Jack woke up with a splitting headache, and the urge to vomit his guts up. His bloodlust had died down substantially, but it was still nagging at him in the back of his mind. As he looked around the room, he was aware that he was back in the guest bedroom, and the painkillers Mark had fetched for him earlier were still on the bedside table. Taking three tablets, and swallowing them without water, he sat upright in bed. He quickly realised this was a mistake.

"Fuck!" he yelped, due to the lingering pain.

Within seconds, he heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

Shite.

The doorknob slowly turned, and Jack held his breath as Mark entered the room cautiously.

"Are you alright now?"

No greeting or anything. Just straight to the questions. Great. What the fuck am I supposed to tell him?

"I'm fine now, I guess..." Jack muttered.

Mark crossed his arms over his chest. "Did you take some painkillers?"

Jack cast his sight at the bedspreads. "I took three."

"Good," Mark approved.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, clasping his hands together in front of him. Staring down at his intertwined fingers, he sighed awkwardly. Jack couldn't meet Mark's eyes.

"Jack, what the fuck is going on?"

Jack flinched at the harsh tone. But, he knew he deserved it. He'd refused to share his troubles and now, Mark was paying the price for it.

"I'm sorry I hurt you..." Jack's words came out strangled.

Mark slowly opened his right palm and examined the gash on his skin. "You didn't hurt me that badly, actually. Just a few cuts..." his voice trailed off as he traced the fresh wound.

Mark strained to hear what Jack muttered under his breath, but he thought he heard the words "Thank God."

Mark's patience wouldn't last any longer. "Why did you try to kill me?"

Jack bit down on his lip, realising there was no way around this. He was going to have to tell Mark about his 'problem'. But how do I tell him? His face turned worrisome and fearful as he finally looked Mark in the eye. You know what, fuck explanations.

"I have a fuckin' inner demon living inside me!" he blurted out.

Mark stared at him blankly. "Come again?"

Jack closed his eyes and breathed out slowly before talking to Mark again. "You need to believe me, I have this voice in my head that talks to me and tells me to do things and doesn't leave me alone and sometimes I talk back to it and I know I shouldn't, I should just ignore it but I can't, I just CAN'T. And I-"

Mark shushed him and leaned over. He wrapped his muscular arms around Jack's frail body and embraced him into a comforting hug.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Mark whispered soothingly into Jack's ear.

Jack mumbled into Mark's shirt. "I-I didn't think anyone would want to help me..."

Mark looked down at Jack disbelieving; that was why he didn't open up to him?

"Jack, plenty of people would want to help you, you just have to open up about these things. We're here for you."

Mark paused slightly, his words thick with emotion.

"I'm here for you."

Mark heard sniffling, so he smiled reassuringly at Jack. He rubbed his hand in a calming manner on his back, but Jack scrunched his eyes up in shame.

"You're allowed to cry. I won't judge you..."

A single, defiant black tear managed to escape Jack's closed eyes, but Mark wiped it away tenderly. Jack, no longer able to keep his façade on in front of Mark, allowed his dam overflowing with emotions to burst. He began silently weeping, after holding it together for so long in front of Mark; one of the few people he trusted wholeheartedly. He buried his head into Mark's chest, desperately trying to calm himself.

"I'm a mess..." he murmured to himself, ashamed of the way he was acting.

Mark pretended he didn't hear it, and held onto Jack for a couple more minutes, somewhat enjoying the company. Jack however, found himself still hugging Mark because he wanted to, not because he needed to. Mark gently released his hold around Jack and crawled over the bed to sit next to him.

"Tell me everything."

Jack looked down at the bedsheets miserably. "You wouldn't understand..."

"I'm a good listener."

He half-smiled at that; he could always count on Mark to reassure him. Mark always managed to make him happy.

While Jack thought about how lucky he was to have Mark, Mark decided that he needed to ask Jack a few questions to get him to start confiding.

"Well, for starters, why are your tears black now?"

Jack rose his gaze from the bedsheets and turned around to face Mark, a questioning look apparent on his face.

"What the fuck are you on about?"

Mark's eyebrows furrowed in confusion; Jack hadn't noticed yet?

"Here, take a look in the mirror."

Oh, fuck no.

Pretending to be indifferent about looking in a mirror, Jack rigidly followed Mark out to the full length mirror beside the guest bedroom; the pain from earlier had somewhat subsided. Internally relieved when his reflection followed his actions, he took a closer look at his tear-stricken face. Streaks of black covered his puffy cheeks and they all originated from his eyes; his black, iris-less eyes. Mark didn't comment on it. Then again, Jack didn't expect him to.

Reapplying his focus on the matter at hand, Jack muttered "What the fuck?" under his breath; unsure of what the black tears meant for him. He turned to face Mark, who shrugged unknowingly.

"All I know is that you had a similar thing coming out your nose earlier..."

A look of disgust was made evident on Jack's face. "Ew, gross dude! I don't need details!"

Mark chuckled his wonderful laugh, and Jack smiled shyly to himself; he'd managed to make Mark laugh at a time like this. He looked back at the mirror, but nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw Anti holding a knife in the reflection.

Jack's eyes widened in fear, but he stood his ground so he wouldn't alarm Mark. Anti tilted his head quizzically at Mark, before lining the knife up to his friend's temple.

"Don't you fuckin' dare!" Jack growled at Anti.

Mark, however, was dismayed by Jack's sudden threat.

"What's wrong, Jack?"

But Jack wasn't listening. Instead, he watched Anti as he cackled with that insane look in his black eyes. Without warning, he suddenly slammed the knife into Mark's forehead; the Mark in the reflection falling to the ground lifelessly. Jack screamed, petrified. His body began violently shaking as Anti leant down next to Mark's corpse and yanked the knife mercilessly out of his skull. Blood gushed out of the wound, among some fragments of bone and pieces of brain. Anti then had the audacity to smirk crazily at Jack, and wipe the knife clean with his shirt.

Jack's urge to vomit amplified at the sight, so he rushed to the bathroom, and chucked his guts up. He couldn't stop replaying the image of Mark's body collapsing in his mind. When he finished throwing up, he was startled to find a black, sticky substance among his awful flight dinner. What the fuck is happening to me?

I'm happening!

Instead of having a smart-ass reply, as he usually did, he remained silent as Anti's nonsensical giggles echoed throughout his mind. It was as if Anti was no longer just a voice in his head...

It was like he was a part of him.

He cleaned up the mess he'd made in Mark's bathroom, but when he finished he found Mark leaning on the doorframe; preventing him from exiting. Jack futilely attempted to remove Mark's corpse from his thoughts as he tried to find his voice.

Before he could, however, Mark held up his hand to stop his train of thought.

"I don't want to hear an excuse. You need to tell me EVERYTHING."