Chapter 9: Direction means nothing if you don't know your way
When Marcus made it home that night to his and Oliver's one bedroom flat it was three in the morning. He snuck in, slowly making his way to the bathroom. He quickly shut the door behind him and locked it, laying his forehead against the wood. He stayed there; eyes closed holding his breath listening for any sound or indication that Oliver had woke. He had to remind himself to breath once he started to get dizzy, letting out all the air he had been holding in one big sigh. Hearing no sounds Marcus spun around and headed to the shower. The handles squeaked as he turned and he cringed at the sound. Warm water flowed from the faucet and steam soon enveloped the small bathroom. For a moment he thought he saw dark figures skirting around the dense fog and he had to close his eyes to steady his nerves. Marcus shook his head trying to clear away the ghostly memories and undressed. He climbed under the warm spray imaging all of his stress washing away with the water. All the pain, fear and uncertainties drowning along with what little hope he still clung to. His hands were shaking as he racked them through his hair. "For Salazar's sake," he cursed himself out loud for letting panic take hold of him like this. Summing all of his strength he went about finishing his shower, slowly pausing as he ran his fingers over his newly acquired mark. There was so much pain and anger inside of him he couldn't see straight. His chest felt tight and it seemed as thou the room was closing in around him. Marcus forced his eyes open as he gasped for air. "Get control of yourself Flint," he whispered into the steam.
Stepping out onto the rug, his body still dripping, Marcus looked around for a towel. Reaching over to the towel rack he caught a glimpse in the mirror. The reflection he saw was of someone he no longer recognized; the dark mark now standing out in stark contrast to his pale skin. How he hated it. It was meant to help him avenge his father's death, instead he found a coward that he no longer recognized hiding among dark legions. If he could just get rid of it, cut it out then it would be like tonight never happened. He could go back and pretend that his father was a good man and was killed in a random senseless act of violence. Quickly his eyes shifted around the bathroom before his gaze landed on a small shinny object. Making a quick dash for it he dropped the towel he was holding, knocking over many bottles on the counter in the process. He picked up the razor with his shaking hand and pressed it hard against the mark on his skin. Blood started to run down his arm coving the skull and snake with deep red ribbons of pureblood linage. Now this is a much more fitting icon.
There were two quick rasped at the door and Marcus dropped the razor to the floor with a clank.
"Didn't drowned in there did you?" Oliver's muffled voice sounded from the other side of the wall.
"N-no," Marcus choked out in a half stammer half sob, but I wish I did.
"Are you alright?" there was a deep concern in the way Oliver spoke.
"Be out in a minute," was all Marcus could manage.
He pushed his ear to the door listening to the soft patter of footstep as they led back to the bedroom. When he heard the creak of the old wood bed and the sounds of sheets rustling he knew he was safe. This was something Oliver was best left out of, at least for now. Marcus knew he would have to tell him eventually; concealment charms only lasted so long after all. He looked at his arm, blood running freely down its length, and cursed. He quickly started the water running in the sink and stuck his arm under it. The water was freezing, but by this point in time he couldn't feel it, hell if he could feel anything really. He felt numb from the inside out. Marcus bent down and picked up the razor blade again, running it under the water before tossing it into the trash. A flick of the wrist and a quick charm later the mark was hidden. If only it was all that easy.
Everything had become hazy and so out of reach. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so helpless. The only thing that compared was the time he took the rowboat out onto the lake behind his house when he was five. It was a windy day and the waves caused the boat to tip. He thought he would drown for sure, but his dad saw him and pulled him from the water. His dad, the one who thought he didn't have anything worth making a life with, the one who had to kill off one side of himself so he could become something he thought was worth living for. Slowly Marcus picked the discarded towel back up. Wrapping it around his waist, he made his way into the bedroom.
Oliver watched as Marcus walked into the room, hair still dripping from the shower. Their dresser was opposite the bed so he only could see him from behind, but judging from how late he got home and the mood he seemed to be in Oliver knew something was wrong.
"Baby?" Oliver asked, but he got no response. "Marc?" he tried again.
Marcus was oblivious. He pulled a tee-shirt and shorts out from the dresser drawer and set them on top of the cabinet. The apartment was keep relatively warm due to the fact that Oliver hated to be cold. Marcus was the exact opposite, always warm and constantly complaining about how hot it was in their flat. Even so, he couldn't help but shiver. After dressing he turned around to find Oliver had pulled back the covers on his side and was now motioning for him to crawl in. Marcus complied, too tired to fight sleep or Oliver. He sunk into the soft give the bed provided and closed his eyes immediately. Talking was not an option right now. Oliver reached over and ran his hand down his back and Marcus found himself leaning his weight into the warmth it provided. Even though the tee-shirt Marcus felt like ice.
"Marcus?" All he got was a grunt in return. "Is everything alright, are you sick?"
Marcus contemplated his answer for a moment. He didn't feel ill. As least not the kind of ill any medicine could fix, but the kind where you feel like you lost part of yourself. It was as if part of him died tonight and he didn't know if he would ever be whole again.
"Ya," Marcus replied. He kept his eyes closed as he spoke, afraid that if he opened them all of his emotions would come spilling out and expose him. "I feel sick."