The Truth Hurts

13 │love hurts

With his head buried into his palm, Marc's dreary eyes stare forward at his open laptop. His room is dark, the only light coming from the screen that is cast upon him. It's clear that he hasn't gotten much sleep in the past few days, like many of his friends.

He lifts his head up, a thought suddenly reviving him, and sits up in his chair. He leans forward and begins to type away at his keyboard when he hears the muffled sound of his dog barking through his bedroom door. Rubbing at his eyes, he sighs as he reaches over to shut the laptop screen.

Writer's block is hard enough without something interrupting you every second.

Marc gets to his feet and opens his door, stepping out into the narrow hallway. His house is fairly small but neatly organized with decent furniture. Someone knocks at the door again, and his dog continues to bark.

"Coming!" He hollers, walking past the entrance to the kitchen and turns left to face the front door. A thin figure is cast through the door's window, but hardly recognizable through the textured glass. Nash, a small German Shepherd no more than a few months old, scratches at the bottom of the door. His coat is mostly black, with brown fur covering the sides of his face down to his chest. He continues to bark, his tail wagging crazily in the air.

About two months ago, Marc had surprised Taylor and took her out to Riverside Lake for a picnic to celebrate their four year anniversary. Everything was going great and, after a few glasses of cheap wine, they ended up swimming in the lake. They returned from the water to find a small puppy, too young to be out on its own, sniffing through their things and devouring what was left of their food. There was a camouflage collar on him but no name tag. After a few days of knocking on doors and stapling fliers on street posts, he decided to take him in. That's how they met Nash.

"Hush, Nash. Get back." He says, lightly pushing him away from the door with his foot as he turns the knob and pulls the door open.

He sticks his head through the cracked door and Taylor shoots him a wave from his porch, smiling nervously.

"Hey." Marc shakes his head, startled. He squeezes through the crack, trying not to let Nash out, and shuts the door behind him just before the dog could barge through.

"Hi."

The two stand in an awkward silence for a moment. He stares intensely at her, not to intimidate but rather because it's been a while since he has seen or even heard from her. He's not used to her absence, even just for one day.

"How are things?" He asks, not knowing what to say or where to start.

"I'm sorry. Sorry that I've been ignoring you." Taylor dives into the real matter. "I know I've been distant lately..."

He shakes his head as he approaches her, arms outstretched as if he's about to go in for a hug. "You don't owe me an apology."

Crossing her arms, she takes a step back and he stops. "Yes I do. And I owe you an explanation."

"Okay." He lowers his arms. "Which is?"

"There's something I want to tell you. I just—I don't know exactly how to say it."

"Just tell me. Whatever it is, I'm sure we can work through it. We'll figure it out, like we always have."

Taylor's eyes begin to water as she hears Nash barking from the other side of the door. He continues to scratch at the bottom of the door with his paws, and she thinks about that day at the lake where they first found him.

Four years. They have been together for over four years. Maybe she should tell him. Maybe he'll understand and even try to help her any way he can. What if all this time she has been looking about it the wrong way and the more people, people that they can trust, involved is a good thing? Safety in numbers, right? If that's the case, then Casey should give Riley a chance. They should tell her everything too.

But, then again, getting them involved poses a huge risk. Not for Taylor, but for everyone around her. She may have already dug her grave, but is it really fair to drag others down with her?

Marc reaches out to touch her hand. "Taylor, please talk to me."

"I don't love you anymore."

"What?" His voice is shaken. He retracts his hand and quickly takes a step back, his head shaking in denial as if the words she just said were a figment of his own imagination playing some kind of cruel joke.

Her heart is pounding. She struggles to continue talking, forcing the words up through her throat. Tears fill her eyes but she glances up at the sky to avoid crying. "We should break up."

"Taylor—" He stops, not sure what to say.

Arms still crossed, she clenches onto her biceps hoping that he doesn't notice her hands trembling. "Bye, Marc."

Taylor quickly turns to walk down the steps of the porch and, when she does, tears immediately come flooding down her cheeks. She walks down the sidewalk straight for her car.

Following her, Marc stops the second his feet hit the sidewalk and watches her walk away in disbelief. "Taylor!"

She ignores him, or tries to, as she approaches her car. Her eyes gaze up at her reflection staring back at her with disgust in her eyes.

The engine rattles as she turns the key and pulls the car away from the curb, driving down the small street toward the stop sign. She glances up to see Marc, still standing on the sidewalk, as he diminishes into a distant blur in the rearview mirror.

Still distraught, Marc lets himself fall down into his computer chair and stares blankly at the desk in front of him. He slams his closed fists against his desk and scares Nash, whose tail lowers as he whimpers off down the hallway. He wipes at the tears on his cheek and reaches over to flick on the lamp, revealing various papers and pictures scattered across his desk surrounding his laptop.

One is a newspaper clipping detailing the bus accident and its victim, Daniel. Another newspaper article about Daniel's funeral is cut out near it. He reaches down to push the article aside, revealing several pictures of the flipped bus underneath it. The pictures were taken during the day from a distance, right behind orange cones and yellow caution tape, the day after the accident when Shady Grove had been temporarily closed down.

He picks up one of the pictures taken from the front side of the bus and stares at the broken windows near the driver's seat. Slowly, he runs his finger across the windows as he notices the small detail of blood on them from where Garrett's hand had smeared against the glass.

Marc tosses the photograph back onto the table and opens his laptop. The screen lights up and he hunches over the table's edge as he begins to vigorously type at the keyboard.

♫ sᴍᴏᴋᴇ ғɪʟʟᴇᴅ ʀᴏᴏᴍ (ᴀᴄᴏᴜsᴛɪᴄ) / ᴍᴀᴋᴏ ♫