22

Isak Danielson- Remember to remember me.

~

Marcos stared down at his hands which were currently squeezing and digging into the black pants he was wearing tightly. His nails looked... Horrible, considering how many times he had bitten into it.

He sat in between Abuela, and Maria, seated in a church he hadn't been in... How many years? Seven? Eight? He hadn't expected he'd ever come back after Papa's death, or he never though he'd when he was still this young.

They were so many people here that he thought he was going to pass out from how choking it felt. He knew they couldn't possibly have known Adriana, could they? They were probably just friends, or acquaintances of Hezekiah, or Xander, maybe. He didn't know. He didn't even know about today. Abuela was the one who found out.

Marcos still found it hard to believe. Hard to actually think she was gone.

It had been a week after the party, and he could remember screaming at Andrea, who didn't seem like he could give two fucks about Marcos, throwing him out of the party and leaving him outside for hours before Xander found him and brought him back home.

He hadn't expected to see her there. He was supposed to just go there, be at Andrea's side and return to Alex's permanently.

That was how it was supposed to go.

Tears began to cloud up his eyes and he squeezed harder. Nothing ever went his way, he should have known this. Fate had given him something so... Perfect, and he had destroyed it just by being stupid as he always was.

He remembered crying, calling her, sending voicemails of apologies, begging her to let him explain. She never replied.

It was on the fifth day of her ignoring him that Paris called. Marcos hadn't been sure if he wanted to speak to him. What did he want to say? Laugh at him? Ask why he did what he did?

"Her Mother's dead," His voice was as cold as Marcos' hands, sending a shockwave through the male who felt himself hold unto a wall at the words. "Alex wasn't in school for long and I went over and—"

Marcos could hear Paris take in a breath. It was clear he was either repulsed, or completely shaken by it. By the thought. For something to affect him that badly... "She laid with her in the bed, Marcos. Her body was all bloated and there was so much blood from her mouth, and around Alex—"

Marcos felt his stomach churn and his headache seemed to triple. He took in a breath to steady himself, his hands shaking. "A-Alex. How's —?"

"Frozen. She refused to— let me even touch her. I had to call 911, Marcos. They had to use a tranquilizer on her to take Adriana away."

Adriana was dead.

Marcos didn't know her very well. Alex never spoke about her, or more or less, forbade her name being mentioned but he knew she loved her very much, considering how many times he had seen her get hurt by the woman and Alex always, always returned to take care of her.

Still, it hurt. The fact she was like that. He wanted to see her. Beg her. But now his problem looked so trivial to how she must have been feeling now.

He couldn't imagine Maria dying. Leaving him after Father had—

Nightmares haunted him everyday now. He heard how Adriana had died. An overdose with pills that were clearly Alex's and his head wouldn't stop playing scenarios that one day, it wouldn't be Adriana but Alex—

A shudder passed through him.

His Abuela placed a hand on his, as if she could tell he was barely holding on. She knew he didn't like funerals. Marcos couldn't stand them. He had been so young when Luciano died and Maria had done her best to make sure he didn't even see his Father's dead body.

God, he had cleaned her once. Helped her. He couldn't stop the feeling that swallowed him whole. He could have been there for Alex. Asked her questions about Adriana. Pushed her into telling him things and not fearing he would get her mad. Tried to help better.

He should have been there for her.

Marcos raised his head from his laps, staring forward now. At the first pew on the left row, sat Alex. Unlike everyone else wearing black, she had on a pink large long sleeved shirt, and blue jeans and her hair—

She had cut it off. Not to a shoulder length, not to a bob. It was shaved off, all of it, and she was the only one seated there, Hezekiah and Xander sitting behind with her siblings.

He couldn't tell how she was feeling now. Her back was hunched back, and she was playing with her fingers. He didn't even know what to do. She was in pain, he knew that, but what could someone like him do for her?

She always acted so strong. So... Invincible. What could he do to even make her feel better after what he had done?

He could see her leg constantly shake, he her fingers twisting and turning while she chewed her lower lip and the insides of her cheeks as well.

God, he wanted to be there with her, but he wasn't sure if he deserved to do that, if he had any right to. Not after how she had looked at him that night.

But they fought a lot, right? She'd forgive him. She always did.

As they stood up to say the closing prayer, Alex exempted because she hadn't even stood up once, not even when they asked for an eulogy, Marcos could see someone else on the other row, a face he didn't expect.

Alia Hopper.

She stood there with her Father, Congressman Steven Hooper who was holding her. He knew they used to be best friends once, but he doubted they kept contact anymore.

She was the only one from his school that came.

Paris Holmes wasn't here either.

As the funeral came to an end, people began to walk out, most of them stopping to talk to Hezekiah while few of them said some words to Alex who didn't stop staring at the stage, her stature fixed, like they weren't really there.

Marcos kept staring at her, his hands now clenching themselves into fists. Should he... go there, perhaps? He was her boyfriend, wasn't he? This— This obviously came with the requirements. He should be there.

"Marcos?" Maria asked, looking at her son. He had been surprised she said she'd come, but then he knew she probably did that just to appease him. She didn't like to see him down. "Are you not coming home with us?"

Their debt was completely paid in full now, and Maria had gone into a happy frenzy, celebrating all over the house, even doing a small party but Marcos never left his room through all of it.

How could he? He had done it for her, yes, and now... Now, he wasn't even sure if he was happy about it. Things were finally fine for them but he still felt worthless.

Today was the first time since that night he had.

"Don't be like that," Abuela scolded. She spoke fast, and in a hush, as if she feared it would hurt him to hear his Mother talk like that. "He's supposed to be with her."

"It's clear she wants space, and she's with family—"

"Maria."

The woman paused in her words, looking at her son now. Marcos could feel her gaze but he didn't bother to look at her. It hurt to anyway. He watched as Xander rested a hand on Alex's shoulder and saw her stiffen before her younger ones hugged her.

"Alright," She said eventually with a small sigh as if it pained her to agree. "But be home ear—"

His Abuela dragged her away before she completed her sentence.

So he stayed there, staring, not missing how Hezekiah looked at him as they left. He didn't have a judging expression, but it was clear he didn't want Marcos around her.

Xander didn't look at him.

They were the only ones left now, and though he had thought about the things he wanted to say. The ways he would convince her to forgive him, that he knew this was all his fault, but his feet refused to move and the words refused to pass his lips.

Luckily for him, he didn't need to.

For the first time that day, he watched her move before standing, acting like every move was torture for her, before she turned around to face him.

They weren't so far away from each other, just about six feet so he could see her more clearly now.

Alex's eyes looked dead now, visible bags under them. He knew she had always looked skinny under her clothes but now... Had she been eating? How long did Paris say he found her that way? Five days? Had she even eaten today? She never ate unless she was at his place because she was always trying to be fast enough to avoid Adriana.

And when she did eat, it was because Adriana was too drunk to notice her, which was always very rare.

Her hands stayed in her pocket, her eyes never leaving his. They felt like weights, rendering him unable to speak or even breathe, or like he was stripped naked, and she was seeing through him.

She had sounded so disappointed that night. He hated disappointing her—

God, this wasn't about him. He should just apologize about Adriana and then— Then see how it goes. See what happens.

"A—"

"I'm glad she's dead,"

Her voice was raspy, devoid of any emotion and yet, he felt pain from it. She didn't even sound angry as she said those words. It sounded like she was stating a mere fact.

Besides, what was he supposed to say to that? He hadn't expected that. With Alex, he could never expect anything. "I don't— I don't think you should talk that way about a dead person,"

He sounded stupid, he knew that, but the look on her face didn't change. "Doesn't change it from being true. I know what you want to say, Marcos. Don't apologize, don't tell me you sympathize with me. Don't give fucking condolences. I don't want that."

She said this words with some sort of finality. "I want to talk of Friday."

His heart pulsed now. Asides from the fact she had called him his name felt like a slap to his face, she wanted to talk about the incident. He knew he couldn't afford it, but he didn't want to talk about it now. Not now.

"We can—" His voice shook, he tried to control it. Tried to sound stable. "We can talk about it later. There's time—"

"Avoiding it will only make it worse," She cut in, her voice remaining bland. He didn't even know what he would have preferred now, but her shouting seemed better than this.

She was acting like she had completely given up on him.

"O—" Marcos felt his body start to tremble and he wrapped his arms around her body, bowing his head down. "Okay."

He knew what he was going to do. He would let her tell him whatever she wanted. Marcos wouldn't even mind if she insulted him. He deserved it. He knew he did. She had trusted him, and he had broken that trust.

As long as she wasn't leaving him, as long as she would keep him. Anything was okay.

"I'm sorry, Marcos."

His head shot up, the words feeling like a punch into his guts. Apologizing? She was apologizing?

Her face showed an emotion now. He didn't know what that was. He wasn't sure he wanted to know. He didn't think he'd like it. "I— I shouldn't have kept you by my side this long,"

"W-What?"

The words began to chant through his head like a spell, a spell that threatened to hurt him and render him unable to move or do anything.

"If I didn't keep you, Andrea wouldn't have found you, and you wouldn't have been hurt."

She was— She was blaming herself?

"No," He was shaking her head. How could she do that? He wasn't going to accept that. "It was— Clearly my decision, A. You had no part—"

"If I'd let you go, you would know your self worth," The way Alex spoke, it seemed like she had thought about this many times. This topic.

Her hands were shaking, sometimes rubbing her neck. Her lips were red, and peeled. She seemed anxious, and yet hyper.

His eyes widened as he realized this was.

She was using too much of her pills again and staying away from it—

"I kept you— Hid you." A pained look crossed her face. "I should have let you go. I can't always protect you. I can't protect anyone—"

"No." He shook his head more, his mouth quivering before he found himself walking to her. His hand held hers and she was cold, God, she was so cold. "This wasn't you. This was me." He let out a hiccup now, the tears pouring out now. "Get mad at me, A. Not you. Hurt me, please."

The pained look began to go away as sadness showed now. "You know I wouldn't do that, besides you—" She stared at his hand holding hers, and though she made no move to pull away, she didn't hold him back. "You don't know it yet. I was using you—"

"What—"

"Let me finish." She let out a small sigh, closing her eyes as she continued, "I've been using you, as a way to hide the fact that I'm a failure. That I'm fucked up. You're the purest and most beautiful thing I've ever seen and yet, your wings... I clipped them. You can do so much, be so much better without me."

"Alex." He didn't like feeling like this. His chest wouldn't stop tightening. Things wouldn't stop spiralling out of control. He didn't like this. "Stop talking like this."

"I swore, you know, that I'd never let anyone hurt you again. I'd never let someone else I love hurt. Seeing my Mother like that, I needed to protect something, and I chose you," She opened her eyes and they were now glossy now. "From the moment I saw you, I knew you were perfect. You were weak, vulnerable. You screamed help, and I wanted to rescue you, so it could feel like I could control something of my life,"

"That contract with Alex?" She asked, shaking her head. "I only did it— So I could keep you by my side, as closure really. That's all,"

She... Lied?

Marcos felt the sting of it, that she had kept this all along, but then it didn't seem like something he could be mad about. Not right now. It was not enough to upset him.

"I wasn't supposed to love you," She let out a small gasp, like talking hurt her too. "I was supposed to protect you—"

"You don't need to protect me—"

"Then why the fuck did you let him hurt you?!" She suddenly snapped, a move that made him move back with fear in his eyes and as soon as she noticed that, paused, her chest rising and falling as she said quietly, "And you looked at me, all those times, and said nothing. I did nothing... I never do anything right."

"Alex, please," God, make it stop. Make this all stop. "Stop. This isn't your fault. It's not."

"She said it was, you know? I think she always knew. I always hurt everything I touch, I knew this too. But I couldn't stay away," She said. Alex was biting into her lower lip again, her hand shaking like she wanted to pull away and touch herself. Or be far away from him. "I love you. I have loved you. I have given you... Everything. I did everything. I was always there. I never... Fuck, Marcos, I loved you."

"I'm sorry," He didn't know what else to say. He didn't what else to do anymore. "I know you loved me, I know."

"Then why'd you let him hurt you?" She asked, her eyes searching into his like she still couldn't believe it either. "If you didn't think of yourself, if you refused to, did you even think about me? You tell me to stop taking too many pills and no matter how badly my head hurts, no matter how badly I want to scream and hit my head on a wall, I did, what do you think would have happened if you... Died, Marcos?"

"But I didn't, Alex," He held her face now, shaking his head. "I'm back now. I'm back to you—"

"I told you how valuable you are. You're priceless. Perfect," She said, voice low. "But I never gave you a chance to see that. To know that. If I had let you go—"

"Stop talking like that!" Marcos suddenly heard himself scream before he began to mumble. It felt like his world was cracking and with every word that left his lips, hers, the crack only kept spreading. "Stop... Stop talking like that. You love me. I've believed that. I believe everything single thing you said,"

"Then why?" She sounded confused. Like it still didn't make sense. "It's all I think about. The voices— They mock me. They tell me things— Why did you never tell me about this?"

"The debt was bad, it was getting worse Alex," He sniffed. "I had to do something. Anything. I never slept with him. Never. Not once. I just had to follow him to certain places—"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want to be a burden, Alex." Now that he said it, he knew he sounded stupid. Alex would never have seen him as a burden. She loved him. He knew that. "I'm so sorry, A. I'm so so sorry,"

"Don't be. If I had done better—"

"No," God, she didn't even want to see that he was at fault for this. She was drowning herself, blaming herself. "This wasn't your fault,"

She gave him a twisted look, like he was completely wrong. "But the voices, Marcos. You can say all you want, but they— They say that butterflies weren't meant to be kept in glass jars, no matter how the jar looks. That they're supposed to explore. Be free. I didn't give you that."

"That's not true—"

"You were always waiting for me, always wanting to be a recluse like I was even though I've already had all of that. You've never gone to a party. You've never gotten drunk. You've never even done drugs—"

"I don't want to do all of that." He said, exasperated.

"I got you out of your cocoon, but I never really let you go, did I?" She asked, "Its one of the things I can't forgive about myself. You never said it, but I know you did it for me. The reason you stayed away from people, was so you could always be available for me without looking suspicious in front of people because I told you we were supposed to be a secret."

That wasn't true. He just wasn't good around people. They once bullied him, for crying out loud. They hurt him. That really was it.

She was twisting everything.

"How can you even look at me?" She asked.

"Because I love you," He answered, "Because I don't care what you do to me."

"That's the problem, you should care."

Marcos stared at her now, realization dawning on him. "Nothing I say can change your mind. You've— You've completely given up on me."

"I haven't given up on you. I'm giving you a chance to be—"

"I don't want that! I want you! I always want you!" He hugged her now, burying his face into her neck. She smelled different, but she was still home.

She had been the one to hold him whenever he felt his attacks. She was the one to know what he truly was just by looking at him.

She knew him. More than he knew himself. He never had to be scared about what he was around her. How was he supposed to— "Don't send me away. I'd do whatever you want. Just please, don't. I don't know— You saved me. You're all I know. How am I going to live without you?"

She didn't even hold him in return. "That's for you to figure out, Marcos."

"I love you, Eros. You're the most beautiful thing, do you know that?"

"Breathe for me, princess."

"You smell like cookies, I could eat you and never get tired."

"I love you. Always, and forever. Don't ever forget that."

Marcos knew that she meant it. He could feel it somehow. She was really letting him go. Three years. Three years of her. Of being loved and treated like—

He let her go and moved away. His whole body screamed to beg her, but he didn't. Begging would annoy her. Begging would probably make her angry.

So he stood, his head down as more tears streamed down his eyes.

He could feel her eyes on him, and slowly, he felt her hand on his head, patting him as she whispered. "I haven't stopped loving you, Eros, I never will."

And you know what hurt most?

The fact he knew she wasn't lying.

"Just... Just go."

Then as soon as she was gone, he let out a large gasp, his hands on his chest as pain took over his body one more time and he saw himself sit on the front pew and bury his face into his legs.

Don't go, he pleaded silently. I love you too... Please... Don't...

But she didn't hear him, and he didn't say it out loud.

~

No. I didn't cry. Why would I? I'm the Author, so no, I didn't :).

I did. Don't judge me.