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When Marcus finally let it click into place where he was going, he was more tired than he’d ever thought he would be. Nights before had seldom stolen his energy, and he knew whatever exhaustion he felt must’ve torn at his family tenfold, because the look in their eyes when they addressed him as of late were too wild- not that of parents and a sister, but more of wounded animals or scared children- and he had been the one to make that their reality. And so when the day came that his parents told him that they would be skipping a day and taking it and the weekend to go visit their grandparents, dread pulsed inside of his chest and he knew what that meant- but he kept himself quiet and nodded into it.
Max looked nervous, too, and he wasn’t quite sure whether it was because she hoped he wouldn’t catch on or if she had no idea - but it was in that moment that he forgave her for something she didn’t even do and quietly thanked her for the things she did.
He still didn't like it, however.
Nothing was something that killed him, prying into his life like a spoiled child and picking things apart- at first with malice, but then with apathy, which was largely worse. But then, after a while, it grew to be a strange comfort for him.
He could do whatever he wanted and the barriers that held him in place and kept his behavior in check for the most part dissipated.
So, without malice, the night before they would be leaving, he strolled out to the park. The night was awful… It was too silent save for the soft scratches he made into the wood that held his friends initials. He'd wondered how many other people- how many other children- had traced their fingers over the scratches, memorializing and softly deepening something they could only mildly inquire about. He wondered how quickly the curiosity would fade from their minds and resolve into nothingness as they laughed and chattered and played with their friends.
Then, with a dry chuckle- he would tip the rim of the bottle towards those initials, both sad for and envious of the little boy who was no more. He’d died physically before he died mentally, even when the cancer chewed endlessly at his bones and he grew tired… at least he had Marcus.
But all Marcus would have now were bare bones of a bare child, with nothing now to give to the memory. He only had nothing to give.
“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry.”