When I first met Marco, I was eight years old and at my aunt's house. I had fallen asleep playing a handful of card games, by myself. The couch I was on was warm and cozy, the first time I had felt secure and safe. I was wrapped up in my baby cousins pink fuzzy blanket, right next to the fireplace. As I fell into a deep sleep, I began to dream for the first time. In the dream, a small boy with nearly black hair and freckles that splattered across his entire body, lay by himself against the trunk of a large oak tree. At first I was terrified, I didn't know where I was, why I was here, and what I was doing. The boy seemed to awaken in the time that I was pondering all of this, he sat up and stared at me with big innocent brown eyes and a smile that warmed my heart.
"Hello Jean, I am Marco."
"H-how do you know my name.." I stammered, a small red blush forming across my chubby cheeks.
"You created me, I am your dream." I was severely confused, was this a normal thing for people to do? As being as curious as I was I began to ask questions, and this is what I learned: I can create what I want in my dreamscape, I can do what I want in my dreamscape, I can be who I want, and I can make it my own reality.
As elementary school went by, no one wanted to be my friend because I was too "hopeless and mean," so I made Marco my best friend. When I was in the dreamscape, time wasn't relevant to the time when I was awake. Basically, I had no time limit unless I awoke. One day, when I was thirteen, I had just got rejected from Mikasa, beautiful girl with shimmering black hair, so I was having a rough night. I went to sleep, to enter the dreamscape with Marco so that I could just have fun with him. Marco and I were at a theme park, enjoying the rides with cats working as the carnies. After a particular spinny ride, Marco wanted to take a break from the terrifying roller coasters. Okay, maybe I did, but that doesn't matter. We began walking to an isolated pond, where swans swam slowly around, picking at the bugs and algae at the bottom of the pond. Marco looked, marvelous that day. The sun gleamed off his hair, his freckles popping out like millions of stars. He laid across my lap, looking up at me as I sat indian style, his coruscating smile catching my eye.
"What."
"Don't be so rash, Jean."
"Well why are you smiling at me like that, bro!"
"Because, you're handsome," that moment, my face burned hotter than the fires of hell, I scrambled away quickly and he sat up, "no homo Jean." He laughed this cute laugh and I couldn't help but grab his face and kiss it.
When our lips collided it felt like a planet exploded, his lips were softer than puppies, and they fit perfectly against mine. That was interrupted however by a butterfly that ad landed on his nose. I, being me, pulled away and tried to kill the thing, only to smack him and give him a bloody nose. I felt bad, for the first time, I felt like a jerk, so I got up and ran into the forest. Tears of regret fell out of my eyes and a bunch of questions popped up in my preteen head.
Marco grabbed me from behind, hugging me tightly.
"Jean, it's okay, it happens."
"I-It's not okay, I hit you!" I tried to pull away from him, but I couldn't, so I wiped away the snot that began to drip out of my nose. I was so confused, I had no idea what to do, how to act, or to apologize for kissing him. He turned me around and smiled at me, dried up blood against his upper lip cracked as he smiled.
"You can't ever hurt me Jean!"
And that's when I knew I was in love with him.
I never thought that not having Marco around would make me so lonely. It was my first day of my junior year college, Marco nowhere to be found. I wasn't able to get the image of his body tearing apart as I clawed for him, it will always be in the back of my brain.
"Jean, dude wake up."
"Connie, I am awake. Leave me be." I groaned, turning onto my right side to ignore my roommate. The blank white wall shone in my eyes as the sun reflected off of it. Connie, being the idiot he was, opened the curtains, forcing me to roll out of bed.
"Jean you're going to be late for french, get your lazy ass up."
"putain français," I glared as I sat up, his bare white ass staring at me, "why do you have googly eyes on your… nevermind I'm not going to bother asking." I rubbed my eyes, slowly getting out of bed, drenched in sweat from the nightmare of Marco, my Marco… The thought that he might be gone was destroying me. I walked to our shared bathrooms, wiping the steam off the mirror. My eyes were red and puffy. Was I crying in my sleep? The thought flew by as I splashed cold water in my face.
"Jesus! Hot water!" Someone yelped in the showers behind me, I just grinned.
"Sorry dude, my personal hygiene is more important than yours." I heard a scoff, then all I heard was the sweet sound of water pounding the tile floor. I threw on my usual, red beanie with black and red flannel, light blue jeans with a classic pair of chucks. I stared into the mirror, looking back at my messy tuft of hair and tired eyes.
"Why must I take french…" I mumbled to myself, glancing down at my hands. As I walked down the halls, people nodded towards me, I ignored them all, as usual. My hands reached into my empty pants pockets, fondling a microscopic piece of lint. Everytime I closed my eyes, I could hear Marco's flesh tearing apart, leaving me with nothing but half of him.
