Hey hey. One shot for you guys. It's rather long compared to my usual and rather more heavy. Same storyline as the show until after Marco's confrontation with Dylan after his bashing. Then it changes.
Marco hated the stars.
Yes, as downright horrible as that sentiment was, he hated them.
Marco supposed it all started when he was about five. Innocent, naive, not weighed down by the problems of adulthood. He had been in the kitchen late that night baking cookies with his mother. He had been having such fun too. Every few minutes loud bursts of childish laughter would ring through the air. His mama would brush his nose with the tip of her finger and place it on her lips, signaling for him to be a bit quieter, all the while smiling good naturedly. The contentment in the air more than made up for the violent thunderstorm raging outside.
Marco would jump when the thunder shook the house that night and let the quiet broken noise in his throat rattle out in his fear. But his mother would always lean forward and kiss the crown of his head and place another cookie cutter in his hand. A heart, a flower.....
....a star.
And Marco would grin his toothy little five year old grin up at her and continue with his duties as helper, forgetting for the moment that there was a storm outside the door.
Then his father showed up. And the warm glow in the room gave way to something else.
The door flew open and Mr. del Rossi ran from the living room into the kitchen, dripping all over the tiled floor. His mama had rushed forward at once, scandalized at the rain water puddling on her clean floor, but the admonishment on her tongue quickly died, alternating to raw worry at the look on his face.
Being five at the time he wasn't catching onto the situation very well. Why had his father come into the kitchen before drying off and changing first? Why was papa crying? Mama started crying and Marco clutched the star cookie cutter in his chubby hand harder, feeling the sharp metal edges digging in. What was going on? The two adults in the room had started a hushed conversation now, casting anxious glances at Marco sitting on the counter top.
Marco remembered starting to cry at this point, feeling left out of something big, and knowing it was bad. Why else was everyone crying? Mrs. del Rossi, seeing the tears, rushed forward and held him, whispering in his ear, telling him his grandmother had died in her sleep.
The only memory of that moment he had was feeling pain. Pain deep inside. And pain somewhere else too. Looking down, a few more tears began to roll down his face.
His hand was bleeding, the star cookie cutter winking up malevolently from his hand, stained with red.
Thinking about it now, the memory seemed so far away. Like a dream. How, later that night he had snuck from his bed and gone outside into the backyard. It still seemed so surreal. The grass had still been wet from the rain, the droplets on the individual blades shining a pale silver in the moonlight, and the air still buzzing with electricity from the lightning. The recollection of rubbing at the bandage on his hand, thick and constricting as he looked up to the sky with hope. Only to have it come crashing down.
There were no stars. The clouds hid them all from view.
He remembered falling to his knees right there on the muddy ground and crying. He had cried so long and so loud his father had heard him from inside and had come out to see what was happening. Marco only vaguely remembered being lifted up into his father's arms, burying his face in the warm chest, crying harder.
"Nana gone! She's gone!"
Mr. del Rossi rubbed soothing circles down his back, cooing nonsense words in his ear. "Shh, Marco. It'll be okay."
He wasn't hearing it. Marco began beating his little fists against his father's shoulders, sobbing hysterically, yelling in despair. "It's the stars' fault! They weren't here! I couldn't wish! I couldn't save Nana!"
"It's the stars' fault!"
That night Marco began to hate the stars.
Yes, Marco hated the stars.
But, then again, your greatest hate can also be your greatest love. The first time he saw the stars differently he didn't really even notice that's what was happening. He had been at a beach trip with a few of his friends. Regular, boring, everyday kind of fun. Except for the fact that Paige's older brother was there. Yeah, that beach trip. The one where he first saw the love of his life.
He remembered it so well. That night so much drama had gone on. From falling heels over head for a guy, to Ellie refusing to be his "girlfriend" anymore. To say it had been a bit of a nerve wracking experience was quite the understatement.
After being publicly shot down by Ellie he had run off, embarrassed, scared, pessimistic. What would all this mean in the long run? And to his great surprise Dylan had followed him and sat with him in silence. That alone alleviated alot of the situation's pressure, but also gave him a little hope. Perhaps Ellie's refusal to play along any longer could be a good thing, could pave the way for new things. For a new person.
After about an hour sitting with Dylan on the jagged rocks doing nothing but staring off into the nothingness they had headed back to the little make-shift camp the group had created. It was beginning to get darker and the first faint stars were gaining in definition. Marco kept his gaze firmly on the sand beneath his feet however...a habit he'd had since that night so long ago.
Sitting on the bench next to Ellie he began apologizing for his actions earlier in hushed, sincere tones. She listened, nodded, and forgave him, and the whole time Marco felt Dylan's eyes on his back.
Turning around away from his red-headed companion he saw that no one had been looking at him after all. Dylan's eyes were focused on a book.
An astronomy book.
Marco watched in almost morbid fascination as diagram after diagram of constellations and pictures of his loathed obsession turned up with every flip of a page.
How odd that Dylan was intersted in what he hated and feared the most. But...but perhaps there was something he had missed. He was rather biased after all.
Watching Dylan become more and more engrossed in the textbook, reading, flitting his gaze to the sky in awed wonder, then back down again to take notes, he decided stars couldn't be such a bad thing if they could make Dylan look so happy and care free.
That night Marco gave the stars a second chance.
But as they say, nothing stays the same forever.
A couple of days later, during a "double-date" at The Dot with Hazel he became fed up with hiding his sexuality behind so called "girlfriends" and with a quick apology to his "date" fled from the restraunt. That was the day the carefully built walls he had erected around himself came crashing down.
Spinner.
Spinner had followed him out of The Dot, demanding to know what was going on, why Marco had left the girl behind. And in a slip of the tongue, two words...his whole life changed. He had uttered those life-altering words. The words he even had trouble saying to Ellie...were said.
Out.
Marco remembered the walk home he had taken that evening, running everything through his mind over and over again, wiping the tears away stubbornily, trying to ignore the unearthly stare boring a hole in his back from the stars that lurked over head. Out.
The next day at school he had been confronted with the mocking words "Marco Is Gay" written on the wall in the boy's bathroom. A testament of shame etched in permanent black for all to see.
Spinner.
Spinner had written them. Spinner hated him. The other boy's gaze was weighed down from disgust, too heavy with hate to ever rise and meet Marco's. There were gruff shoulder bumps in the hallways leaving Marco picking up stray, dropped papers in between classes, and volleyball attacks that left him shaken on the gym floor.
Spinner hated him.
Marco still rememberd the words Ellie had said after he had recounted the event in his athletics class to her.
"You're practically a celebrity now. Everyone's been talking about you since Spinner outted you. You're the star of Degrassi High."
"You're the star..."
The memory of the glare he had given her and the resounding crash of his locker door slamming in anger still haunted him sometimes.
Marco had read articles on the last day of earth many times. In his need to know things it had fascinated him. The end of the world as we know it...what would D-Day be like? Many said the sky would turn red, fire would fall from the heavens. There would be smoke so thick the stars would disappear from view.
How ironic that on his own personal D-Day...the stars shown brighter than usual.
He had been invited to watch Dylan play in one of his hockey matches. Marco had been over the moon, for his crush on the other boy had intensified alarmingly over the few days since the beach trip.
But he was still hesitant. Spinner would be there. The same Spinner that couldn't even look him in the eye because he was a sick, unatural freak. So Marco decided he would arrive separately from his group of friends that night. Perhaps the worst mistake of his life.
Getting out of the cab he had taken to get to the stadium he found himself in definite unfamiliar territory. He remembered walking down the dark, intimidating street seeing men....making out, groping, walking hand in hand. Why it bothered him so much he didn't know. He was one of them was he not? But the infected, yellow glow from the streetlight seemed to through the whole stituaion into hard contrasts. They all seemed so dark, so terrifying. One blonde man made eye contact with him and it was like ice had formed in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't breath. The only thought that echoed through his mind was RUN.
In a flurry of anxiety and awkward, reckless strides he began making his way down the eerie streets, avoiding the questioning eyes and images he never wanted to remember.
Moments later he could see a familiar building in the distance and his heart stuttered a bit in relief. Still he kept his eyes glued to the ground. The stars would ruin everything if he spared them a glance. They always did. He looked up to the building with a flicker of smile and his steps hurried that little bit more. He was walking quite quickly through the little park he had encountered on his way, thoughts of hope giving him speed.
Then voices floated from no where. So many. Older men, drunk maybe. It was all Marco could do to keep himself from screaming as the first blows on his small frame began.
For hours it felt like, the hits rained down, wracking his body with pain, mind screaming. He started with a keen struggle, fighting for the upper hand, trying to defend himself...only to tire and slump to the ground in submission, letting the men's agressions continue, praying silently.
Punch in the stomach there, pull of the hair there....split lip, gashed back, head against a tree. Again and again. Marco thought, perhaps if he concentrated hard enough, he could sink straight into the soft, cool grass beneath his back, forget what was happening. If only....
Then he saw it. Marco looked past the straining shoulders and muderous faces above him to see an endless sea of stars, only partly obscured by the tree's branches.
So many.
They winked down malevolently the whole time. Whispered words of hate and disgust, falling down with the moonbeams...landing kisses of scorn on his tear wet cheeks. And yet Marco never looked away. Punch after punch...eyes close in pain...eyes open once again .... staring ....hating.
The last thing he saw before he blacked out was not the expression of morbid joy on the basher's faces or a fist coming full speed towards his eyes...It was the stars.
It was the stars in all their loathesome glory.
For months after that night he still awoke twisted in a hot cocoon of sheets, sweating, a silent cry on the tip of his tongue. He had taken to closing the curtains on his window. The last thing he wanted to see after waking from his nightmares were the very things that made it all the worse. Hiding from reality you might say.
Though hiding was beginning to become harder with each passing day. Spinner had gotten over his homophobia a short while after his bashing and while they definitely didn't talk about it, the apology was still there in the friendly arm punches and roguish smiles. Spinner had never said straight out that he was sorry...but Marco didn't need him to.
Ellie had taken to reminding him every other day that telling his parents would be better than hiding forever. How long was he going to run? How long was he going to let his parents suffer under the delusion he had beaten up for his shoes? How long until he was allowed to be free? Marco still adamantly ignored her accusing questions, choosing instead to pretend that that night had never happened, that he wasn't gay at all.
Things were so much easier that way.
Except if you're name was Dylan however. The next day after his bashing the blonde had seen him, bandage over his right eye and bruises everywhere. Marco remembered the look of concern in the other boy's eyes. It had made his heart beat faster, giddy, scared, unsure.
But then he had looked down.
In Dylan's hand was the astronomy book from the beach trip, and any ideas Marco had had in his head...disappeared like a tendril of white breath in the winter. He had walked away, flat out refused Dylan, though no propositions had been made. It had been the hardest thing Marco had ever had to do...but the astronomy book glared hatefully from under the older teen's arm...daring him to even consider being with Dylan.
And Marco backed down quickly. Defeat was a bitter song, and Marco knew the tune so well.
It was when he had been locked up in the basement that his idea of stars finally changed.
He remembered entering his room one Tuesday afternoon after school, to find his father situated in front of his computer, an open email on the screen, the words "Dylan is hot. But I don't have a chance. There are other gay guys for him to go for..." clearly visible even from the doorway several feet away.
The sound of his bookbag dropping to the floor in shock was what caused his father's attention to turn on him. And not for the first time in his life did Marco wish he could sink right into the floor at that moment.
The hatred in the older man's eyes...it was frightening in it's intensity. Bitterness, hateful, disgusted. The kind of look that leaves you breathless, as if you've just been punched in the stomach. So much so that you reflexively wrap your arms around your middle and lean against the wall for support. Because something inside you dies forever. It's a pain you've never felt before, it rips through your soul, straight to your heart...and there it makes it's home, eating you alive.
Marco, thinking back, couldn't for the life of him remember what had happened after that. It was all a blur. A punch to the face was all he rememered.
Dazed and groaning in pain, Marco saw stars.
How he hated the stars. Then more than any other time.
Yelling, spit flying, a hand slapping him across the face, yanking at his hair and dragging him down the hallway, hair still clasped tightly in Mr. del Rossi's fist.
It wasn't until he was in the basement that he realized what had happened.
Out.
The basement was dark. No windows, no lights, not even a sliver of gold from under the door. No noise, not even a whisper of movement from the house beyond. It was like being trapped in a whole other demension. Quiet, black, empty, encompassing. What space would be like he mused.
Where the stars were.
And sitting there weeping, squeezing his eyes shut as tightly as humanly possible to ward off the seemingly eternal darkness....he wished to see the stars. He wished with all he had. Because that was a piece of sanity he would gladly take. Anything but the sea of black before him.
It was there, trapped in his own mind, that he stopped hating the stars.
How long does it take to go insane, Marco wondered?
Surely he had reached that nice little checkpoint by now. The first night in the cellar he had talked to himself, wanting to know he was still alive. His voice had seemed amazingly loud in the quiet. No noise. So silent even the dust seemed to whisper. But still he had spoke, even if his own voice secretly scared him more than anything he had ever heard. It was so broken.
"P-please." he weeped. "One star, that's all I ask. One star. To keep me company."
The stars never came...and the dark crept closer by the second, prepared to swallow him whole, taking him and what little mind he still had. Marco hugged his legs closer and began to rock back and forth, sobbing into his knees.
"Just one star. P-please."
You never notice how much you miss something until it's gone.
By the second week, or so he thought it was (it was hard to keep track of time in the dark), he knew he had gone mad. Because by this point the black had entered and made itself apart of him. It whispered words to him. Words he vaguely realized were his father's. Hatred, disgust. Never ending pain. Never ending tears.
It's amazing how one can forget what sunlight looks like...until it's gone from sight for too long.
Marco jumped out of his skin when one day, thirteen days later, the door opened and light flooded into his kingdom of darkness, a shadow of a tall boy falling over him.
Sunlight. Dylan. Arms around him. Chilling black leaking away.
Safe.
It was a week after that night. His night of rescue and salvation. His father was in jail for child abuse. His mother had been freed from the locked confines of her bedroom, where she had been while Marco was in the basement.
The nights there he still remembered. The nightmares of his gay bashing seemed almost like ajoyful time compared to the horrors that now haunt his lseep. Darkness. Silence. Voices. Absent stars.
Marco is still afraid of the dark.
Sitting on his back porch, an arm tucked around his shoulders, Marco tried to push the memories away. Dylan was here now. His savior. His star. He was safe now.
Looking to his right at his blonde companion he indulged himself with a long drawn out gaze. Soft highlights, stark contrasting shadows, streaks of glimmering silver falling in eyes darkened in the static pallor.
Dylan looked best in starlight. That much was sure.
The older boy looked over at Marco and smiled sweetly. Sun. Flame. Fire. Leaves falling. Endless sands.
Stars...stars as far as the eyes could see.
Leaning closer Marco could feel Dylan's breath mingling with his own. Warm. Not cold. Never cold. The dark had been cold. Stars weren't cold.
Dylan's lips met his own and the fears were swept away, as was any thoughts left lingering in his mind. Marco kissed back for all he was worth, Dylan responding. It was like learning to fly with your eyes closed and your worries left at the top of the cliff. Freedom. Free falling after leaping off the moon.
Pulling back Marco saw stars.
Yes, I know everyone doesn't like when Marco's father goes ballistic, and neither do I. It's really overdone...but, erm, I did it anyway. Sorry. I had to. :) The idea has just been nagging me something awful for ages so I wrote it. I hope you guys liked it even a little bit. It's not the best of writing, but it'll work. lol. Anyway, please do review. I'm curious as to what you guys think about this one. Cookies will of course be waiting! :)