Author's Note: So, I'm seriously trying to take my time with the seventh book because I know this is the last one. All of the others I finished in, oh, one day. This one is, however, the 'big one', so I'm reading it as slowly as possible, forcing myself to stop every once in a while, which is unusual for me. Besides the book, though, I have a lot going on, so I'm going to try to update as much as possible, but it will be hard. Bear it? Please? And, another thing: I know I was supposed to update Someone To Heal before this, but I'll get back on track soon. Sorry…you know, if you mind. :)

Marco woke up crying. He couldn't remember the last time he had actually done that; it must have been years, and the realization made him feel like such a child. Ellie and Dylan had long since taken their leave. He had dreamed of his mother, and the fact that it was such a pleasant dream made him feel even worse. Things hadn't been pleasant for years.

Marco got out of bed, deciding there was no way he'd be able to fall back to sleep at that point, and he walked around his room, trying to will away his sad feelings. He supposed it took him a little bit of time to really understand that his mother was gone from his life forever. She would never comfort him again, hug him again, tell him everything would be all right. The scariest part was simply that she would never be there again, to just sit, have some coffee, and wish him a good day at school.

Marco felt he was somewhat crazy to want to rush into a relationship with Dylan after everything that had happened, but he also felt that Dylan would make things easier on him. He could be his comfort.

Marco left his room, deciding it would be a good idea to have a little snack to, perhaps, make him feel better. He walked downstairs, catching his father along the way. His father gave a somber nod, holding out his hands to allow Marco to go into the kitchen first. However, when Marco sat down, he felt he'd lost his appetite.

"All right?" asked his father, sitting down with a glass of water.

Marco nodded, even though he wasn't okay, but his father seemed to understand.

"I think missing a few days of school wouldn't hurt you," said Mr. Del Rossi with a tone of determination.

Marco looked up at him, appalled. "Dad, I've missed days for the hos…I guess you're right," he interrupted his own thought. "The last thing I need right now is to hear them all talking about me."

His father nodded, and they fell into an awkward silence. The only sounds were of Mr. Del Rossi carefully sipping his water, and Marco tapping his fingers on the table.

"Funeral…wake?" said Marco. He didn't trust himself speaking full sentences.

"Wake will be tomorrow night. The funeral the day after," he replied.

Marco nodded, looking around the kitchen. Somehow, everything reminded him of his mother. He touched his side gently subconsciously, hoping it might cause pain. He didn't deserve to be here when his mother wasn't.

"I can't sleep."

"I can't either," said his father miserably.

If Marco had only told his parents earlier, or even his friends, what Corey was doing… He gave up on that thought. He obviously hadn't, and there was no point crying over spilled milk, was there?

"I'm sorry," said Marco abruptly.

"Stop apologizing," said his father sternly. "I don't want to hear it anymore," he sighed.

Marco couldn't just stop because the only words revolving in his mind were constant apologies and regrets. He couldn't blame Corey. As far as he was concerned, the world would have been better if he'd only died from the shot. Perhaps, his father would miss him. Maybe even Dylan, but Dylan would get over it. Marco knew he would.

"I'll just go upstairs."

"I'll see you in the morning," said his father, staring down into his empty cup.

Marco could hardly think as the memory of his mother falling came before his eyes again. He stopped on his way up the stairs, sitting down on the step, punching his forehead with his right fist, trying to push the memory out of his mind.

"Stop!" he screamed, kicking the banister, and banging his head against the wall on the opposite side. "Just STOP!" He stopped his self-mutilation, crumpling his whole body in a ball, just letting himself cry. He obviously couldn't kill the memory, so he had to learn to deal with it.

When morning finally came, Marco realized his father must have carried him to his bed because he knew he hadn't moved from his spot on the stairs. He knew his dad had heard his screams, but he ignored them. Apparently, his behavior was natural, according to the doctors, anyway.

Marco rubbed at his eyes tiredly, glad that he'd gotten an hour or two of sleep, knowing it was better than nothing. He yawned, picking up his new phone, raising his eyebrow when he saw Dylan had called.

Realizing it could be something important, Marco dialed his cell phone number quickly, waiting apprehensively through two rings.

"Hello."

"Hey, it's Marco," he said, getting out of bed. "You called."

"I did," he replied with an exasperated sigh. "I feel I should tell you something."

"Yes?" Marco asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Dylan struggled to get the words out of his mouth. "I—I, well, I think I may be the reason everyone knows about Corey."

"Wh—why—how?" asked Marco, confused. "Dylan…"

Dylan sighed. "Well, I wasn't responsible for everyone, but I was…upset, so I might have let it slip…a person or two about the Corey situation. Someone asked what was wrong with me, so…"

Marco closed his eyes, shaking his head slowly. He wanted to blame Dylan for telling people, just like he wanted to blame Corey for killing his mother, but for some reason, the blame always came back to him. Besides, he couldn't afford to be angry with his protector. He took a deep breath.

"At least I know," he said, though he wasn't too happy. "Could you come to the wake this evening?" he asked, successfully changing the subject.

"I'd love to," said Dylan. "I mean," he started, realizing how dumb that must have sounded, "I wouldn't love to go to a wake, but I mean, if you wanted me to go, I'd be quite—"

"Dylan," said Marco, rolling his eyes. It felt nice to laugh a bit, but it also made him feel guilty. "I know what you meant."

"Just come here about four, please," he said softly. "I have to go."

Marco didn't wait for Dylan to say good-bye, just hung up immediately. He walked over to the drawers next to his bed, emptying them one by one.

Pictures of he and Corey, presents from Corey, just little memories of Corey fell out onto the floor.

He picked up a note Corey had handed him on his way to third period on the last day of school.

I love you, right? And you love me. What's the big deal about it, anyway? I don't know why you're against it. We'll have fun. It's just about a good time, baby. I wouldn't hurt you, and I definitely wouldn't want to have to force you.

Marco crumpled the letter, and threw it into the trashcan beside him. "Yes, Marco, I'll continue to love you if you sleep with me," grumbled Marco as he pulled out something else.

His bracelet. He'd taken it off after Dylan basically forced him to dump Corey. He played with it in his hands for a moment before throwing it into the can as well. Anything that could possibly have anything to do with that boy had to go. He was slowly pulling him out of his soul.

Marco picked up the next item: a picture. It was taken on the beach, and it had always been special to him because it was rare that he and Corey would go anywhere besides inside one of their houses. Corey didn't like to be out and about. But that day, he took Marco there, and they'd spent hours just lying together, and taking pictures. It was the one day he and Corey had truly connected. (Author's Note: Ugh, I hate the beach…anyway)

He didn't bother looking at the rest; he simply scooped everything up, and threw it away. He was done with Corey. So completely done.

Marco found himself in front of the mirror again, straightening his clothes, and covering his bruises before the wake. The night was about his mother; he didn't need to hear questions about his own safety. He wrapped the long bandage around his stomach before pulling his shirt back on.

"You ready?" asked Dylan, popping up in Marco's doorway.

Marco turned around after seeing him in the mirror. "Not at all," he said truthfully. "Dylan, I don't know if I can see her."

Dylan frowned sympathetically, opening his arms widely for Marco. Marco graciously accepted the hug, leaning his head on Dylan's shoulder. "It'll be okay," he said, unsure if it would be. "You don't have to even look."

"I do," he protested, pulling away from him. "I have to see my mother before the funeral."

"Come on, let's go downstairs," Dylan suggested, attempting a smile as he helped Marco out of the room.

Author's Note: Kill me for just stopping on that note, I know. Anyway, after I finish the seventh book, which I'm quite surprised at the willpower I've shown in not finishing it yet; it's been difficult, I'm going to start a Harry Potter story. I haven't written Harry Potter in a long time, so it's rather exciting that I'm seriously drawn to it right now. I hope many will read when it comes out, despite all the other stories I have going. :)