Author's Note: I was going to update another one first…then I realized this one should…I don't know. My cycle is ruined lol. Enjoy.
"You just leaned over…and kissed him?" asked Ellie, now fully awake. When Marco had called her on his way to work, it being six in the morning, she wasn't too pleased, but after hearing the news, it was all forgotten in her mind. "What's going to happen?"
"I don't know," he whined, turning into the school parking lot. He sighed, taking a sip of his coffee. "I just…we didn't even speak this morning or after it happened…"
"You kissed, and didn't speak a word?" she asked, shocked.
"Basically," he said.
"Marco," said Ellie. "Sorry, Jesse wanted to know who it was. Anyway, you're telling me that as soon as your lips pulled apart…and you looked into each other's eyes…nothing came back?"
He shrugged. "El, I have to go. I'll talk to you later."
"Bye," she said, letting him get into work.
The truth was nothing did happen after the kiss. In fact, as soon as he'd pulled away, he'd walked down the hallway into his bedroom with a word. Dylan, assuming Marco didn't want to talk about it, discussed everything except the strange occurrence while he was getting ready to leave for work. Maybe it wasn't because of Marco wanting to avoid it…Dylan wouldn't be that considerate. Maybe it was because he didn't want Rebecca to know.
Signing it at the main office was always the part that bothered him the most at work. He was in such a vulnerable position, writing down his name, that if someone happened to come in, they would get a moment to say hello. Once the greeting was uttered, he had no easy get-away.
"Hey, Del Rossi," said Mr. Simpson, coming up behind him. Marco only hoped Simpson had other things to do than hold a conversation.
"Hey," said Marco unenthusiastically. "How are you?"
"I'm all right, but how are you? I feel like I haven't seen you in years," he laughed. "You get in, run away. You finish, and run out. Busy?"
"Oh, yeah…you know, my niece," said Marco, wishing that really was all that bothered him. He didn't need to tell Mr. Simpson that he didn't like talking to people anymore.
"Right," said Mr. Simpson, as they both walked out of the office together. "How's that going for you?" he asked.
"It's going great," he nodded. "I—"
"You know, some people are starting to wonder…how's your husband doing?"
Marco was sure that the only reason 'some people' were starting to wonder was because Mr. Simpson had shoved the thought into their heads. Marco hadn't exactly told anyone at work about the problems they'd been having. During their first year of marriage, he'd talked non-stop about his amazing husband, how he was doing in hockey, and everything that came with his life. Then, it had all just stopped.
Marco had never worried about what they thought because he had always assumed they just figured he'd stopped talking because it reminded him of Paige's death. He never thought they actually thought he and Dylan were having marital problems. He often asked himself about why he didn't tell them. Was it just because of the simple fact that it really wasn't their business? Or was it more? Was he really in denial about what was going on like Dylan thought he was?
Probably. Because Marco never liked to admit something that made him slightly less…perfect.
"My husband's doing really well," he lied. "In fact, he's at home with Rebecca at the moment, and lately, she can't get enough of him."…which wasn't exactly a lie. Rebecca did simply adore Dylan, but Marco knew he was implying that Dylan never left.
"That's good," said Mr. Simpson. "I've got to get to my homeroom, but I feel like all you do is work, Marco," he said, trying not to act like a parent. "Have some fun every once in a while. It's not illegal…well, I suppose it depends on what—"
"Thanks, I'll see what I can do," Marco interrupted. "I'd better get going."
Marco walked to his office, aware that Mr. Simpson felt bad, but he couldn't take another lecture. He just couldn't.
He was surprised to see a boy he didn't expect to be there waiting outside of his doorway, looking down at his knees. "Hello," said Marco cautiously.
The boy looked up quickly, a guilty look rising in his eyes. "Oh…I—I didn't, like, make any appointment or anything, and I know you probably have other people, but…" Marco listened to him ramble while he unlocked the door.
"Come in, Jake," he said, pointing into the office. The boy smiled.
"Thanks," he said immediately.
"No, problem," said Marco, taking a seat in his chair. "You're going to be late for first period, though…"
He shrugged. "All right," said Marco, putting his stuff down next his desk. "Shoot."
"Ever since Em died…it's like the rest of the family is falling apart," he said, tears in his eyes. "My mom is mostly silent, and my dad spends most of his time screaming at me or going to work. Brianne doesn't even understand what happened. I keep having nightmares."
"Sometimes," said Marco, "I know it doesn't help to hear this, but sometimes people don't know how to handle something painful, like a death, so they think it will make it easier to deal with it by doing what your family is doing. Sometimes, you subconsciously blame other people who had nothing to do with it."
"I know…" said Jake. "Kind of like I did to you."
Marco smiled sadly. "Yes, kind of like that."
"I guess it's like…I'm tired of blaming myself…even though a part of me wants to, so I blame you because you're just, like, there."
"You know I won't get angry with you," said Marco, understanding.
"Exactly," he said. "I just…I remember seeing her in the hospital…just covered in blood, and that damn person who…he should be blamed," said Jake, taking a deep breath. "Yet, I don't know where he is, so—"
"So you can't deal with it," Marco said, biting his lip. "I definitely understand that, Jake, and I'm very glad that you came back to see me."
"I'm sorry for what I said last time. I was just so angry, and I felt like there was no way you could get it," he said, looking extremely apologetic, and Marco could never stay upset with him.
"It's okay, Jake."
"Still…I don't hate you. You're keeping me sane," he said, smiling for the first time that morning.
"I'm glad," said Marco. "Go to class," he laughed. "If you need to see me again, make an appointment."
"Of course. I'll have way more stuff you tell you next time, Mr. Del Rossi," he said, closing the door.
Marco took another sip of his coffee. His students obviously didn't know how much their stories affected him. He found a relation to himself in each one they told him. Occasionally, he'd give them advice he'd only realized was true the moment the words left his mouth. Was that why he and Dylan had problems? It couldn't have all been just because of Paige…but her death had definitely been involved in the fighting.
I'd rather you had died.
He'd never said those words, of course! Dylan, no matter how angry, would never speak them aloud, but from the day of her death to the day he left, Marco had seen the words in his eyes almost every morning. He wasn't even sure if Dylan knew it was there.
It wasn't a rational thought. Marco was sure if he'd died instead of Paige, Dylan would be equally as devastated, and the look would be directed at her, saying, I'd rather you had died. It wasn't as if Dylan could control it either, but there was just something his eyes that made every other reason for their separation even more painful.
Marco took another large sip of his coffee, wishing it could rid him of all his thoughts.
"So, are you good?" asked Rebecca excitedly.
"I guess I'm all right," said Dylan, flashing her a bright smile while he attempted to cook eggs in a pan. "Marco always said I was amazing, but then again, he never truly understood the sport."
Rebecca giggled. "I hope," she started, grimacing when she saw the bottom of her scrambled eggs turning black, "that you're better at hockey than makin' eggs."
Dylan stared at her, faking offense. "Honey, you should just be glad I didn't make pancakes. Ooooh, boy. That's what I used to eat for lunch, but if you don't like the looks of these eggs…well, let's just say the pancakes aren't too pretty."
Rebecca laughed. "Maybe daddy has some leftovers from yesterday we can eat," she said, getting up to check the fridge. Dylan grabbed her by the waist, causing her to scream in delight.
"My eggs are not that bad," he said, closing the fridge door.
"Mhmm," she nodded. "I don't want 'em…"
"Ah, you're too used to good cooking," he said, rolling his eyes, but allowing her to grab something from the fridge while he ate the scrambled eggs. "They're pretty gooood," he teased, not breathing in through his nose as he chewed.
"Suuuure," she said, pointing to the bowl in her hand. "Daddy's pasta's the best," she said, gesturing towards the microwave. Dylan looked down at his burnt eggs, and put the pasta in the microwave.
"I couldn't agree more," he said.
The two of them decided to move to the living room to eat their pasta. (Dylan assured Rebecca that Marco would not find out about their eating-place.)
"So, what do you like to do? Besides Barbies, of course," asked Dylan. She'd asked so many questions about him, after all.
"Hmm…I don't know. Daddy and I watch movies sometimes. I like that."
"Oh, yeah? What kind of movies?" he asked, putting some more of the pasta in his mouth. He wasn't even sure what kind of pasta it was, but Marco was the only one he'd eat food from without knowing exactly what he was digesting. Marco could make anything taste good.
"Umm…I don't know. We go to the store, and I say, 'let's watch that,' and he gets it," she laughed. "I mean, he has to approve first…but yeah."
Dylan laughed as well. "Spoiled," he muttered.
"Am noooot."
"Wow, I'm not going to respond to that. I feel like a five year old," he rolled his eyes.
"I see," she said, putting her hand on her hips, almost letting her bowl of pasta fall onto the floor. "What's wrong with a five year old? I'm going to be five in two days, you know?"
"Oh, that's right!" he exclaimed. In all of the craziness, Dylan had completely forgotten about Rebecca's birthday.
She nodded. "Mhmm."
"Well, what do you want?" he asked.
She looked at him in wonder. "I don't know," she said after a moment, "but you can never go wrong with a Barbie."
"Oh, honey, I think you have every one made! I wouldn't want you to receive one you already have," he said. "I want to get you something special, something you'll never forget."
She put her finger on her chin, thinking, and Dylan laughed at how deep in concentration she seemed. Finally, she sighed. "I really don't know!"
"Okay, okay, if you don't come up with something by tomorrow, I'll just have to find something myself," said Dylan.
"Well, know what would be soooo special?"
"What?" asked Dylan, eager to hear whatever it was.
"You being with daddy again," she said, as if he should have known. Dylan also figured he should have. "But I'm not that naïve," she said. When had Marco taught her all of those words? When did she become so smart? "I mean, I know it'll neva happen."
Dylan had managed to keep his mind off the kiss until that moment. "Don't say never," he replied, "or, in your case, neva."
What had that kiss meant to Marco? As if on cue, the front door opened, and Marco dropped his bags tiredly.
"Hello," he said, seeing the empty bowls on the coffee table. He raised his eyebrows at Dylan, and Rebecca put her hand over her mouth.
"Oops," she muttered.
"Dylan—"
"See, Rebecca reminded me once we got in here that we shouldn't be eating in the living room, but…" he looked over at her, "we just became entranced with the deliciousness of the pasta that we really couldn't move."
"I see," he rolled his eyes, just happy that no mess had been made. "Well, it won't happen again," he warned.
"It won't," they replied.
"Good," he said, taking the bowls into the kitchen to wash.
"Daddy!" Rebecca called from the living room. "Can I watch something?" she asked, waving the remote.
"Go ahead," said Marco. Dylan left Rebecca to her television time, and sat on the counter behind Marco while he rinsed out the bowls.
"You're exhausted," he commented.
"I'm fine, thanks," said Marco, opening the dishwasher to put the bowls in.
"Can we talk?" asked Dylan, and Marco knew what he was referring to.
"I'd prefer we didn't," he answered, walking out of the kitchen with Dylan following right behind. "Going to my room, Becky," he said when he passed by. Rebecca nodded, distracted by her show.
Marco didn't ask Dylan to go away or to leave the room when he entered right behind him. He simply asked him to shut the door.
"There's nothing to talk about," he said immediately.
"Yes, there is," Dylan argued, taking his seat on the bed while Marco stood, glaring daggers at him.
"I let you stay here to get closer to her, not closer to our 'divorce' or closer in our relationship."
"Well, you don't know what you want," said Dylan, his frustration beginning to rise again.
"Oh, like you do!"
"Plans change, Marco. I didn't come here for you, but—"
"If you constantly change your mind, how can our relationship be stable? We have NONE, okay? No relationship," he interrupted, sick and tired of feeling like they had the same fights every other day.
"Marco," said Dylan, "maybe what we have to stop doing is worrying. You're worried that it won't work, and I'm worried…I'm worried of, I don't even know what. I just didn't know that I wanted it back until I came here."
"That's what I mean!" said Marco, throwing his hands in the air. "It took you this long to figure out you wanted it, so how am I supposed to trust that you really do? Damn it, Dylan…I'm so tired of this."
"I thought," Marco started, "that I could do this, but it obviously won't work. You living here is going to bring back all of these emotions that I don't want!"
"So, what are you saying? Are we going th—"
"Leave," said Marco. "You don't anything to really pack this time, so it shouldn't be so difficult."
"What?" asked Dylan, trying to process his request.
"Get out!" Marco screamed. "Go!"
When Dylan finally understood what he meant, he stood up to leave, but Marco pushed him back down.
He positioned himself so that one leg was on the bed and the other on Dylan's lap. Dylan was beyond confused, but he leaned forward to kiss him, a kiss that was so much better than the one from the previous night. This kiss meant something. This kiss had promise. This kiss…was over.
"Now, get out," said Marco getting off of him.
Dylan closed his eyes, biting hard on his bottom lip to prevent himself from screaming out nasty things. That boy was going to be the death of him.
Marco was serious, though. He wasn't playing any games, and Dylan wasn't in any circumstance to take a moment to try to understand.
"All right. Good-bye, then."
Marco watched him walk out of the room, following him out into the living room, where he left without even a word to Rebecca, who looked confused, but her attention was brought to the television again as a new character appeared.
Marco ran back to his room, and slammed the door shut, locking it. He knew what he had to do, and if he wasn't patient, he would simply run out to chase after him. If he did that, everything would be ruined.
He lay back onto the bed, realizing after a few minutes of waiting, Dylan wasn't going to come back. He rested his head onto his pillow, starting to cry.
Dylan walked all the way home. He knew if he'd taken a bus, it would have been a very quick trip, but he wasn't in the right mind. Besides, he thought better while he was walking. It was getting rather dark, and he could have sworn he felt a raindrop on his head. He never liked the rain…Marco did.
Either Marco was on drugs or just out of his mind. What the hell had happened? If things like that were going to occur, why did he want to be around him? Though, he was quite pleased that, unlike the first time Marco told him to leave for good, he didn't have the DVD player thrown at his head.
He sighed. Marco was so difficult to understand sometimes. In fact, Dylan hardly ever understood him. For instance, why wouldn't he just get the damn divorce if he was not interested in getting back together?! Whatever. That argument was had so many times with Marco that Dylan preferred not to have it with his mind.
Yes, it had definitely been a raindrop; it was suddenly pouring, and that was just the icing on the cake for Dylan.
His clothes were sticking to him. Ugh, did he hate that feeling! (Author's Note: Personally, I love the rain :) Anyway…)
When he finally arrived at his apartment, he'd realized it had been almost a month since he'd been there. He rolled his eyes when he saw how much unread mail he'd gotten. Hopefully…the landlord wasn't interested in a talk with him.
"Just get out! I never want to fucking see you again!" Marco screamed, tears running down his face. "You are a liar and a cheater, and a no good son of a bitch!"
Dylan was shocked, even when he'd been angry, he'd never heard Marco talk like that. "Marco, I'm…I'm so sorry. I don't know what the hell has been—"
"Wrong with you? I'm DONE blaming all your horrible behavior and stupid moves on her death. I'm DONE, Dylan. Get the hell out!"
"Please…Marco, I swear I'll…"
"Just go!" he screamed.
However, Dylan refused. He wanted to stay in his home with Marco and Rebecca…and his belongings and everything. He didn't want to leave.
Marco grabbed the first thing next to him. The silver portable DVD player was in his hand. He nodded his head at the door. "Go, and I won't prove my anger with this damned mechanical…thing that never even worked!"
Dylan, unfortunately, hadn't believed him, and did suffer the wrath of a huge bruise on his arm. He sighed. He loved Marco more than anything, but he was the only one who managed to make him that angry.
When Dylan opened the door to his bedroom, a recent memory came to him.
"You never came back to try to make things better!" said Marco. "You never begged for me like you did for Ryan. You never even tried to convince me that you loved me."
"What are you talking about?" asked Dylan, sitting down on the stool. "I always told you how much I loved you."
"Dylan! I mean, when you left. For Ryan, it was all, 'I'm sorry, this and that, I do really love you.' For me, it was all 'good-bye'."
"That's not true," said Dylan. "When I left, it was hard for both of us, but now—"
"You could have come back!" said Marco, still crying, angry that Dylan wasn't even trying to make him feel better. "You could have come back to try to make it better, like I said."
"I didn't think I was allowed to set foot in this apartment," he defended himself.
"You weren't, but never calling or anything makes me think that I'm not worth…you fixing things, and now you serve me with divorce papers as if I…I should be punished for wanting you to fix things."
"You didn't tell me you were willing to fix things," said Dylan, getting off of the school to comfort Marco because his crying was only getting worse, but Marco pushed him away.
"You waited until I told you! That means you didn't want it, Dylan. Not enough, at least," he said, rubbing at his eyes.
Dylan paused while he was pulling back his sheets. Maybe the reason he could never figure Marco out was because instead of trying to, he always just told himself how 'confusing' he was. Another recent memory fought its way into his mind.
"That proves my point. This IS to spite me! She's—she's the only thing I have anymore, Dylan. You never came back for her, to see her, to talk to her…"
"Right," said Dylan, "like you would have even let me in."
"That's not the point! You never even tried!" said Marco. "Just like with me. You never came back to tell me you were sorry, that you loved me, maybe even missed me, wanted to come back…you never came back for her either, so excuse her if maybe, she considers me just a bit closer."
"You never even tried…" Dylan said to himself. "You never came back to tell me…to beg for me…"
Dylan walked back into his living room to grab his shoes.
"Daddy!" Rebecca called, banging on his door. "Daddy, can I come in, pleeease?!" she begged.
Marco rubbed at his eyes, nodding. He got up to unlock it, letting her walk in.
"What's wrong?" she asked, trying to reach up to wipe his eyes.
Marco looked away, shaking his head. "You wanna' go outside with daddy?" he asked. "It's raining."
She laughed, knowing how much he loved when it poured out. "Okay. If it makes you feel better."
Marco scooped her up into his arms, kissing her cheek. "Let's go."
The two of them walked out of their apartment, and stood in the front of the building. "It's dark," Rebecca commented.
"I'll protect you," he said, walking in front of the gate.
Rebecca smiled. "Where's—"
"Probably at his home," said Marco. "Don't ask."
Rebecca felt uncomfortable with his tears, anyway, so she wasn't planning on asking anymore. "Can I jump in the puddle?" she asked.
Marco nodded. "Knock yourself out."
He leaned up against the gate behind him, debating on whether or not they should stay in the area or take a nice, long, walk.
"Okay, so, just listen!" Marco turned his head quickly, surprised to see Dylan standing there, and bit his lip to hide the fact that it was a good thing.
"I took the walk home, instead of the bus, right? I didn't know I was coming back," he spoke quickly. "Then, when I finally decided, I'm coming back, I took the bus because I wanted to get here faster, but if I took the walk here, I would have had much muuuch more time to think about what, exactly, I wanted to say, but I figured coming quickly would be the best choice," he said, sounding completely out of breath. "Therefore, I chose to come fast…but I didn't have much time to think, so I don't have any idea what I'm going to say to beg for you back…but do I, at least, get points for coming?"
Marco stared at him, not sure what to say. He took a deep breath, ready to speak, but Rebecca answered for him from in the puddle.
"I say he gets a couple of points."
Author's Note: Pleasssse review!