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“I should’ve known better,” Marcelo utters, throat tightening as he sinks into the empty spot beside Eduardo. Those are the first words that he’d said to him when they were alone.
Eduardo’s first instinct is to say something otherwise, deny everything Marcelo was saying but the expression plastered on Marcelo’s face told him that anything he said would not make a difference in how his mind had settled. “You say that as if you knew, you didn’t.”
Marcelo shakes his head, eyes shutting. “That’s not the point, I shouldn’t have asked you all to wait.”
Oh, that’s where this is going. Eduardo turns to look at Marcelo and his expression softens. “What were you gonna do?” He asks, voice softening. “We can’t do much out here but hope.”
And that’s what Marcelo did. He continued to hold out hope when no one else hoped.
“Who’s going to hold that against you?” Eduardo follows up, reaching for Marcelo’s hand. “I, for one, Am proud of you for being able to see through everything with a brighter outlook.”
There’s no response and Eduardo squeezes Marcelo’s hand in an attempt to coax a response out of him. “You weren’t able to do that before, now, you can.”
Eduardo offers a weak smile and Marcelo finally looks at him. “I’m sorry.”
Liliana peers over at where Marcelo has sat down, words bubbling inside of her throat and burning the tip of her tongue as she hesitates to say something. She has to, she has kids. She’d want someone to do the same for her babies if the roles were reversed and she couldn’t imagine the hole in her heart if she lost one of her children.
“You should eat,” her voice comes out very soft, almost a maternal tone that it takes on and her smile is hesitant and weak.
Marcelo’s head turns to face her, lips parting.
Liliana braces herself for one of the staunch refusals she’d given in the same manner before just as he had but he remains silent as if listening and she takes her chance. “You said you have sisters, right?”
“Two,” Marcelo’s voice comes out hushed.
“What are their names?” Liliana scoots closer to him and Marcelo just looks at her again.
“Stella and Claudia,” Marcelo answers again, almost automatic answers.
“You talk a lot about them,” Liliana continues, extending a hand to Marcelo’s shoulder. “And your mother, too,”
“I’m sure they miss you terribly,” Liliana reasons, as she squeezes Marcelo’s shoulder. “As you, them,”
“And you know as well as I do, I didn’t wanna… eat in this circumstance..” she trails off, she lifts her head again and evens her tone in the same way she did with her children so she conveyed a better outlook. “But I have to go home to my little ones … and- and I think God won’t hold that against me when he gave them to me to love and cherish.”
“Who am I to judge? Who are any of us?”
Liliana’s lips part. “My point precisely,”
“So why judge yourself? You’re doing the best you can for these boys.” Liliana rests one of her hands on Marcelo’s.
“I would want my children to eat if they were here,” Liliana says, voice straining. “I’m asking as a mother, eat,” She implores, voice soft as she speaks.
“Your mother wants you home and so do your sisters,” Liliana whispers, squeezing Marcelo’s hand. Pleading with the one who was so staunchly against it and then pled everyone to resort to it is ironic. And here he is again, refusing so firmly.
God didn’t give him a life to just lay down and die, he supposes.
“I’ll think about it,” Marcelo answers.
“Do you need something?” Marcelo’s voice rings out, catching Roberto by surprise as he doesn’t turn his head when addressing him. He’d always found it unnerving whenever he’d call him or one of the others out without looking in their direction and not failing in what to say.
Roberto sits beside Marcelo and he shakes his head when the latter turns to face him. “I don’t know how you do that,” comments Roberto, fingers curling around the collar of his jacket.
“Instincts, I suppose,” Marcelo answers thoughtfully, his cross swaying on his neck as he leans forward for a moment.
“Impressive,” Roberto lets out and he sees a small smile ghost Marcelo’s lips as he lets out a dry laugh.
“That’s what having sisters and a team that acts like a bunch of first graders will do to you.” Roberto decides to ignore that last part as he leans against Marcelo.
“Have you eaten?” Marcelo asks, throat closing up as he asks but it isn’t evident unless Roberto looks close enough and sees how he swallows and that regretful expression mounted on his face.
“I have,” Roberto’s voice is a lot smaller than he intended but he doesn’t correct himself this time.
“And the others?” Marcelo follows up, raising his eyebrows as he peers at Roberto.
“Some,” Roberto says, he licks his chapped lips in an attempt to soothe them but it always makes it worse yet he goes back to it like a dog with a bone. “The others are in the process..”
“I’m sorry,” Marcelo says, abruptly and he allows his head to lower for a moment as he feigns to be checking something to is trying to take a softer tone, because his voice still comes off as
Roberto swallows, eyes looking up as he registers the weary expression on Marcelo’s face. “Why are you sorry? We all wish it could be different.” It comes out harsher than he anticipates but it doesn’t faze Marcelo whatsoever since he’s used to it. What Roberto’s not used to is trying to take a softer tone, because his voice still comes off as brash.
“Why wouldn’t I be sorry? Aren’t you contrite when you go to confession?” Marcelo’s hand comes up, fingers brushing against the fine woodwork of the cross around his neck.
“you didn’t do anything wrong,” Roberto interjects, brows furrowing. “So there is no need for that, is there?”
“I’m still sorry,” Marcelo says, he places a hand on Roberto’s shoulder squeezing it.
“We all are,” Roberto says, his throat tightening as he carefully chooses his words. “There’s so much to be sorry for, but not knowing isn’t one of them.”
“I’m sorry for agreeing with Nando,” Roberto admits, he averts his gaze at this quiet admission that he’s sure Marcelo heard even if he says something. “But I want to live and so does everyone else so I’m not sorry.”
Marcelo’s lips part as if he’s about to say something.
“And if I know you as well as I think I do, you wouldn’t go somewhere with all of us if you had anticipated this,” Roberto adds.
Marcelo swallows, and a shaky breath exhale escapes his lips. “That doesn’t mean I’m not sorry,”
“Do you ever think all of the trouble collecting the trip money and the delays of the plane was God trying to warn us and I just didn’t listen?” Marcelo’s voice trails off, his hand slips off Roberto’s shoulder.
“Then he should’ve given better signs,” Roberto answers, and the pause in the conversation the surprised expression on Marcelo’s face and the subsequent laughter is unexpected.
“How are you feeling?” Marcelo asks, moving closer to the makeshift hammock. He offers Vasco a weak smile and he returns the favor.
“I could be better,” Vasco says, shifting in the way he was lying. “But I’m alive.”
“I bet that fresh air is nice, huh?” Vasco questions, a dry laugh slipping from his lips.
“It is,” Marcelo confirms. “You’ll be able to get some soon, I’m sure.”
“I’m sure of it too,” Vasco agrees with a small smile.
“I heard you’ve been acting gloomy,” Vasco comments, earning a glance from Marcelo as his lips twitch as if hesitating to speak.
“Gloomy?” Marcelo repeats.
“Gloomy,” Vasco confirms with the nod of his head. “I think it’s a blessing we’re all still alive. It means something, doesn’t it? And you’re here with us.”
And you’re here with us.
“Well,” Marcelo raises a hand to comb his hair out of his face with his fingers. “I suppose that’s true, I don’t wanna be the one to bring everyone down.” A dry laugh follows.
Vasco shakes his head dismissing what Marcelo said. “You’re not bringing everyone down,” he frowns this time. “Just concerned since it’s unlike you.”
“Beating yourself up over everything is not going to make it get any better,” Vasco murmurs. “You might as well stop doing it before it hurts your spirits because then what? It’s all we have out here.”
“We’re all worried, Marcelo,” Vasco’s words cut into Marcelo as his head snapped to look at him. “The Marcelo we know isn’t like that and we miss our Marcelo.”
It’s not the reaction Vasco expects, but it’s something when Marcelo smiles weakly.
Marcelo hadn’t meant to worry them throughout everything but they were worried. It was a relief to know they weren’t mad and that wasn’t just how they were portraying it due to that underlying loyalty they had to him because of years of friendship and him being their captain.
“I’ll chin up,” Marcelo offers with a twitching smile of his own. “There’s always tomorrow, right?”
“You’ve been awfully quiet,” Fito comments, nudging Marcelo’s shoulder gently as he takes a seat beside him. “Eduardo’s already talked to you, hasn’t he?”
“I’m sure he’s told you already,” Marcelo chuckles. “He tells you everything.”
“Well,” Fito says, considering his odds of saying anything meaningful. “I suppose I’m about to sound like a broken record but it has to be said.”
Marcelo raises a brow in response. “What do you mean by that?”
“You’re guilty,” Points out Fito as if it’s the most obvious thing and Marcelo wants to laugh.
“Is it that obvious?” Marcelo questions.
“More than obvious,” Fito says, as he offers his hand out.
“Blaming yourself and for what?” Fito asks, he shakes his head. “If someone else dies it’s going to crush you and we both know it’s inevitable at this point. Like having to have something to eat.”
“And it’s only hoping that in doing all of that something happens, isn’t it? And what good is that hope when you don’t really believe it?” Fito continues. “With how firmly you held onto it I would’ve been convinced because you hoped when no one else did and I mean, no one else did.”
“I don’t blame them,” Marcelo admits, throat tight.
“And they don’t blame you either,” Fito states. “If anyone’s to blame, it’s the pilot and not you. And even then, it was out of their control. No one is to blame.”
“We’re out here dying, Marcelo,” Fito looks at Marcelo. “And dying men have no one to blame. We’re dying and even then, we’re trying because we all love each other.”
“I don’t know what more to tell you,” Fito swallows. “But I just want you to know no one is to blame. Not you, not anyone.”
It’s relatively quiet when the empty spot beside Numa is taken by Marcelo, they hadn't spoken, if at all. Numa supposes it’s because of the sense of duty he feels to the others and anyone can get a whiff of that almost instantly. Just as strongly at the urgency that hangs stiffly in the air.
Marcelo clears his throat, and he looks at Numa, who smiles at him weakly. To be polite is what Marcelo supposes but he doesn’t pose much thought in that matter. “I know Pancho’s already insisted you do so,” is what he begins with, giving Numa and sense of what is to come.
It’s ironic, Numa thinks. Someone as Staunchly against it as he was even when those who were just as disgusted and scared had given in slowly but surely. He doesn’t blame him for about to insist on it, they want to live. It’s only human to want to live, they’re only human. But is living for a little while longer worth throwing away eternal peace for? Or not being forgiven if anything came of it. Knowing it’s people, people they loved. They love.
“I was wrong, you should eat.” Marcelo forces out, his expression faltering but it remains straight. It’s something Numa expects to accompany a trembling voice but it never does. That’s what Numa has learned to expect out of Marcelo.
“I’m sorry,” Marcelo continues, he hesitates if he should hold Numa’s gaze but neither looks away. There’s nothing in Numa’s gaze saying that anyone is to blame, no harsh undertones. “this trip was a mistake.”
“Why are you sorry?” Numa questions, voice soft and quiet. “You couldn’t have known, you planned a trip, not this.”
“I planned it,” Marcelo says, tongue-twisting over the syllables as if to emphasize what he is saying and make it understood. “I brought us here… and I told you all to wait.”
Numa pauses, considering what Marcelo said. It seemed God had other plans than just a trip. “And it’s not your fault, I don’t blame anyone who invited me and no one blames you.” It wouldn’t be helpful to start playing a blame Game when none of them were to blame for the unfortunate circumstances.
“What good is it blaming each other?” Numa asks, holding Marcelo’s gaze and he watches his brows knit together and how he swallows. “It was supposed to be a fun trip, that’s what you planned.”
“Is that what Gastón sold it to you as?” A dry chuckle escapes Marcelo’s lips. “I’m sorry to disappoint, how impolite of me.”
Numa laughs, his eyes shutting. “I don’t think you're disappointed, you’re doing a good job.”
A good job? A good job would be far from here, thinks Marcelo. Even burning would be better than this. And maybe he’d get to find that out considering he did eat.
“We were supposed to get together for this trip because we hadn’t done anything in a while and the game was a perfect thing to use to do that.” Marcelo shakes his head, throat tightening. “And then we would all go home, that’s not happening.”
For once Marcelo’s head bows, shoulders slumping. In the short time Numa had known Marcelo outside of what he’d been told, he’d never once seen him crumble and bend underneath the pressure. Numa respected Marcelo for withstanding that weight for so long.
Marcelo swallows, sniffling.
Of course, you say that, Marcelo would usually think. It’s the first thing he’d always jump to and accordingly if it came from the others. Eduardo, Roberto, any of the others. They had reason enough to simply answer that to make him feel better.
Even if they knew it wasn’t okay and he messed up big time. Yet they’d continue to say they didn’t blame him. And maybe they didn’t but that didn’t change Marcelo was certain he deserved it.
What does Numa get out of lying?
nothing.
Numa only knew Marcelo through mentions from Gastón and Pancho, that’s all. No expectations, no years-long loyalty to fulfill.
And that means he meant whatever he said.
Numa’s first instinct is to reach out to Marcelo in order to comfort him, he hesitates and looks to Marcelo to see if he recoils, leans in, or simply doesn’t react.
There’s no reaction to Numa’s actions so he resumes his actions, carefully wrapping his arms around Marcelo.
The lump in Marcelo’s throat dislodges, seemingly pushed forward as he attempts to stifle the sob building up within his chest and slipping into his throat. Numa’s arms gently wrap around Marcelo and that’s when the floodgates burst. Hot, burning tears prick at the corners of his eyes slowly welling up until lashing down his cheeks, eyes slamming shut.
Marcelo stifles a sob, rock in His windpipe. His breathing quickens with each breath and swallows, desperate to contain the short intakes of breath dissolving into hiccups.
Numa leans in closer and Marcelo’s arms shoot out, wrapping tightly around his neck, hands ending up on his back fingers deep in handfuls of Numa’s jacket. “Come here…”
One of Numa’s hands is placed on Marcelo’s back, rubbing circles into his back in a soothing manner. Marcelo’s face buries into Numa’s shoulder, tears soaking into the fabric of his jacket.
“No one blames you,” soothes Numa, continuing to rub Marcelo’s back. Voice softly, assuredly as he offers a reassuring smile. “Why blame yourself then? You can’t keep blaming yourself, that’s no way to live.”
Numa pauses, pulling away just enough so he can look at Marcelo, eyes locking. Marcelo’s gaze meets Numa’s but he does not release the fabric of Numa’s jacket. “You’re doing the best you can,” he assures. “That anyone can in this situation.” He corrects, offering a reassuring smile.
Marcelo’s sniffling begins to subside after a while, his grip loosening finally on Numa’s jacket but neither part. “thank you,” he croaks. “Thank you.”