Markiplier Imagines

96 // Unsteady

You sat on the bed you shared with your husband, arms wrapped around your calves and tears sliding down your cheeks. Your head wasn't buried into your knees, no, you were looking straight ahead of you with no intention of looking away. He was standing there, your husband, a sad look on his face, but he wasn't moving. 

He was staying where he was and staring. He was staring at you like you were some piece of artwork that meant everything and anything in the world.

Why wasn't he moving? Why did he have his hand stretched out as if he wanted to hold you, but he wasn't actually walking toward you? His face wasn't changing either, but he still stood.

His mouth didn't move, his hands didn't waver, and his chest didn't heave. He wasn't doing anything. He just.. was. He was reminding you, trying to get you off the bed, trying to get you out somewhere. As you let out a shaky breath, his figure drifted away, as if dust particles had been blown away by the whipping wind.

You stared down the now empty, small hallway that led to the bathroom and exit to the bedroom. You moved one arm from around your legs and wiped the tears from your cheeks and under your eyes, letting out another shaky breath. The ring he gave you still sat on its rightful finger, reminding you, trying to get you out of the room, away from the pain.

It didn't work.

You wanted to feel his arms again, you wanted to hear his voice in the middle of the night again. You wanted to have him again. But you couldn't. Things didn't work out that way, and you weren't sure they ever would.

Slowly blinking, you looked over to his still standing recording corner, seeing him sitting there with a smile and his headphones on. Again, his mouth wasn't moving, his hands weren't wavering, and his chest wasn't heaving. Your eyes started to water again, your vision blurring as you looked away from the scene. When you looked back, he wasn't there anymore.

Sighing, you sniffled and stretched out your legs, looking out the window and onto the night sky. There weren't any stars out tonight, but there was a crescent moon and clouds. Pushing yourself off the bed, you remained silent and went over to the window, opening it so you could feel the gentle caress of the nightly air.

As you closed your eyes, you felt the ghostly touch of his hands on your waist and his chin on your shoulder, looking upon the beauty alongside you. He wasn't moving, his hands weren't heavy, and his chest was the weight of a feather on your back.

You looked to your right and watched his figure fade away like he had all of the previous times. Gazing at your joined hands resting on the windowsill, you watched as teardrop after teardrop splattered on your wrists and fingers.

You couldn't stop the tears, you couldn't stop the memories, you could only live through them. But you wanted him back. You wanted to hear his jokes again, to get tingles down your back as he lightly trailed his finger down your spine, rub your thumbs across his calloused palm in the middle of the night and know that he was all yours.

That was nothing but a wish, a thoughtful pain you wanted. The times you remembered were so long ago, when the both of you were so innocent and naive to what was going to happen. When you saw the world in a perfect light because of all the happiness you felt with one another.

No one brought him up around you, anymore. They knew the wound would never heal, and it'd be like pouring gallons of salt on top of it. But you wanted them to talk about him. You wanted them to remember him with you, think about all of the things he was able to do for this world. But what you needed was him. 

You needed to be able to run your fingers through his faded red hair again, you needed to be able to tell him to make sure he shaved so he didn't look like a bear who just came out of hibernation, you needed to be able to say you loved him.

But that was never going to happen. He wasn't going to come back to you like it was all some big prank and he never even left.

Sniffling, you withdrew from your spot in the window and walked into the bathroom, seeing him standing there with a white marker in his hand, leaning over the sink. His marker was right on top of the words he wrote to you as a surprise for your birthday. Of course, those words' paint was faded and cracked, but it still meant the world to you to see it.

His face reflected in the mirror, although blurry and not completely vivid, was that of concentration as he ended the last swirl of the word. The bottom of his top row of teeth was showing just above his bottom lip, the freckles on his chin stretched up a bit. He didn't move, though. His eyes didn't dart to you in the reflection, his fingers didn't twitch to adjust the grip on his white marker, and his chest didn't move.

You walked to the side of the memory before you, reaching out to touch him, but watching as he crumbled away in the non-existent wind. Holding your elbows and looking at your reflection in the mirror, you noticed there wasn't completeness. There was no sense of wholeness whatsoever in the picture presented before you. You weren't, and never would be, completed anymore.

You started to tear up again, the knot in the back of your throat starting to form once more.

Even more tears, even more pain, even more memories. They all stacked up. They all smacked you in the face.

When you walked back out to the bedroom and glanced toward the bed you were once perched on, you saw your final memory of him. He was lying there, his head resting on his bicep and his other arm on his hip. He wasn't breathing, his thoughts had stopped.

Then, you saw yourself. You saw the memory play out in front of you like a movie.

You walked over to him, nudging his shoulder and saying his name, but not getting any response. The look on your younger selves face was that of confusion, so you watched as she turned him over, shaking him again. When he didn't respond the second time, she placed her head on his chest, expecting him to be playing with her.

But he wasn't. You could remember the utter, heartbreaking silence that emitted from his chest. His heartbeat was gone. She then raced to the phone sitting in the bathroom, dialing 911 and telling them what was happening, all the while trying to get him to wake up.

The memory ended there, as you had closed your eyes and looked away. You didn't want to think about it, but you knew what happened.

His heart stopped. He died in his sleep.

Looking down and beginning to hear the pounding of your own heartbeat in your head and the silence of the room around you, you broke. You fell to your knees and sobbed into your palms. You could feel the cool metal of your ring on your forehead, you could hear the white noise, you knew all of this was real.

All of this had been real. The love of your life died. You couldn't stop it. You heard his heartbeat one minute, and the next time you saw him, it had stopped.

You could feel your own pulse quickening as you sobbed harder and harder, your head pounding to the point of utter pain. It was drowning everything else out – the hurt, the sorrow, the noise, the love, everything. You couldn't do anything but experience the feeling of fading away.