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"What...do you want, Mark?"
His eyes were hollow, with deep shadows underneath. Like he hadn't slept in days. Mark wasn't sure if he felt pity or...anger? Somehow, seeing him this broken, this empty, made him even angrier. How dare he try to make him feel for him. As if he were the victim here.
"What do I want? What I want is to be able to live my fucking life and not be flinching at every shadow. I want to not have to live in fear of you showing up and hurting the people I care about. The people I love."
Mark felt the tears in his eyes and he didn't bother trying to stop them. If there was one person who needed to see exactly what he did to people, it was Damien. But he just stood there in his shitty motel room, with his dirty jeans and his greasy hair, staring at him with dead, unseeing eyes. Like this fight was happening to him, instead of because of him.
Mark took a few steps forward, shoving his finger into his chest.
"What I want is for you to fuck off somewhere where none of us will ever have to deal with you again. After that, I don't give a fuck what you do."
Damien winced, but didn't back away, didn't break eye contact.
"...Okay. Okay, if that's...really what you want." His voice was strained, but it wasn't enough. Mark wanted him to hurt, dammit. Hurt like he'd hurt him, hurt everyone. As much as he hated thinking about it, Mark knew they had some kind of fucked up thing between them. He'd felt it in the way he'd looked at him during their crappy takeout dinners, glances lingering just too long to be nonchalant. He'd heard that weird tone in his voice when he'd call him honey or sweetheart like some old-timey gangster, trying to pass it off as ironic. He didn't know exactly what his feelings for him were, but he knew could make this hurt him.
"Yeah, it is. You know why? Because you're fucked up, Damien. After all the time I've had to spend with you, I'm surprised more people haven't tried to bash your head in."
Mark was in his face now, watching hungrily for a reaction.
"I don't know if you were getting off on playing house all that time, or what, but just thinking about it makes me fucking sick. I can't believe you called me, on your fucking birthday-"
Damien inhaled sharply at that.
"-like we were old friends or something. How fucked in the head do you have to be to manipulate someone and take advantage of them when they physically can't defend themselves and then expect them to give a fuck about your pathetic life? I wish it had been me instead of Caleb who got to beat the shit out of you."
"What the fuck are you doing?" Damien whispered, his breathing ragged. His face was crumpled inwards like someone had kicked it, and he looked close to tears.
Finally.
"Why are you doing this? If you want me to go I'll fucking go, Jesus, I said I'd go, what the fuck else do you want from me? Can't you see I'm fucking..." His voice broke as he passed a hand over his face, trying to keep it together. "Can't you see I'm trying to be better?"
Mark scoffed. "Better? What about this is-"
(He doesn't have anyone else.)
(That's his own goddamn fault. He drives everyone away.)
(He doesn't have anything now.)
(It's what he deserves.)
"Please, Mark...say something."
(Well, Christ, I don't want him to kill himself.)
(Are you sure?)
Mark sighed.
"Damien, I...I don't know what to say. I wish..."
Anything he could say to finish that sentence would be too gentle for him, but he could feel his resolve fading. Mark was suddenly so tired. Damien just kept looking at him like a wounded creature, and Mark just wasn't that cruel. He couldn't be. Even after everything.
"I wish things were different." He said honestly.
"Just...tell me what to do to make it different. Please. I'll do anything. If you really want me to go away, then..."
Mark swallowed. "I think that would be for the best. But...fuck." He groaned, running a hand through his hair. "I...I hate this about myself, but I don't even know if that's what I want anymore."
"...Why not? I mean...what would make you want me to stay?"
Mark looked at him, struggling to put it together. "I...I guess part of me still...wants..." He shook his head, averting his gaze.
They were both silent for a while. Finally, Damien looked up at Mark.
"Did you...really mean all those things you said?" His voice shook a little, failing to sound conversational.
Mark sighed again, rubbing his eyes. That tremble in his voice had crumbled any remaining resolve. How could he hurt someone who was so fragile?
"No, I...of course I didn't. Not all of it, at least. I...I was really fucked up when Caleb hurt you. I can't exactly blame him but...I never wanted to see you hurt like that. And I...don't think you're pathetic for calling me. It must be a hard time for you, your birthday. I just..." If he was going to break, he might as well just be honest. Mark mentally cursed himself for having inherited none of his sister's strength of conviction.
"I wanted to make you feel bad. But me hurting you doesn't solve anything. It just makes me feel like shit. I don't know how you make it look so easy."
Damien actually looked stung. "You know I don't...I never wanted to hurt you, Mark. I wouldn't..."
"Well, you did, Damien." Mark said simply.
"...I'm sorry." Damien muttered.
He looked so small. An actual apology had to be progress, right? Maybe he's been punished enough? Or maybe Mark was just exhausted enough not to care. He definitely wasn't ready to forgive him. But it's hard to stay angry at something that isn't fighting back.
Before Mark knew what he was doing, he'd closed the gap between them to wrap his arms around Damien. It felt too intimate. Mark knew it was inappropriate for what their relationship was. But Damien had looked so small and brittle, and he needed someone, and he needed him. After all the emotional strain of this day Mark's body instinctively reached for something stable and warm.
Damien stiffened as he touched him, but as soon as he realized he wasn't being strangled or grappled to the floor, he relaxed into the embrace, burying his face into Mark's shoulder, his hands coming to rest on his back. Mark heard him sniffle, and soon Damien's body was shaking, sobbing openly into his jacket.
"I'm so fucking sorry, Mark. For everything."
And Mark believed him.
His eyes were hollow, with deep shadows underneath. Like he hadn't slept in days. Mark wasn't sure if he felt pity or...anger? Somehow, seeing him this broken, this empty, made him even angrier. How dare he try to make him feel for him. As if he were the victim here.
"What do I want? What I want is to be able to live my fucking life and not be flinching at every shadow. I want to not have to live in fear of you showing up and hurting the people I care about. The people I love."
Mark felt the tears in his eyes and he didn't bother trying to stop them. If there was one person who needed to see exactly what he did to people, it was Damien. But he just stood there in his shitty motel room, with his dirty jeans and his greasy hair, staring at him with dead, unseeing eyes. Like this fight was happening to him, instead of because of him.
Mark took a few steps forward, shoving his finger into his chest.
"What I want is for you to fuck off somewhere where none of us will ever have to deal with you again. After that, I don't give a fuck what you do."
Damien winced, but didn't back away, didn't break eye contact.
"...Okay. Okay, if that's...really what you want." His voice was strained, but it wasn't enough. Mark wanted him to hurt, dammit. Hurt like he'd hurt him, hurt everyone. As much as he hated thinking about it, Mark knew they had some kind of fucked up thing between them. He'd felt it in the way he'd looked at him during their crappy takeout dinners, glances lingering just too long to be nonchalant. He'd heard that weird tone in his voice when he'd call him honey or sweetheart like some old-timey gangster, trying to pass it off as ironic. He didn't know exactly what his feelings for him were, but he knew could make this hurt him.
"Yeah, it is. You know why? Because you're fucked up, Damien. After all the time I've had to spend with you, I'm surprised more people haven't tried to bash your head in."
Mark was in his face now, watching hungrily for a reaction.
"I don't know if you were getting off on playing house all that time, or what, but just thinking about it makes me fucking sick. I can't believe you called me, on your fucking birthday-"
Damien inhaled sharply at that.
"-like we were old friends or something. How fucked in the head do you have to be to manipulate someone and take advantage of them when they physically can't defend themselves and then expect them to give a fuck about your pathetic life? I wish it had been me instead of Caleb who got to beat the shit out of you."
"What the fuck are you doing?" Damien whispered, his breathing ragged. His face was crumpled inwards like someone had kicked it, and he looked close to tears.
Finally.
"Why are you doing this? If you want me to go I'll fucking go, Jesus, I said I'd go, what the fuck else do you want from me? Can't you see I'm fucking..." His voice broke as he passed a hand over his face, trying to keep it together. "Can't you see I'm trying to be better?"
Mark scoffed. "Better? What about this is-"
"Yeah, better!" Damien interjected. "Whether you want to see it or not, I am trying to be better! You came into my fucking home and told me to leave it and I said okay!" He was alive now, screaming, full of hurt and rage. So much more like the Damien Mark remembered.
"If you told me to leave the fucking country, I'd say okay. If you told me to jump off a goddamn bridge, at this fucking point, power or no, I'd fucking do it! Because it's what you fucking want, Mark." He stopped, taking a few shuddering breaths. Mark stood very still, trying not to process everything all at once, because then he would have to feel something about it, and he couldn't afford that just now.
(He doesn't have anyone else.)
(That's his own goddamn fault. He drives everyone away.)
(He doesn't have anything now.)
(It's what he deserves.)
"Please, Mark...say something."
(Well, Christ, I don't want him to kill himself.)
(Are you sure?)
Mark sighed.
"Damien, I...I don't know what to say. I wish..."
Anything he could say to finish that sentence would be too gentle for him, but he could feel his resolve fading. Mark was suddenly so tired. Damien just kept looking at him like a wounded creature, and Mark just wasn't that cruel. He couldn't be. Even after everything.
"I wish things were different." He said honestly.
"Just...tell me what to do to make it different. Please. I'll do anything. If you really want me to go away, then..."
Mark swallowed. "I think that would be for the best. But...fuck." He groaned, running a hand through his hair. "I...I hate this about myself, but I don't even know if that's what I want anymore."
"...Why not? I mean...what would make you want me to stay?"
Mark looked at him, struggling to put it together. "I...I guess part of me still...wants..." He shook his head, averting his gaze.
They were both silent for a while. Finally, Damien looked up at Mark.
"Did you...really mean all those things you said?" His voice shook a little, failing to sound conversational.
Mark sighed again, rubbing his eyes. That tremble in his voice had crumbled any remaining resolve. How could he hurt someone who was so fragile?
"No, I...of course I didn't. Not all of it, at least. I...I was really fucked up when Caleb hurt you. I can't exactly blame him but...I never wanted to see you hurt like that. And I...don't think you're pathetic for calling me. It must be a hard time for you, your birthday. I just..." If he was going to break, he might as well just be honest. Mark mentally cursed himself for having inherited none of his sister's strength of conviction.
"I wanted to make you feel bad. But me hurting you doesn't solve anything. It just makes me feel like shit. I don't know how you make it look so easy."
Damien actually looked stung. "You know I don't...I never wanted to hurt you, Mark. I wouldn't..."
"Well, you did, Damien." Mark said simply.
"...I'm sorry." Damien muttered.
He looked so small. An actual apology had to be progress, right? Maybe he's been punished enough? Or maybe Mark was just exhausted enough not to care. He definitely wasn't ready to forgive him. But it's hard to stay angry at something that isn't fighting back.
Before Mark knew what he was doing, he'd closed the gap between them to wrap his arms around Damien. It felt too intimate. Mark knew it was inappropriate for what their relationship was. But Damien had looked so small and brittle, and he needed someone, and he needed him. After all the emotional strain of this day Mark's body instinctively reached for something stable and warm.
Damien stiffened as he touched him, but as soon as he realized he wasn't being strangled or grappled to the floor, he relaxed into the embrace, burying his face into Mark's shoulder, his hands coming to rest on his back. Mark heard him sniffle, and soon Damien's body was shaking, sobbing openly into his jacket.
"I'm so fucking sorry, Mark. For everything."
And Mark believed him.
