Chapter Eight: Tear

She stares up at the dark ceiling while the thousands of tiny raindrops pound against the hotel window. The room is cold and she tries to block out the screaming of the drunken party goers that are outside. She wishes she could be in some lush hotel for the night but finding this one was hard enough. Her eyes slowly fall on the clock, it's well past two in the morning. Her flight is in four hours, which means she might as well get up now and get ready. A soft sigh escapes her lips as the chill runs through her. She brings the blankets closer to her but it doesn't help much. The image of Mark's comforting living room fills her mind. She closes her eyes and lets her mind wander.

She sees herself reclined on his couch, wrapped in a soft blanket. Then Mark approaches her with a glass of red wine. He sits behind her so she could rest against his strong chest. The delicious flavor of the wine runs down her throat smoothly. She feels him lean over to her so his lips are barely brushing her ear. He whispers something, something she can't make out but the sound of his voice sends chills up her spine. She can smell the wine on his breath. He kisses her neck while his hands explore her body.

And with a loud bang, it all ends.

Her eyes open suddenly to loud chatter and obnoxious laughter. Olivia closes her eyes again and desperately wishes to return to where she once was. With another exasperated sigh, she sits up and heads to the shower - hoping it'll provide her with at least warm water.

Mark sits on the edge of his bed with his cell phone in one hand and Olivia's note in the other. He stares at the memorized number on his screen. All he has to do is press "call" and apologize. He has to tell her everything he was unable to tell her back at his apartment. That, behind his anger, was something he was desperate to reveal to her. He wanted to tell her how much he hates seeing her upset and he didn't mean any of the things he said. How she is everything he needs. He wants to confess how he feels about her, how he's always felt about her, how he's felt since he first saw her.

But he doesn't.

Mark tosses his phone on his pillow, idly runs his hands over his face and stares out the window. The streetlamps give him a better view of the rain and he wonders about her. A twinge of fear runs through him at the thought of her being stuck in the rain. She was unable to get a hotel when she first got here, maybe she had the same problem. Slowly he unfolds the napkin that she wrote on and reads it once, then twice.

When she first left it on the kitchen counter, he was too angry to even look at it and when he finally brought himself to read her final words, she was already gone. He found himself standing in the middle of the hallway, looking like a confused fool, thinking of where to start looking for her. He heard the door open behind him and turned to see Callie joining him in the hall.

"Mark? We heard you guys yelling. Is everything okay?"

His hand was placed over his forehead and he looked at her with wide eyes, "She's gone, Callie. I made her leave."

Callie placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, "Mark, she had to go home. You didn't do anything."

"You knew? You knew and you didn't tell me?"

"She told us that she was going to tell you tonight."

His hands clenched into fists and he retreated back into his apartment to rid himself of the evening wear he spent hours picking out to impress Olivia. He quickly slipped on a pair of sweatpants and sat on the edge of his bed, the spot where he would stay for the next two hours. The very spot where he would dial Olivia's number more than a dozen times but never call it.

He replays the argument with her over again. He hears the pain that was in her voice - she tries to hide it but it's clear. He sees the tears that bead in the corner of her eyes, how she tries to hold them back but fails and lets a few of them slip down her cheek. She wipes them away, thinking he didn't see it but he did. He hears his front door open but doesn't move. He finally turns around, hoping to see Olivia appear in the doorway of his bedroom. Hoping that she would whisper something, or nothing at all, and just climb into bed with him. A new wave of disappointment washes over him when he hears Callie's voice calling for him.

He doesn't return the greeting, only groggily asks, "What time is it?"

Callie sits next to him on the edge of the bed, "It's seven thirty. Have you been awake all night?"

He slowly nods. His eyes are bloodshot from tears of guilt and fatigue. He refuses to sleep, though. Mark knows that if he does fall asleep, he'll only dream about her. Mark stands and reaches for the nearest shirt - a plain white t-shirt that he wore the other day. For a second, Mark forgets that Callie is still sitting on his bed, looking at him with eyes full of curiosity. It's not until he grabs his keys that she speaks up.

"Mark, where are you going?"

"Airport. To find Olivia."

She bites her lip and tries to think of a quick yet painless way to tell him. She has to tell him before he drives out to the airport for nothing.

"Her flight was for six. She left an hour and a half ago, Mark." She doesn't take her gaze off of him, "I'm sorry."

He tosses his keys on his dresser and disappears into the bathroom. Callie hears the shower turn on and doesn't see him until work later that morning.

When she returns to New York, Olivia rushes through the baggage claim, not caring who she ran into or who ran into her. She ignores the apologies, the swears, anything that is said to her. As soon as she gets outside, she's attacked with more rain. Olivia sighs while she climbs into the cab. Just what she needs, more rain and in some twisted way, it reminds her of Mark. It's like she had a second life back in Seattle and she has to leave it forever. As the cab moves in silence, she stares down at her phone, tempted to dial Mark's number just to hear his voice again. She stops herself and shoves her phone in her pocket. Hearing him will not only make her regret leaving, but coming in the first place. She rests her head against the cold taxicab window and watches the raindrops race down the glass.

Her apartment is cold, dark, and unwelcoming when she returns. It doesn't feel like hers as she first steps in. The loneliness surrounds her instantly.

This is my home. It has always been my home. It will always be my home.