26

So, I was on YouTube, just doing my usual night song searching, and I found shorts of Billie, and I developed a crush. No honestly, for someone as old as I am, it felt like a slap but fuck, she's pretty. She's sooooo pretty. I mean, you have to see her. Like really see her. Like look deep.

Okay, this is just me trying to make you see what I see, but God, she's pretty, funny, sweet, kind, and talented.

This last part, is practically on her new EP, if you wanna call it that. Guitar Songs. TV and The 30th.

The latter, being what I'm dedicating the last five chapters of this book to because the idea practically came from the song.

It's awesome, you really should listen to it. And when you do, note that she literally did 2:10 to the end, in one breath.

Literally.

The 30th - Billie Eilish

~

The next few weeks passed slowly, but for the first time in a while, he didn't mind. After he returned to school, he realized someone, high up, had convinced the school board that he was sick and they let him do his tests and gave him a tutor to get him on the same pace with others.

This person, he knew, but for some reason, never saw.

Asides from that, Ace Danvers, his dear best friend, was in a relationship with someone, an Eleanor someone, he couldn't remember her last name, but she was a cheerleader that knew he was Aromantic, and had zero problems with it.

On grounds of how good sex with him was.

Marcos didn't need that part.

Point was, currently, he was with the popular group. The whole deal. And many times, he was invited to parties, sleepovers, makeovers and as much as he didn't want to some times, he knew he needed it.

He needed to learn how to be comfortable around him. In his skin. And he was learning, he knew most people didn't like him, but he didn't care anymore.

He loved himself. And other people who mattered did. And that was fine.

Still, he wished Paris would talk to him. There were times he wanted to talk about Alex, but no one spoke about her at home anymore, considering the fact he was trying to fix his relationship with his Mother and no one else knew he was in love with her.

Except Paris.

The male avoided crowds. People. Deciding to stay on his own. Just like she did, and Marcos wanted to speak to him but... But it seemed silly.

What would he say? She had broken up with them both, he knew that though the green eyed male never told him and they... They weren't really friends. Didn't exactly have anything in common except her.

But... But for some reason, he missed him. The way he always tried to cheer him up. His arrogance. His way of acting unaffected but actually very affected.

The way he seemed to care for him. Sometimes.

Still, everything was going fine. It wasn't... Perfect, but he was doing fine.

Until last night.

He had been in his room, trying out a new coding program when his phone began to ring. At first, he thought it was Ace trying to invite him to a party, as always, since Maria didn't mind much anymore, and he was planning to ignore it, but somehow, he found himself raising the phone up and freezing when he saw the caller ID.

A is calling.

Marcos stared at it for a few seconds, his eyes blinking as if the words would change if he did it a lot. That perhaps, he was imagining it, but after a few seconds and he realized he wasn't, he picked before thinking twice of it.

When he did so, the first thing that came to his head was the fact he hadn't seen her in... More than a month. Or heard from her. More than once, he had been tempted to go over to her place and do so, but... But he knew he shouldn't.

Plus, he wanted to be... Better than she remembered. Different, in a good way. So he stayed away, promising himself when he was, he would go there and talk to her himself.

But now... Now that she was calling...

He put the phone to his ear, his heart racing as he did so. For the first few seconds, he heard nothing. Just her... Breathing calmly, staying silent, then after a while, said, "It's cold,"

Her voice was small. Soft. It felt like a whisper, like she was behind him as she said those words, goosebumps appearing on his skin as he replied, "C-Cover yourself,"

"Mhm," She hummed quietly, then let out a small sigh, "I should. But... Tired,"

And she did sound tired. Drowsy even. His heart pausing as one thought came to his head. "Alex, did you overdose again?"

She stayed quiet, her breathing suddenly coming out tinier. In a flash, Marcos was out of his chair, running out of his room with the phone still on his ear, his next words coming out in a breath and in spanish, "Alex, I swear to God, if that's what you did. I'd never forgive you. I'd hate you so fucking much—"

When he was out of his house, he heard his Abuela ask what was wrong but he ignored her, pausing at his foot as he heard Alex laugh.

It seemed... Normal, though a little exhausted as she said in another whisper, "You sound like Paris. It's... Cute,"

Marcos turned to her house. Something wasn't feeling right. She had never called him when she overdosed, rather avoiding him. And if she was now, nothing was making sense, but he didn't care as he walked down the road in the middle of the night in a loose polo shirt and mini shorts, a gnawing feeling beginning in his chest. "Just stay wherever you are, I'm —"

"I love you,"

He froze.

"Both... Of you..." He heard her take in a breath, the next three words coming out in a gasp. "I love you."

"Alex?" Her breathing was slowing down, the same way his panic was growing. "Alexandra?!"

She didn't reply.

Marcos broke into a sprint now, reaching her house faster than he ever had and pushed the door, calling out her name.

She didn't answer.

He ran up the stairs, searching through every room. Everywhere looked completely empty, like a soul hadn't been there in weeks. His fear grew when he thought that she was possibly not in the house before he reached the kitchen and froze.

Alex was laying on the floor in a corner, her phone in her left hand, wearing a pink nightdress and around her head like a halo—

Blood.

There was so much blood.

Marcos rushed to her, raising her head to his laps, the blood coating his hand and clothes but he didn't care as he held her face.

Her skin was cold under his touch, and pale. And when he put his ear to her mouth, she was still breathing, but there were coming out shallow. Low. Barely there.

And beside her, her pill bottle nearly empty.

As soon as he saw it, he remembered bringing out his phone, making a call, the rest of the night happening in a blur.

Paris coming to find them that way, the paramedics coming after, Marcos holding unto her hand as they rushed her to the hospital with Paris beside him, and then waiting in the hall after they rushed her into an emergency room.

He remembered his Mother and Abuela calling and him telling them he was in the hospital, though Maria had panicked, thinking he was the one hurt until he told her who it was.

"Can I— Can I stay?" He hadn't cried yet. He couldn't. Crying meant— Meant she was dead, and she wasn't. He knew she wasn't. "And you don't have to. Paris— Paris is here too."

The male that was standing beside him, resting on a wall looked at him when he mentioned his name though he said nothing as his Mother replied softly, "Of course, both of you, take care of yourself. Your Abuela and I would be praying for her, okay?"

"Okay,"

Marcos wasn't sure what happened next, but the next morning, he felt someone shaking him a a little and when he woke up, Paris was crouched beside him.

Slowly, he sat up, his body protesting from laying on the metal seats, his head hurting as he rubbed his eyes, "Sorry, I shouldn't—"

"It's okay," Paris replied. His voice had lost the bite he usually had. It sounded unguarded. More vulnerable than Marcos had ever heard him sound. "She's awake,"

Whatever sleep was left in his eyes vanished as he stared at him, his voice coming out shaky. "Have— Have you seen her?"

Paris shook his head. He looked tired too, though he seemed more in control of his emotions than Marcos was. But somehow, he knew if he cried right there, Paris would too. "You can go first, after you change your clothes. I brought some of mine for you. Plus, you're the one who knows what really happened when she called."

There was no sound of jealousy, or hate that she didn't call him first. Instead, Paris sounded grateful it wasn't him, and somehow, Marcos understood that. He had been the one to find Andrea, and him finding Alex in that state would have hurt more than anything.

So he did as he asked. He went to the bathroom, washing his hands and then his face before taking off his clothes, changing into a black hoodie and ash sweatpants before going to her room.

As he entered, he noticed three things. Her eyes seemed vacant, blank, like she wasn't sure what she was doing there. Her hair, had grown considerably longer than he remembered last time.

And her skin...

It looked better than he remembered it. Better than she had in months. Better than how she did when he found her.

Relief bubbled through his body as tears gathered in his eyes, his hands going over to cover his mouth as a gasp left his lips, a sound that made her look at him, words flying out of his mouth in one breath, "How could you do that? You said you wouldn't take more than you should. You promised. Why did you lie to me? How could you? Do you have any idea how worried I was? What if you didn't wake up? What if you slipped into a coma? How could you call me and tell me that and just leave me? Leave us? How selfish can you be?"

And then he heard her ask a question that put his his whole world on a standstill.

"Do I know you?"

Marcos felt his eyes widen as he stared at her. The question striking his heart harder than anything ever had. His eyes studying her face, hoping to see any sign of her joking. Pranking him. Punishing him possibly.

But it was so obvious that she wasn't joking. Or pranking. And it couldn't be a punishment if the question was truly genuine. In fact, she seemed quite upset that he was standing in front of her.

"I don't—" His chest was starting to hurt again, breaths finding it hard to leave his mouth. "I don't understand, Alex, I—"

Marcos walked to her bed now, sitting on the stool beside her bed and held her hand and though he noticed the reaction on her face change to surprise, and something close to fear as he said, "It's Marcos. Eros. I'm your—"

Boyfriend.

Yet, he wasn't, was he? She had ended things with him. Cut him off. He couldn't even call himself her friend. So... So what was he?

"Alex!"

He watched as her eyes moved from him to the person entering the room, her dark orbs immediately lighting up as the person hugged her, her hand leaving his as she hugged them back, a laugh leaving her lips. "Alia, God, I can't breathe,"

Marcos felt a hand tighten around his heart, squeezing whatever breath he had left as he watched Alia Hooper pull away from Alex's grasp, cupping her cheeks as she said, "Are you okay? Where does it hurt? Should I call the Doctor?"

Alex laughed again, her eyes staring at Alia like she was the only one in the room. "Yeah, I'm fine, I just—" Then she paused, her eyes lingering back to Marcos again, clear distrust in her eyes.

Alia turned too, now noticing him as a surprised look crossed her face. "Marcos? What are you doing here?"

Marcos... Marcos couldn't hear her. Thoughts running through his head as he stared at the both of them.

Why are you holding her? Why is she looking at you like that? What is going on?

"I—"

Paris stormed into the room, his face twisted and filled with rage as he snapped towards the dark haired female, "What the fuck, Alia? Couldn't you see she had company?"

Alia tensed, her head bowing as she said softly, "I'm sorry, I—"

"Who the fuck are you to talk to her like that?" Alex cut in, the venom in her voice clear for everyone in the room to hear. It wasn't like her usual tone she used with him. It was clear... That the fact he was in this room disgusted her in ways nobody could understand.

Paris being in that category.

Marcos could hear the shock, and pain, in the male's voice as he stared at her. His words, for the first time since he knew him, sounding broken. "What? Why— Why are you talking to me like that?"

"I mean, you fucking barge into my room like a wild animal, shouting at my girlfriend—"

"What?" Marcos was the one asking this, his heart squeezing again. Girlfriend? Her and Alia Hooper? He knew— He knew they were friends, once, but he never saw them talk after that. They never— He knew that Alex wasn't dating someone else. She would have told him. She wouldn't have hidden this from him.

"Is this a prank, Alex?" God, this was hurting. His chest was hurting too much. "I get it. You're upset with Paris and I. That's fine. But calling her your girlfriend. Infront of us like that. That's— That's not fair."

"Fair?" Alex stared at him, then at Paris and Alia, her eyebrows furrowing again. "But— Isn't she my—"

Suddenly, she let out a pained gasp, her hand going to her head as she held it, her teeth biting hard down on her lower lip as she fought back a scream, the monitor beside her suddenly beeping loudly.

A nurse suddenly rushed in now, her voice impatient and annoyed as she snapped at them, "Everyone. Out."

Marcos was already standing, though his eyes never left her, his body moving on its own as he reached the door now. Alia was about to leave as well but Alex told her not to, her hand intertwining with Alia's.

An action that made Marcos nearly trip over himself if Paris hadn't held him. The male's hand shook as he did so, though his face now held an empty look, his jaws clenching till they reached the hallway again.

Marcos wasn't sure how long they stood there, his eyes staring through the shutters of her room, watching as the Doctor injected her with something, Alex's head burying itself into Alia's body, his head repeating words over and over again.

I'm the one supposed to be there. Me. Not Her. Me.

His head turned to the side now, his eyes glassy and nose red as he saw Hezekiah and Alexander Parker walking to them. Alexander looked tired, but angry at something, his usually playful carefree look gone, and Hezekiah...

There was a grim look on his face as he walked to them, supporting his good leg with his walking stick, pausing when he was close enough, his eyes going to Alex in the room, his lips pressing themselves tightly together before he turned to Marcos, his words coming out thick and clogged up. "Are you the one that brought her here?"

Marcos nodded, his throat bobbing as he tried to swallow, Hezekiah nodding back as well "Thank you," Then to Paris. "And you too."

"What's—" Breathe, Marcos. Breathe. One word at a time. "What's wrong? Is— Is she alright?"

Hezekiah's "Yes," Came out the same time Alexander's "She's not," Did.

He watched as the dark skinned muscular man turned to the blond haired one, his face holding a pleading look though Alexander didn't bother to look at him as he said, his voice curt, "The Doctor said that Alex has been suffering from— From painful headaches for a while. Do you know if that's true?"

Marcos gave a small nod, his eyes moving from Hezekiah to Alexander as he answered, "S-She used to take her pills for that. That they were like migraines and she needed them. Sometimes she took more than necessary, but she swore she would stop. She promised—" His heart lurched and he choked on his words, the rest coming out in a flush. "Is that what happened? Did she overdose again and it's affecting her?"

"She didn't take any drugs," Alexander replied.

Marcos stared, his eyes blinking. "What?"

"It seems like the... Migraines had been going on for some months and she had refused to take them," Alexander's face stayed impassive but it was clear from the way he was speaking he was shaken as well. "The Doctor thinks— He says, when the pain seemed too much for her, she was about to cave in and take some but... But her body couldn't take the strain anymore and she fell, hitting her head somewhere hard in the process."

She has been refusing to take her drugs? Why—?

Marcos paused. Alex was afraid she would overdose. That— That had to be the only reason. That— That perhaps, if they were getting better. She wanted to be too.

He looked up at them now, "But she didn't pass out immediately, she called me—"

Hezekiah turned to him now, his attention now high and alert as he asked "What did she say?'

Marcos stared at him, his lips quivering, "She said that she loved me," His hand shaking. "U-Us, B-But she's— She's acting different and I don't—"

"Retrograde amnesia,"

Marcos turned to Alexander, his breath feeling like it had been knocked out. "What?"

"It means she has lost some memories before the amnesia," Paris answered, stepping up beside Marcos. His jaw remained clenched, his green eyes now looking like green hard stones. "Am I correct?"

Hezekiah nodded, his hand moving out to brush the beards on his chin. "Yes. And this memories... Are about two or three years behind."

"T-Three years—"

"Alexandra was once in a minor accident with her Father and— Adriana, when she was fifteen. Nothing major, just the car swerving off the road and her hitting her head on the car window," Alexander stated. "Apparently, Alex never remembered this happening and it used to be a cause of concern but now—"

"Her memory resumes from that point," Paris completed, his eyes glancing between the both of them. "So you're saying she thinks she was in a car accident? How does Alia fit in this?"

"They were childhood friends, and Alex kept asking for her after she woke up. I didn't think— I didn't know they had something going on before they stopped talking," Hezekiah stated, his frown deepening.

"So she doesn't remember me?" Marcos asked. A tear dropping on his cheek. "Any— Anything about me?"

"She doesn't remember me either," Alexander let out a sarcastic laugh, his hand moving to his hair. "After everything."

"Happy two year anniversary."

"Eros. Because you're the God of Desire."

"I love you. How do you not see it?"

"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen,"

"Did the Doctor say we can get the memories back?" Paris asked. Marcos could sense the franticness in his voice as he did so. "What we have to do—"

Hezekiah frowned at him. "We're not getting them back." Paris paused, his eyebrow raising, Marcos looking at him as he continued, his eyes eyes turning back to Alex that was laughing at something Alia said, "It's better this way. This— This is a blessing. It's best she forgets."

"That's—" The hardness in Paris' eyes suddenly melted, his voice coming out weaker than he had sounded all day. "You don't have a right to choose that."

Hezekiah didn't bother to look at him, his hand rightening around the head of his stick. "I'm her Father—"

"When have you ever been a Father to her?" Paris snapped.

Hezekiah's eyes immediately turned to him, his eyes holding a darkness in them as he hissed, "How dare you speak to me in such a tone?"

"You left your daughter in the hands of a woman that abused and hurt her. Constantly. And you speak of being a Father to her?"

Marcos felt his stomach lurch, the foods inside him threatening to pour out as he held unto the male's arm. "Paris—"

"No, I'm not done." Paris snapped, though he didn't let go of Marcos, his eyes still on Hezekiah. "Alex has gone through shit, and you want her to forget how she survived through it?"

"She doesn't need to remember!" Hezekiah suddenly yelled then let out a sigh, his next words coming out cracked. As he spoke, he looked older than his actual age. Whatever bravado he was putting on fading away. "I-I made a mistake. I hurt my family. I destroyed it, and there's no day I don't hate myself for it. You t-think I didn't try? Do you

know Alex at all? Everytime I tried, she violently cut me off. She swore that I'd never see her again and I couldn't let t-that happen."

"My daughter was the happiest child in the world," His eyes looked cloudy, his face twisted. "She was brave, and smart. And she never ever had to hate anyone. Yes, I shouldn't have— Have lied for this long. I know that, and I've tried making up for it but when I look at Alex, I know I can't fix it. I've been to wars, I've fought people. I've seen darkness and faced it. And yet, I—" He took in a breath, a fake chuckle leaving his lips. "I can't face Alex. She has— She has scars that would never go away. Demons that she can never get rid of her. My daughter— My daughter suffers everyday and there's nothing I could do about it, and now, my daughter for the first time in years, looks— Looks like she can finally breathe. Like she's free from everything tying her town. And you want me to let her remember that?"

Marcos turned to the room, his breath hitching. Hezekiah— Hezekiah was right. Alex... There was a new glow to her, he had noticed it too as well. She seemed... Different. But free.

Just like how she did with him and Paris. Except— Except she was only that way with them. He knew when she was alone, she fought many things. Suffered. But if she couldn't— Couldn't remember that...

Paris on the other hand seemed to be piecing the same thing Marcos was as he began to stammer, his tone hurt and angry at the same time. "You— You still have no fucking choice—"

"You know it's best," Hezekiah said, looking at both of them. "There are things— That I know we all wish she doesn't remember,"

Him leaving her alone with Adriana.

Paris planning to use her.

Marcos hurting her.

Adriana abusing her.

"So we just do what?" Marcos looked at him, a stiff chuckle leaving his lips. "Stay away from her?"

"Yes. If you truly loved her, you'd let her go. You'd let her be happy. She deserves that."

Let her go.

Marcos nodded, his hand clenching into a fist before he suddenly turned away, his feet walking fast till he was outside, far away from the hospital, his arms around his body, his hand digging into them as he let everything he had been holding out.

The pain erupted out, screams leaving his lips as the realization hit him more and more.

Alex doesn't know who I am. She doesn't remember anything about us. She doesn't remember holding me. She doesn't remember kissing me. She doesn't remember singing to me. She doesn't remember making love to me. She doesn't remember saving me.

Warm hands wrapped themselves around his body, holding him before he could fall to the ground, Paris whispering into his ear. "Marcos. Marcos, please, calm down—"

"Calm down?" Marcos cut in, pushing himself out of Paris' grasp so he could look at him. His face was completely red. His face teary. "H-How can I—? We've— we've been through so many things together. Three years. All of it gone. Do you understand that?"

The dark haired male looked exactly the same way he did. Except he looked like he was about to explode, his words coming out in hurt breaths as he asked, "Do I understand? No. Of course not. I never knew her the way you did, but I hoped that I would. Unlike you, I was never lucky to know her for a year. I was never lucky enough to get her to be mine for that long. I was never lucky enough to be loved by as long as you were? Fuck, Marcos. Our relationship was just beginning. And—" Then he laughed. "And now, it's practically non existent, but—"

Paris looked at him, his face soft. "She wouldn't want us regretting anything. Right now. I'm having so many what ifs. So many choices I wish I made. That I never left her. That I fucking forced myself to stay. That we stayed. But if— If we keep sticking to the past, we'd never go as far as she wanted for us."

"But what's the point if she's not there, Paris?"

"She was teaching us how to live without her. Fuck, maybe she knew this would happen. Maybe she could tell. I don't fucking know what goes on in that head of hers, but we can't go back. She— She has a chance to forget every thing she's gone through. Every pain. She's cared for us. Put us before her many times. This— This is our turn, Marcos."

O-Our turn?

The brown eyed male felt himself sniff, his hand moving to his face so he could wipe his nose as he asked, "B-But I don't know... I don't know if I can do that, Paris. I don't think—"

The words cut off as the green eyed male was holding him again, this time, Marcos' face was pressed to his chest as he said, "You won't have to do it alone. I'd always be here. I promise,"

~

My heart literally screamed as I wrote this chapter. Like it fought to get out of my chest and just leave me to die without it.