"Mr. del Rossi!"
Marco jumped in surprise, wincing at the unbelievably loud crack his notebook made as it fell off his desk onto the floor.
"Um," Marco sputtered, turning a deep crimson. "I-I'm sorry. I wasn't listening. Could you repeat the question?"
She stared down at him for several moments. So long even that Marco started to shift uneasily in his chair, trying to resist the heat that still tried to crawl up his neck under her beady gaze.
An endless minute later she finally moved to speak. "See me after class, Mr. del Rossi."
"Yes, Mrs. Kwan," he replied, hating the shame in his voice. It had been this way for days now. Wake up, poke at breakfast, walk sluggishly to school, arrive late, get in trouble, sit in class without listening, poke at lunch, brush off Ellie, more ignored classes, think mournfully about Dylan on his way home, be moody to his mama, poke at dinner, not do his homework, lay in bed wide awake, hit alarm at dawn, scrub at tear stained face, repeat. An endless cycle. It was like that ever since he left Dylan, he'd been running on auto pilot. And, a sardonic voice in the back of his mind chipped in, whoever was behind the wheel wasn't doing that great of a job.
Marco decided after that little display in front of the whole class that it was perhaps pertinent to pay attention. Hanging over the side of his desk, he grabbed his notebook and straightened back up. While he was taking out some paper to write notes on, he made the mistake of looking up however.
Paige, at the front, three rows ahead, was staring back at him calculatingly. Ever since his and Dylan's breakup, she had taken it upon herself to come up to him every single day to ask the question, why?, with those big catty eyes of hers fixed upon him and seemingly looking straight through him.
Marco hadn't crumbled yet luckily. He usually found some way to change the subject or escape before his willpower was lost.
She wouldn't understand anyway.
How could she? She was straight, and in a perfectly acceptable relationship that both her parents condoned. That's what it all boiled down really, right? Parents. Three weeks it had been since his father had died.
It was all his fault.
His mama was looking worse for wear, though she had obviously woken up to the fact she had to be the adult. Marco knew, despite her valiant effort to resume her life, that inside she was still the violent train wreck she had always been since the accident. She still didn't eat. She still didn't sleep.
More often than he cared to admit he had gotten up in the middle of the night to find her asleep on the couch with wet cheeks and alcohol on the coffee table. And everytime he woke her up and escorted her to her bedroom upstairs, he would throw away the empty bottles and put up the movie that was in the VCR. It was always the same one. The day of his mother and father's wedding.
It was all his fault.
The bell signalling the end of the class rang, and Marco, so lost in his own throughts, jumped terribly. Glowering at the bell and then down at his empty paper, he stood and started throwing things in his bag haphazardly, crumbling his page of nonexistant notes as he went.
"Marco?" whispered a voice directly behind him. Slinging his bag agitatedly over his shoulder, he turned around to face Paige with more than a little glare gracing his features. Marco saw Paige open her mouth, but raised his hand quickly to stop her from speaking.
"As I say every single day...I can't tell you WHY, and I'm well aware that I'm not in the best of moods, as you can see. So right now is probably a very bad time to badger me about it. So please, leave before I say something horrible that I'll regret later."
The glare the blonde girl sent him could have frozen the whole English Channel, but she did atleast have the good grace to back down and leave. Marco, instantly feeling bad for his outburst, threw a heartfelt sorry at her retreating back. Turning around, Marco spied Mrs. Kwan pursing her lips at her desk, obviously waiting for Marco. With a huge, dejected sigh he trudged toward the front of the room.
It wasn't until he was before her desk under her unbelievably annoying gaze that the stern woman spoke. "Mr. del Rossi, that is the third time this week I've caught you not paying attention in my class."
She stopped short, dropping her eyes and fiddling with the half-graded papers on her desk. "I understand after....ahem, events surrounding you as of late, your concentration would be less than perfect, but..." She looked back up, smiling warmly. "But Marco, you've always been one of my favorite students, and I'd hate to see you throw away your amazing potential. Your father would have liked to see you be everything you could be, I'm sure."
By this point, Marco's gaze had averted to the floor, and his fingers had long since begun to play restlessly with his bag's shoulder strap. He knew her intentions were good, and she was right to top it all off. So why did it hurt so much?
He swallowed the painful lump in his throat and nodded almost imperceptibly. "I understand. I'll try harder. Thank you." Marco stood for a moment to see if there was anything more she wished to speak with him about, and seeing there wasn't, he hastily made an exit for the lunchroom, trying to ignore the phantom voices in his head.
It was all his fault.
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He made it as far as the lockers in the middle of the now deserted hallway before everything caught up with him. His father, his mother, the aching, endless void he felt inside that Dylan, at one time, had filled so perfectly. It was so empty now.
Marco stood in front of his locker, simply staring at the blue metal. All the pain...it was rising, and he was trying desperately to keep the swells of emotion down; make the cold waves of despair calm before he was caught in a storm. Alas, his struggle was in vain.
He raised a hand to cover his mouth and muffle the choked sob that bubbled forth. Marco's head fell forward with force born of anger and helpless frustration, to land painfully against the locker door. Everything was gone. Feeling the warmth of scaulding tears rolling down his face he turned his body and allowed himself to give into the shaking of his knees and slide down to the floor, wrapping his arms around his legs and burying his head in the comforting darkness.
The voice in his head, rightfully dubbed his inner Dylan, murmered into his hypothetical ear. "It doesn't have to hurt this much you know. Dylan's still out there."
Dammit! Marco screamed internally. No! He wasn't like that anymore! His father was dead because he had been an unnatural freak! He was different now! He was better now! He was the way his father would have wanted! He....he was......he was different.....he......was.....
After several minutes of crying silently into his knees, and more than likely a few odd looks from the upperclassmen passing by, Marco lifted his head and stood up unsteadily, righting his clothes and rubbing with futility at his face as he went.
It was all his fault.
Still rubbing at his eyes, but his mouth thinning into a tight line of determination, he grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder before continuing down the hallway. Halfway to the lunchroom he changed his mind abruptly, and opted to eat outside instead of where there was Paige to give him the third degree.
It wasn't until he was sitting on the bench at the front of the school with the pale autumn sunlight glaring down on him and an open textbook lying on his lap did the events of the day take their greatest turn. Looking up idly from the dreadfully boring passage on some president, his eyes caught on to a flash of light. A black sports car entered the parking lot, and only one person he knew drove a car like that, though the poor machine did look as old as it really was at this point.
Dylan? What? Why in the hell was Dylan here?, Marco thought, feeling his panic rising like a palpable force. He was supposed to be safe here. Dylan wasn't in highschool anymore! He should be able to hide here!
Marco watched in fascinated horror as the older blonde climbed out of the car, hair shining much more dully than it once did and he could see the dark circles under his eyes even from this distance. It was easy to notice considering they were same ones that he himself had. Dylan looked off balance, like all the fluid in his ears had leaked out during his sleep. Or, the voice in his head chimed in, more like he was shaky due to insomnia.
Not many people knew, but Dylan had sleeping problems. He could lie awake for hours without blinking, and no amount of sleeping aids seemed to help. Marco was pretty sure the only time he'd seen the boy completely black out was the night he had stayed over and they had slept in the same room. And now that Marco was gone...he was sure Dylan's sleeping pattern was worse than ever. A horrible surge of guilt and concern threatened to consume him....but the panic won out.
Grabbing his bag and jamming his politics book inside, he all but fled towards the security of the school building, keeping his eyes firmly on the ground, hoping beyond hope he didn't run into anyone. Luckily he didn't...but, unfortunately, Dylan saw him, no matter how hard he was trying to be invisible.
"Marco!"
Marco steadfastedly kept his gaze down, walking that little bit faster, feeling his hair sweeping back. "Marco!" came the broken voice again, from behind him. "Marco! Please!"
He felt his steps becoming slower...No! He couldn't!
"Please! I'm this close to begging! Three seconds!"
Dylan, seeing the Italian boy hadn't stopped, growled low in his throat, his eyes burning mysteriously, and when he spoke, his voice cracked in pain."Pl-lease Marco. Don't walk away again. Pl-ease."
That was all it took. Marco stopped walking, his back still facing him. Why? Why did the boy insist on making him love him? It wasn't supposed to be this hard to run away and forget. A silence of stone descended upon the scene, and a harsh, cold wind flew down, ruffling their hair and lifting their clothes slightly. Marco shivered, the action reflexive, the shiver traveling down his spine hollow.
The burning in Dylan's eyes seemed to get worse seeing the shake run down Marco's body from the cold. How often had he taken this same boy into his arms after seeing a shiver like that? How often had he had to push Marco's hair behind his ear when the wind made it fly wildly around his face? Actions, that at one time, he had made without a second's hesitation. Actions that he now had to hold in check.
It all hurt so much. He should hate him! He had walked away without a word, shoving the ring he had given him into his hand like it didn't matter. Like he hadn't taken it with a smile on his face and a whispered oath on his lips. He should loathe him!
But he didn't.
And all of the sudden all the pain was just too much. Marco still had his back to him, obviously waiting for something, but also not willing to even give him the time of day. In his frustration, he swore loudly to the cold air and turned, swinging blindly at the brick wall beside him. Fireworks of red and white burst beneath his closed eyelids and an explosion of pain erupted, spidering it's way up his arm from his now bleeding knuckles.
Marco, hearing the dull thud of a fist hitting the wall and Dylan's yell, flinched, and whirled around. He saw Dylan hunched over his bleeding hand and cursing every deity he could think of up one way and down the other. Watching as a very small puddle of blood formed on the cold sidewalk, Marco gave in unconciously to his heart, and several quick strides later he was in front of Dylan, cradling the swiftly purpling limb in his hands, cooing nonsense words in his ear.
After a rather long pause, in which Marco continued whispering to the silence, Dylan looked up. Now or never, he supposed.
"Why, Marco?"
Marco looked up instantaneously, looking like a caged tiger, eyes wide and fearful. The dark boy, seemingly only just now noticing the hand that he was holding, dropped it as if he had been burned, and backed up a few steps, doing his impression of a goldfish. "I-I...I, uh..."
Dylan stepped the three or so steps forward so he was directly in front of the younger boy once again. If the situation was different, he would probably have been amused at the sight of Marco stepping back further away from him.
"You just left! I haven't slept at all for a week and a half now! Jesus! I don't think I've even eaten, Marco! I'm falling behind in all my classes! I lay in my bed at night and only one thing...one person...is on my mind! The only person, I might add, that won't talk to me!"
Marco swallowed noisily, moving back an extra step. "Marco. Please! Just tell me why!" Dylan lurched forward, grabbing the Italian boy's shoulders gently, but firmly. "I love you! And you just left that day! And...And I just don't know what to think anymore! It's like every fucking thing I ever cared about is just disappearing into thin air. And I can't breathe sometimes Marco."
Marco thought, this is hell. This. Is. Hell. Standing in front of the person you love, while they cry and talk of how they're falling apart...and you can't do a single thing at all. And worst of all....you're the very reason you can't help. You're own twisted ideas and morals was what kept this perfect, amazing person awake at nights. You're avoidance is what made the tears fall.
His hell was the fact that he was killing Dylan. And the worst part of all....he wasn't going to stop.
"Dylan," he whispered hollowly, gently removing the bloody hands that rested on his shoulders. "I've got to go. Lunch is about to be over."
"Dammit!" Dylan screamed, throwing his hands in the air, more tears coming. "There you go again! Talking to me in that fucking creepy robot voice and brushing me off like nothing has happened! What in the hell did I do Marco? Tell me, " he choked. "Tell me what I did wrong!"
Marco was backing up frightened...hoping for a quick escape. He had to get out before anything happened.
"Fine! Leave then! Who was I kidding to think that you could actually love me? God, I was such an idiot!" Marco cringed. He shouldn't. Oh, but he couldn't. He couldn't.
"I do love you!" he roared. Dammit, he thought. Dylan stopped moving completely. All movement, that is, except for his shallow breathing. With a slight hesitation the blonde boy started making his way toward him. They were a foot away from each before he stopped, and he was silently happy that Marco hadn't stepped back.
"You....you do?"
Marco felt the tears he had kept in check through the whole situation finally make their shameful way down his face. "Y-yes." No! Tell him no! Don't give in!
He felt a hand come up to cup his face and it took all his self-restraint to not lean into the warmth offered there. "Then why did you leave?" The whisper was said without hate...without any emotion really. Except hope and confusion.
The hand on his face moved to wipe away the hot tears, and Marco closed his eyes tightly, trying not to make a fool of himself. "I can't tell you." he finally managed to shudder out.
"Please" came the silent plea, so quiet Marco wasn't sure he had heard it at all. Wondered if he had thought it himself. He looked up from beneath lowered lashes and, seeing the pain in the other boy's eyes, felt his heart rip in two...then in fourths...then in eighths. It was quickly being broken up until the splintering pieces were scraping painfully at his lungs to where he couldn't breathe.
Marco turned his head, giving into his pain just this once, and kissed the warm palm offered to him, before he turned and fled down the walk towards the school.
Dylan stared after him, feeling the pain coming up tenfold. The love of his life had left. Again. And, he reflected, it didn't get any better with time. Now he was simply left feeling empty yet again, with nothing but the whispered "I'm sorry." to keep himself going.
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Hey all, I cannot tell you how sorry I am for the delay in my writing lately. The reason for the great chunks of time between chapters is because I've hit quite a rough patch recently. I've come to find my body reacts violently with stress, causing physical reactions. So much so that I passed out at school for the second time in my life (Ever wonder why I chose to make Marco do that in LTLWI?) Anyway, that was very long winded. Sorry. I just wanted you all to know that I definitely had a reason and I wasn't doing it to spite anyone or out of sheer laziness. I'd never do that. I love you guys to pieces, and feel absolutely horrible for my lack of writing lately. Forgive me. :D
Review! All the cool people are doing it.