Emma was going to kill Mark.
She'd do it at night, when the kids would be asleep. Or maybe now, in daylight, when the two of them were out together "making out" which really meant "getting ice cream" which really meant Mark being on the receiving end of way too many stares to be considered normal as they waited in line at Leo's. He had a ten clasped in his hand and Emma's arms were crossed as she resisted the urge to pull out Cortana and slash at the eyes of those eyeing up her—her boyfriend. The sun soaked into his hair, bleaching it, the beginnings of a tan coloring his cheeks. He was tall with lean muscle and—basically—perfect (although he was no Perfect Diego).
Yes, he was attractive. But when she looked at him, she wished it was somebody else.
The girl behind the register wrote her number to Mark on the ice cream receipt after they had made their order. Circled it, even. Drew a heart.
"It's really nothing," she heard him say for the millionth time after she slid into the car. "It was just her number—"
"That's the fourth number this week, Mark," she reminded him evenly, stabbing her spoon into her Butter Pecan before Mark pulled it out of her hands and gave her the keys instead.
"I'm not going to call her—"
"I know," Emma frowned. A sigh deflated from inside of her, raking out of her body almost painfully. "I know. Trust me, I do. It's just—the numbers. If we're careless with this, then Julian will find out, and if Julian finds out…" she trailed off. Then he'll know that this doesn't mean anything.
"And what exactly happens if Julian finds out?" Mark said. He'd been dropping subtleties and hints, questioning the meaning of their relationship for awhile now, and every time Emma managed to avoid the question. Managed to avoid saying the words because I'm in love with my parabatai out loud.
Because thoughts were less permanent than words.
"He'd be upset," Emma said in a low tone, reaching to grab the Butter Pecan from Mark's grasp. "This is mine," she told him.
"He's upset now," Mark protested, but Emma didn't respond. She balanced the ice cream in her lap as she started the car, backing out of Leo's as she made their return to the Institute.
"Eat your Cookies N' Creme" was all she said.
Mark did as he was told, popping the spoon into his mouth thoughtfully. "It's interesting," he said after the bite, "this mundane ice cream is not as bad as I was expecting. It's on par with the Demonpox flavor I remember eating as a child."
"That's a flavor?"
Mark laughed. "It's not bad. Let us go to Iced Billy's next time, and I'll show you."
She swung into the Institute entrance and pulled into a parking spot next to Diana's car. Shutting the car down and scooping her ice cream up with one hand, Emma let the keys swing in the other as she closed the door with her hip. Mark caught her eye over the top of the car.
"You know," he said conversationally, "I thought there'd be more kissing in this relationship."
"I don't kiss boys who get phone numbers from other people and don't throw them away," Emma quipped, pushing away from the car and heading up towards the Institute. The sun melted the ice cream in her cup; her hands felt sticky.
"Not even when Julian is watching us from the window?" Mark challenged with a toss of his eyebrow.
Emma spun around to look up towards the window, watching as the drapes wavered like the waves against the ocean. She felt Mark sidle up next to her. Knew he was licking at his spoon, ice cream sticking at his face and somehow getting into his hair.
"Offer still stands," he grinned as they stared at figureless windows.
"I don't kiss boys who have ice cream on their nose."
Emma pushed past him and barged through the Institute. All she wanted was peace and quiet. All she wanted was to finish her Butter Pecan alone in her room with neither Mark or—
"Hey," she heard. Emma shivered, her stomach swooping immediately at his stupid voice as she looked up the stairs and saw Julian standing there, a paintbrush tucked behind his ear as if he had forgotten he had placed it there in the first place. His hands looked green from where she was standing. She hoped he had just been painting, and that he was not the recent recipient of some wayward curse that left his skin to change colors.
"Hey," Emma said, her face plastering some form of a grimace she hoped resembled a smile. She wasn't sure. Julian didn't look fooled.
"How was ice cream?" he asked, nodding his head towards the cup she held in her hand. "Butter Pecan? Leo's?"
"Of course," she said, a real grin spreading over her face as she remembered the times she and him had gone by themselves. With the kids. Her sides ached from the memories spent laughing, and she felt as if she was floating, the two of them tied to those moments, when she said, "No place better."
She thought she saw him smile, a real smile that matched her own. And then—
"Except for Iced Billy's," Mark interrupted, throwing an arm around Emma easily, leaning against her as if he just needed to take a quick rest, appearing from the doorway. Her thoughts vanished as quickly as they had appeared. "I told Emma about their flavors—remember Demonpox? How Dru thought it was an actual demon in her ice cream?"
"Yes," Julian said shortly, his tone back to being more reserved. Was his jaw clenched? He looked like he had to sneeze. Emma didn't know. She didn't know, she didn't know. She so hated this separation—this game they were playing.
She was playing, she corrected internally. This game that she was playing.
"We should go sometime," Mark offered innocently. "Take the others."
Julian nodded, but it resembled more of a muscle spasm or twitch. "A great idea."
"Emma?" Mark asked, turning to look at her. His face was inches away from hers, his body thrumming, and yet she had no desire to kiss him, or to taste his sugary lips. His multicolored eyes seemed to wink as he asked, "You in?"
"Sure, Mark," she said. And then, because she knew it'd hurt the most, because she knew she had to do it: "Whatever you think is best."
And then she kissed him, springing up on her toes to meet his lips with hers, before shrugging off his shoulder and making her way up the stairs. Julian didn't say anything—he didn't have to. She knew how he felt—the anger, the betrayal, the sadness. It tore her inside out; she felt as if she was bleeding with no way to stop the pain. His emotions rolled together with her own, and she felt like she was breaking and bending with no one to hold her up and keep her from snapping.
If only Mark was bad at being her boyfriend.
She brushed against Julian, smelled him, relished in the feel of his soft cotton shirt against her arm for a mere millisecond, before turning the corner and heading to her room and closing the door behind her. Her heart was thwacking wildly in her chest at the contact, and her eyes pricked. She wanted him. Needed him.
But she couldn't ever have him.
So she threw her melted ice cream in the trash and curled up onto a ball on her bed and waited for her emotions to overtake her.