
12x5 makes 60 and 60 divided by 12 makes 5. It’s simple so he understands that.
The civil war began in April 1861 and ended in may 1865. He still had that memorized from last week's history class. It was fought between the Union and the confederacy. He doesn’t remember which one is north and which one is south anymore but his teacher says that’s not bad. He tells him he did a good job at remembering the dates and Marc smiles at that. He’s proud of himself for that.
He also gets asked which criteria apply to fictional texts and which apply to non-fictionals, he doesn’t remember that so he tries to come up with some on the spot. They’re not necessarily right but the teacher can work with them.
School was really great today.
On his way home he decides to walk through a street that’s a little more busy than the neighborhoods on his usual path. He wants to go to the store, get himself something from the rest of his pocket money that he’d gotten from dad at the beginning of the month.
He’d bought a toy from it already but he still had a few dollars left and figured it wouldn’t hurt to treat himself a bit further now that he’s been having such a good day so far already.
So he walks into a general store. He gets some candy, a bag of gummies, a bar of chocolate and some pop rocks in his favorite flavors.
He buys a small net of orange marbles as well. They have white squiggly lines in them and he thinks that they look like a bunch of goldfish.
Lastly he buys three sunflowers.
He finishes a package of pop rocks just as he walks into the house, he neatly wipes off his shoes on the rug before taking them off to put them away where they belong.
He makes his way straight to the living room, Wendy is watching TV on the couch. Spanish soap operas.
“I brought you these.” He holds out the sunflowers to her cautiously. They’re her favorite. They make her smile. They always did.
“Thanks.” She tells him while grabbing them from his hand. She seems surprised.
Marc wonders why. He still loves her like he always did.
He thinks he should make sure that she knows he’s not mad at her. Dad tells him she’s struggling. Marc thinks that’s okay. He is too.
“No problem mom.” He smiles at her and turns around to walk away. He doesn’t like soap operas very much, even if something in him is telling him to just watch five minutes longer to see what happens next.
He needs to do his homework.
He gets stuck on a few math questions and he’s also pretty sure that he wrote a couple words wrong on his English literature homework but he’s generally happy with how he managed today's work.
So he closes his books, prepares his backpack for the next day and then he decides to play.
And he feels quite easy today, his mood is good and the sun is shining into his room, casting a warm light against his already tanned skin. Maybe he’s smiling a little bit too.
First he’s playing with a couple action figures. Two astronauts landed on the mars and there they found all kinds of aliens. They showed each other their homes, first mars, then earth. The aliens help people on earth build a few more pyramids. He doesn’t know why but something about that feels wrong to him.
So he backtracks.
Aliens didn’t build any pyramids. That’d be ridiculous.
They just look at them, the ones in Egypt and the ones in South America.
They tell the humans that they’ve done a good job there.
The humans say “gracias” and then invite the aliens to a big taco dinner with really hot chilli con- no- sin carne.
A bang echoes through the house, glass crashes against a wall, then falls loudly to the floor. Marc’s head snaps up, he quickly abandons his story, picks up his figures from the floor and places them neatly in their proper spots.
“Marc!” The door swings open and he almost jumps when a shudder runs down his back, like ice cold water had been poured out into his shirt.
“Why the hell do you always make so much trouble hm?!”
His mom shouts at him and Marc frowns in confusion. He hadn’t done anything today had he? He’d done everything right.
“Your teacher always keeps calling me, fucking annoying me about you, can’t you act normal for once?! Would it be so hard for you to fucking behave for once?!” She yells.
Marc notices how she’s swaying from left to right a bit, he doesn’t intend to mention it.
“I’m trying mom.” He whispers, not only to soothe his growing headache.
“Don’t fucking call me that!” She points at him. “Joder, ¡no eres mi maldito hijo nunca más!”
And that’s when his breath gets stuck in his throat. It’s not really the first time that she’d said that. It still hurts though. It always hurts.
He’d wish that he was good enough.
Good enough for her to love him again, but he wasn’t.
“She tells me you have bad grades and struggle with the other kids and she wants to speak with me?! Do better or do you want me to throw you out?! I’m not going to have a talk with her over something that you can fix so fix it or I’ll send you away, do you want that?!” She looks at him and he knows in her eyes that it’s real. He thinks it anyways and that’s enough for him.
He shakes his head quickly, he doesn’t dare talk back, he couldn’t even if he tried, his throat has grown so tight it hurts. He sniffs to hold back his tears.
“You’re such a fucking disappointment, I wish you would’ve died instead.”
He doesn’t hear the rest of what she’s saying. There’s like a strong ringing in his ears, the headache growing unbearable as he just watches her speak without being able to understand.
She shakes her head after a while as she turns and slams the door closed.
And for a moment Marc is lost. He’s not quite sure what to do, what to feel, what to think. It’s just shock.
She’s never said that before. Marc should’ve known that she’d try to find something new to hit him with. To hurt him with, even if she doesn’t know how badly it stings and how much it burns.
In his throat, in his eyes, in his heart, just everywhere in his body it stings and burns, so harsh that he doesn’t even notice the hot tears rolling down his cheeks at first.
He wipes them off quickly with his sleeves, mom told him not to cry. Crying is for babies and marc is not a baby.
He’s big already and he- he keeps crying for a long time.
He sits against his mirror in the corner of his room; the cold glass calming against his back. He lets the tears fall freely, his nose is running, the wrists of his sleeves are wet in a disgusting mixture of tears and snot.
He doesn’t really mind it though. His throat still hurts quite a bit, he tries not to swallow too much.
He stares at his wall for a while, he watches his surroundings darken as the sun sets, doesn’t realize it quite well though. It’s like time is running away from him and he can’t move to catch up to it. It feels like hours that he’s sitting in that one small corner, cowering in on himself and trying to stifle his cries, and yet, at the same time, it feels like just a second. Two at most.
Then he blinks.
Suddenly he’s feeling all better. Maybe not all better. Just a bit. The mirror in his bathroom is fogged up and he’s wearing fresh pajamas, his hair is wet and clinging onto his forehead a little bit. His eyes still feel dry and quite puffy, his nose is a bit sore.
He breathes out, ruffles his head with the towel for a moment before walking out of the bathroom.
‘Get up, always get back up.’
He makes his way down the stairs. Mom is sleeping on the couch. She always falls asleep when she gets drunk.
She didn’t leave dinner for him.
Dad must be working over hours, that’s how Marc explains it.
So he walks to the kitchen and opens a cupboard, fishes out two dry slices of toast and a juice pack for dinner.
The sunflowers are in the trash can. He looks at them for a moment, decides not to think about it though. He takes them out of the can as well.
Maybe he’ll bring them to Roros grave. Maybe they’ll make Roro smile.
And it hurts. Of course it hurts.
But they’re for Randall now.
He walks back upstairs quietly, like he wasn’t out of his room at all. Like a ghost in his own house he goes to bed. Quiet, unseen, uncared for.
Sometimes Marc dreams.
He feels as though his dreams last a long time when they happen. Like they never end, he wouldn’t mind it if they just kept going forever. Mostly he dreams of this kid, they’re like best buddies.
Marc thinks Jake looks a bit like him but he’s probably just thinking into it too much.
“When do you want to get back up?” Jake asks him. He’s standing by the window, leaning on the window bank to look at the big spanish oak tree in Marc’s backyard. He could’ve sworn he saw a squirrel in it.
“I don’t really want to.” Marc shakes his head as he keeps building his Lego house.
“You’re gonna have to at some point. You can’t sleep forever.” Jake nods and moves away from the window to plop down on the ground with Marc. He shrugs.
“Not like she’ll notice.” He says.
Jake doesn’t answer. He grabs a car and continues playing while Marc finishes building their Lego city.
Next time moms having a good day is just a few days later. Marc doesn’t feel all too sick when he comes too close to her because this weird stench isn’t creeping up his nose. She smells more like mint and her hair looks a bit less greasy. Dad says they’re going to eat pizza for dinner, which Marc is incredibly excited about.
So he runs upstairs and he cleans his room. Just to make sure mom won’t be mad and not allow him to eat any.
When he’s done he tries to do his homework, it’s math and he can’t quite grasp the divisions with broken figures.
He walks downstairs in frustration after a while. The vanilla scented candle on the living room table is lit. There’s a movie playing on the tv, looks like Disney.
Marc doesn’t look at it. He didn’t ask permission to watch it. He doesn’t want to make mom mad.
“Can you help me with my homework please?” He looks at her, standing at about 6 feet distance, the wooden coffee table between them as she lays on the couch.
Her eyes land on his after a moment, like he’d just awoken her from a daydream. Something like a mindless daze.
He pulls his folder up to his face, just below his nose, like it would be any good at protecting him. It wasn’t.
“You’re so fucking stupid Marc, you can’t do anything by yourself can you?!” She tells him in this calculated calmness that makes him shudder.
It stung a bit. Maybe a bit much.
“I’m sorry.” He whispers. “I’ll be better I promise. I’ll figure it out.” He nods and quickly turns on his heel, sprints back up the stairs and sits down at his desk, leaning over his papers.
And he listens.
Creaks, cracks, thuds, steps.
The door opens and closes. “I’m home!”
Marc breathes in relief. His eyes close involuntarily and he decides to feel at his heart.
How it thumps like it’s trying to win a race.
And when he opens his eyes again, Jake is there and he closes the door to his room.
And right then Marc doesn’t know how he got there, when he’d come over or why his dad had allowed him to come in.
Marc doesn’t know that he needs this. More than he’d like.
“Do you wanna play race cars?”
“Only if I get to be the red number 78!” Marc jumps down from his chair and walks to his toy box.
“I’m always red, amigo.” Jake walks after him and quickly snatches the red car out of the box.
Marc chuckles softly, the terror from a minute ago completely forgotten.
Sometimes there’s someone else in Marc’s room as well.
He isn’t sure anymore when he dreams and when he’s awake. He’s certain now that Jake is real. He had to be. They were best friends after all.
But sometimes, when there’s just a boy sleeping in the top bunk of Marc’s race car bed, Roro’s bed, then he’s not quite sure if he’s as awake as he believes to be.
At first he’d thought it was Jake after he’d stayed for a sleepover. But the boy in the bed looks somewhat completely different than Jake, and somewhat completely different than Marc, and somewhat completely the same.
Marc’s tried to wake him up a couple of times, but he never moves, doesn’t even budge so he’d decided to give it up.
Jake told him the boys name was Steven. He said he was a great friend so Marc believed that and now Steven was always welcome in his room, same as Jake.
Marc also barely ever cries. He didn’t even cry at Roros funeral.
No that’s wrong.
Marc cried at Roros funeral but mom told him to stop. She told him that he didn’t deserve to cry for his brother after killing him.
After that she’d told him crying is weak and pathetic, so Marc tries not to cry at all anymore.
But today he’s crying a lot. Sobbing even. Maybe.
It’s Roros birthday but dad is at work because he can’t stand being in the house. Mom is drinking a lot, she’s crying too but not as much as Marc is.
It’s pouring rain out and Marc’s clothes are completely soaked through already, hed tried to find a bit of shelter under the big tree in their backyard after mom had kicked him out of the house.
He’s freezing cold and shivering.
He’d considered knocking on the door again, pleading with her to let him inside and he’d be silent as a ghost. He decided against it because deep down he knows it’s no use. She’ll probably kick him back down the poarch.
So now he’s sitting there, back resting against the rough bark of the oak tree, the grass weighed down by heavy rain drops and the ground beneath his feet muddy.
His hair is sticking to his forehead, droplets of water falling from the tips onto his nose. His clothes cling to his body, and the wind ripples through him harshly.
It’s almost like he can feel his bones.
And he tries to breathe evenly. Tries to see if he feels a little bit warmer if he just wouldn’t shiver so much. Or at least less tense. But he doesn’t really.
He waits for it all to be over.
That’s all he can do anyways.
It’s already dark out when dad comes home from work and quickly runs out to Marc with a soft towel, trying to ruffle his hair dry while taking his numb body inside.
Marc is hungry by now. Really hungry.
But he doesn’t eat.
Elias brings him upstairs, tells him to take a shower and get into bed.
Marc closes his eyes when the warm water hits his back, slowly creeping its way through his body.
When he opens his eyes again he’s laying in bed already.
Steven is sleeping over again.
Marc thinks he should climb down the ladder into his own bed but he doesn’t. He stays under the blanket with Steven.
It’s warm and soft. It’s comfortable. It’s safe.
Sometimes when Marc looks at the mirror he’s not quite sure who’s looking back at him. Especially not lately. Not since he’s in here.
They sedate him sometimes because they say he’s being aggressive, and then when he wakes up he can’t feel most parts of his body, as if they’ve fallen asleep. He also can’t think quite straight.
Sometimes he wonders if he wants to.
Most often he’s in a wheelchair and he hears someone screaming. Somewhere in the far distance, and somehow still so awfully close to him.
He wonders if Jake and Steven are asking for him.
They’re probably not.
He’s looking out of the window. His right leg is chained to the wheelchair but it doesn’t matter much. He can’t move one way or another.
His reflection looks a bit like it’s talking to him. Just a little bit though.
Marc’s vision is incredibly blurry from all the drugs they give him in this place.
He doesn’t think dad would approve of them. He doesn’t want to. So mom did it. He’s just 14 so he can’t have done it by himself right? It must’ve been mom. Mom did it to get rid of him.
“-Get’ya outta here, si?” He hears someone say.
His eyebrow raises a little bit, he doubts he has any control over his movements past that. But he tries to focus a bit. Maybe just a little bit more.
“I promise I will, Marc.” For a moment it sounds like Jake.
Jake has this unique accent, he sounds like he’s lived on the east coast… or maybe like he’s just seen a lot of movies set in New York and mimics the accent. One or the other, it doesn’t matter much.
He also likes to speak Spanish a lot. Marc misses him.
“Marc?” He hears someone call his name. “You’ve got visitors.” The nurse puts a hand on his shoulder before taking the handles of his wheelchair into her hands and taking him into the visitors room.
“I can’t believe you forced me to come here and look at him.” He hears mom say.
And for a whole hour now he just sits at the table with them. He sits patiently and he listens. It’s not like he’s able to say much.
Trapped in his own body as he is. Like a wild animal in a zoo.
“Finally you’ve learned how to shut up.”
“Maybe we should ask them to give us some of this stuff they’re using so we can make you this bearable at home as well.”
“Wendy please.”
“Look at him. He’s so pathetic, in here like the damn psychopath that he is.”
“He deserves this, he deserves to be locked far away forever.”
“We’re here to support him. Stop it please.”
“Do you think he’s befriended any other murderers in here?”
“He’s probably still as much of a fuck up as he’s always been, I doubt this place will help much with that.”
“I’ll see you again soon. I’m sorry son.”
And every single word out of her mouth stings. No it hurts. Really bad.
But Marc doesn’t react. He can’t and he also doesn’t know how to. He’s not sure he ever did.
So he just lets it happen, soaks it all up and makes sure to remember every single word, even if he doesn’t want to.
After Marc’s first time in the clinic he spends a lot more time with Steven.
He doesn’t necessarily spend it with Steven.
Steven just sleeps. That’s all he ever does. But Marc doesn’t mind it much, gives him company, comfort, security.
He uses the time to think. He thinks about himself, the world, mom, dad, life, death. He thinks until he doesn’t want to think anymore.
Then he gets into bed and sleeps.
Jakes comes by sometimes too, never when Steven is around, Marc tends to wonder about it but never asks.
He knows already, maybe he’s not admitting it to himself but somehow he knows.
“How’re ya feelin’?” Jake pats his shoulder, Marc just shrugs.
“Don’t think much.” Jake plops down on the floor. “Ain’t good for ya.” He looks over when Marc meets his statement with a snort.
“What’s good for me then?” He asks.
“Much less thinking.” Jake says determinedly, for a second a thought crosses Marc’s mind.
“I watched ya.” Jake says and for the first time since he’s met Jake, Marc’s heartbeat picks up the pace.
“In the bathtub the other day.”
“The whole thing?” Marc asks on a shaky voice.
“Nah. Didn’t realize you took a bunch of em pills, figured when you shoved a finger down your throat though.” Jake looks at him. Never one to sugarcoat.
“It’s pretty cowardly.”
“It’s pretty fucking brave.” Jake nods and puts a hand on Marc’s shoulder. He grabs it a bit too tight but Marc downs say anything about it.
“We’ll get through this amigo. I promise.” Jake nods, then he gets up and leaves the room.
When Marc tries to go after him the door is locked.
On Marc’s 16th birthday Wendy is drunk by 10am already. She barely made it through breakfast in the first place.
She’s sleeping on the couch by 12.
Throwing his birthday cake that dad had bought for him into the trash before he’d even had a chance to eat a piece of it and grabbed the oxford encyclopedia of ancient Egypt, one of his three presents, to throw it into the fireplace.
He grabs it from her before she can and he pushes her on the couch. He doesn’t realize what he’s done until he looks at her, starring up at him with surprise in her eyes.
Then something changes.
The air feels crisp and the tension rises as she stares at him.
“I’m sorry.” He rushes out as she stands up from the couch. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry just don’t touch my book please.” He steps away from her as he begs.
It all makes him feel so little. So weak and pathetic. He’s almost taller than her. And still he acts like she was the monster that used to hide under his bed when he was four all along.
“You’re gonna learn to respect me.” She tells him in this cold voice of hers. She almost spits into his face when she says it. Marc is sure she wouldn’t mind doing it on purpose too.
Like he was dirt. Or Trash.
Marc knows that dad is home. He knows that he must hear them. Hear the belt landing sharply on his skin, bruising it through the fabric of his tshirt, making his back a black and blue, bloody mess while he’s cowering on the ground.
His arms are clamped protectively over his head as hard as possible.
His eyes are closed shut tightly, squeezing a bit harder with every harsh hit of the leather, so that his eyeballs seem to hurt and he can see stars in the dark.
He’s silent. He doesn’t scream or yell, doesn’t talk back or cries, at least not voluntarily. He doesn’t even whimper.
He waits for it to be over. He waits for it to be over like he always does.
And then it finally is and nothing hurts anymore.
When he opens his eyes the sun is shining into his room. He’s sitting against the wall below his window and his back doesn’t hurt like it should.
“Thanks for saving his book.” Jake says to him. And for the first time ever all three of them are in a room together. And Marc doesn’t dare to ask how that’s possible, he doesn’t think he wants to know the answer.
Jake agrees.
“Happy birthday hermanito.” Jake offers him a soft smile. Marc returns it. Just for a moment but that’s enough.
And he knows that this is not paradise. He knows it can’t be. But for short moments in time this is his safe haven. The place where he’s completely set free. Completely safe and sound.
When they turn 18 Marc is leaving the house early. Before the sunrise. Before his parents' alarm goes off.
And he walks to the museum. And then he closes his eyes. And he doesn’t know how he manages to enter the headspace but somehow he does. And Jake is looking at him, handing out the most rare phenomenon Marc’s ever come across when he gives him the biggest hug imaginable.
And Marc is so surprised for a moment he doesn’t know how to react. And then he wraps his arms around Jake. He leans his head into his shoulder and he closes his eyes. He breathes in the comfort and the warmth that Jake offers him.
Without wanting anything in return.
“Feliz cumpleaños hermanito.”
And suddenly Marc chokes up about it all. About Jake and about Steven. About himself and this shit show of a life.
His throat closes up from the inside and there’s this incredible pain in it because Marc doesn’t cry. Not ever.
But he chokes up about it when he pulls away and turns to the window with Jake.
They watch Steven for a while. How he explores the museum, studies all the objects and makes sure to read every single info-board in sight.
They watch how his eyes light up, coming across a model of the pyramid of Giza. They listen to him rant to himself about the different artifacts and how brilliant their meanings are. Because when Steven enjoys things, he enjoys them loudly, and it’s good like that.
He explains the process of mummification to an older lady, who’s told him all about a documentary she’s seen about animal mummies in ancient Egypt.
They have a lovely chat for a while. Steven also decides to eat a vegan burrito on his walk through the park.
Marc thinks Stevens had a great day. Somehow he feels accomplished in that.
It’s Jake's turn next, Marc’s decided to take him to a racetrack and pay for him to be able to go a couple of rounds. With a few backup dollars in case he’s enjoying himself too much to let go.
And Jake is racing the red car in circles, managing perfect drifts and making it over the finish line in perfect time on every round. So of course he pays the few extra dollars, the owner ends up racing against him.
They make a bet and if Jake wins, he gets to use the track completely for free for the whole rest of the month.
And of course he takes the opportunity. And of course he wins.
And Jake enjoys his victory silently, with the biggest grin on his face. It’s a bit chaotic, is what Marc thinks, but he likes that about Jake.
He thinks it’s important that Jake keeps being exactly like this.
And somehow he feels pleased for getting to see jake so off guard, so completely and entirely himself. He cherishes that memory already.
Marc doesn’t have any plans for himself.
He returns home later that night.
He tries to avoid Wendy and Elias.
He goes straight to sleep because for the first time in 10 years he’s had a really nice birthday. And he’s pleading at the moon and the stars to make sure it stays that way.
But that’s just not supposed to be it seems.
And when the door opens, the creak of it like a scream in Marc’s ears, his heart speeds up a bunch.
And somewhere in the back of his mind he’s thinking that he’s not sure how much more of this he can bear.
He keeps his eyes closed. And he knows he’s pathetic for being terrified, but maybe if he pretends to be asleep she’ll leave him alone.
It’s like he knew beforehand that Wendy wouldn’t care. The silent clanking sound of the belt being lifted from its spot, sends goosebumps across his neck and every step makes his heart jump in his ches-
And then this unbelievable headache is taking over his senses, his temples throb violently and specs flicker across his vision
-nd with a groan he opens his eyes, they hurt like they’re about to pop out of his head.
And he tries to adjust to his surroundings, tries to ground himself while his hands remain wrapped tightly around Wendy’s neck, squeezing harshly at her throat while she struggles on the floor beneath him. Her head looks red, even if in the dark blue hue of the night, tears are coming from her bulging eyes.
And despite the shock and the fear he keeps squeezing at her throat. Because maybe if she’s gone he’ll have a better life. Maybe if he’d finish her off first, he wouldn’t want to die himself anymore.
Was this fair?
And suddenly he remembers. He remembers that he can’t give her such satisfaction. It doesn’t matter how incredibly hurt he is, and how intensely angry at her he’ll forever be.
He gasps and scrambles away from her body, watching her cough violently.
He’s not a murderer. She’s wrong. She’s always been wrong.
“What the hell did you do?” He takes shaky breaths.
“Me?!” Wendy coughs. “What the he-“
Marc ignores her.
“I did what I wanted to do for a long time, she deserves to die.” Jake says. “She makes your life hell and only one of us will make it out of here alive.”
And Jake is right with that. Marc knows.
But not like this.
The next time he’s aware of his surroundings is when the sedatives wear off enough.
Right leg chained to the wheelchair.
Drool is running down his chin. It’s disgusting but he can’t move to wipe it off.
Eyes dry and heavy.
His limbs feel like a thousand spiders are crawling all over him.
He hasn’t had visitors in three weeks. The nurse tells him that when he asks her why he’s in here.
She says he’s tried to kill his mom and that his dad then brought him in. Neither of them came to see him since then. His father must’ve told him he needed some time to cope with the situation. Something along those lines at least.
Marc means to thank her but it comes out as more of a grunt.
When he arrives at home he’s packing his bags.
His father calls for him but Marc keeps ignoring him and waits. He waits for it to be over, for his dad to give up on him again like he’s always done.
He moves to New York for a while after that.
“How’d ya like New York hermano?”
“You can’t be mad at me forev-“
“Marc, I’m sorry alright? I’m s-“
“Please talk to me-“
“I wanted to prote-“
“I miss-“
“Mar-“
Marc ignores all of that.
After a while he can’t hear Jakt at all anymore. He’s pleased with that.
And after a while he forgets about Jake completely.
Like he’d never existed in the first place.
He can’t forget Steven though. Steven is loud. He talks a lot and… he’s his little brother.
And Marc can’t let his little brother down again.
So now we’re here.
Jake watches Marc silently, from the shadows of his own mind like the monster that’s hiding under your bed when you’re four.
And Marc silently watches Steven from the dark corners of his apartment like a ghost waiting to haunt him at nightfall.
And Steven somehow keeps them together, he somehow keeps them safe and healthy and he doesn’t even know it, like the protector that they’ve always needed but never had.
And if one of them goes out they’ll go out together, like a flame.
Slowly and silently, a raging fire that eventually suffocates and dies by its own poison.