mark me in your heart ↷ mark lee

epilogue

Your eyes fluttered open at the sound of chirping birds outside your window. From the way the room was illuminated and from the shadows that formed behind every object, you could tell that it was only a few minutes after sunrise, and the bright orange sun confirmed your speculation.

With your eyes still half-open, you stretched your arms above your head and groaned, a soft yawn leaving your pouty lips. You then shifted between the sheets, turning your body to the other side of the bed, moving your arms around in search of the drug dealer's toned body, the one that hugged you tight to sleep.

"Good morning, Markie" you mumbled, still half asleep. You rested your head on the pillow, still patting the mattress when you couldn't sense the male beside you. Your eyes widened in an instant and your body quickly adjusted to the awake state. You were focused on the other side of the bed, where the boy you spent the previous night with would be lying sound asleep. Instead, you were met with nothing but tangled bedsheets.

"Mark?" you called again, in hopes that maybe he was in the bathroom and he couldn't hear you. No response.

You yanked the sheets off you and rushed to the bathroom, opening the squeaky door with more force than you intended. "Mark?" you called, but the calling was in vain.

Maybe he went down to the diner to get us breakfast, you thought. It was still very early in the morning, but the diner never closed during the night, so there might be some leftovers or, if you were lucky, some fresh food at this hour.

So you decided to wait for him, thinking that his whereabouts were probably the old diner. Since you were now fully awake, you decided to take a shower and change into some fresh clothes. It will only be a few minutes, Mark will probably be back by the time I'm finished, you thought.

So you hopped into the shower, letting the warm water fall down your tense shoulders in order to ease your nerves and help your body physically relax. Your mind brought up the memories of the previous night you spent with Mark. You thought about the cop that came to the bar, you thought about the fact that Mark was in serious danger, you thought about your argument with him and how you made up afterwards by having steamy sex, just like every other time.

You didn't know how to label your relationship with Mark, or whatever you had with him. He was more than a friend but less than a lover. He protected you, cared for you, helped you with any troubles you had and was always there for you, whatever it took for him. And what did you do for him in return? Nothing.

You did absolutely nothing, at least nothing that could compare to what he did for you. And you hated yourself for not being able to pull him out of his misery, even for the slightest bit, when he could even go as far as to move mountains just to see you crack a smile.

You didn't deserve him; yet you were too selfish to let him go. He was a soul that wanted to fly and be free, but his wings were weighed down by your annoying fears and anxieties for the unknown.

The water dripping down your body suddenly turned cold and you immediately turned off the faucet and ran out of the shower, wiping your body dry with a towel. There was still no sight of Mark, so you quickly put on some fresh clothes and searched throughout the room in order to find your phone and call him.

Your eyes scanned every corner of the room where you could have possibly left your phone, when your gaze dropped to the wooden chair across the bed, the one where Mark usually sat when he played the guitar, only to find a folded piece of paper.

You stepped closer to the chair, picking up the piece of paper and turning it around. With shaky hands, you slowly unfolded it and a shiny bright red guitar pick fell on the floor. You picked it up, bringing it closer to your eye only to recognize it as one of Mark's favorite ones.

You held the pick between your fingers and sat down at the wooden chair, looking at the wrinkly piece of paper. Written with a dark pencil, you recognized the sloppy handwriting and the small neat letters as none other than Mark's and you couldn't help but feel your eyes sting in threatening tears as you slowly read and processed each heartfelt word he wrote:

Dear Y/n,

You're probably reading this because you can't see me in your room. But don't bother look, because I have already left for a better, safer life and I won't be coming back.

So here's everything I couldn't bring myself to say last night.

I love you deeply, Y/n. And I know your feelings towards me differ from my feelings towards you, but I'm not scared to hide it. You're afraid of the power your heart holds and I understand that. For that, I will give you time, as much as you need to learn how to use this power.

I don't know if I am a strong man or a coward for leaving; that I'm not sure of. But what I'm sure of is my life, and right now my life is in danger. I always spoke to you about how I wanted to have a normal life, to escape from this hell hole and build a different path for me.

Most importantly, I wanted to build this path with you. You're the only thing that made this hell hole bearable, the only thing that gave me purpose, the thing that made my life have a meaning.

But I took some time to think and I realized that I can't force you to follow the same path as me, no matter how much I need you or how much I want only what's best for you.

So I left. I left to build this new path and I will try as hard as I can. I don't care if I fail, because I know I can keep on trying and, no matter where you are, just the thought of you gives me strength.

I'm leaving you a piece of me behind though. My favorite guitar pick. I want you to have it. You can keep it, burn it, destroy it, I don't care what you'll do with it. I just want you to have something to remember me, something that means to me as much as you do.

So, for the meantime, mark me in your heart like I have marked you in mine, and think about what makes you truly happy. If you ever change your mind, you already know where to find me.

Your beloved,

- M.