Markiplier Imagines

98 // It's Not Easy

this is two different writing styles and it's actually infuriating.

"I can't be here, with you," he whispered, placing his hand against the doorknob. 

"What do you mean?"

"I can't do this, y/n. You know there's someone else back home, and I can't keep lying to her about everything."

"But," you tried to say.

"I know. I know what I said, but I," he hesitated, looking up and letting out a huff, "it was only in the heat of the moment."

"You," you whispered, trying to form more than just a word. "So, you meant nothing? You only lied to me, just to make me happy?"

"I– Yeah."

"Well," you gruffly whispered, straightening your posture and clearing your throat. "Then," you looked away, letting out a breath, "leave. Go to the one you love." A fake smile forced its way onto your lips, like a child forced into looking nice just for the picture.

"Yeah. Uh," he swallowed, twisting the knob, "bye."

A quick nod from you is what saw him out, and as soon as the door shut, you let out a hard sigh. Running a hand through your hair, you began to think about everything that'd just happened. He just left, he said that he had someone back home that he couldn't lie to anymore – which you knew, and then, although repeating yourself isn't something you like to do, he just left.

Another hair tug, another sigh, another crack in your heart. 

"Of course," you mumbled. "Of fucking course it wouldn't work out. Why the hell would it? It's not like he actually loved me. I'm just the side bitch."

You weren't going to resort to anything, you weren't going to cry. You weren't going to crawl to him, you weren't going to whine.

You were going to move on with life, you were going to go find someone who loved you, and you were going to live out your days happy. Not fucking sad because some shithead dude can't make up his mind.

Shaking your head and squeezing your eyes shut, you walked to your room and sat in bed, fiddling with your fingers. 

"I have to move on. It'll be okay. Just move on from being the side piece."

──

"Hey," you whispered, tracing random patterns on your boyfriend's chest.

"Hey," he whispered back, running his hands through your hair.

"I have an, uh, old friend asking me if he'd like to meet up at the café just down the road. I'm gonna go, but I just thought I'd let you know."

"Okay," his hand stopped moving and tugged you a bit closer, "just don't let him get any ideas, yeah?"

"Yeah," you smiled. Placing a kiss on his chest, you pulled yourself out of bed, letting him know that you'd need to be getting ready. He rolled over, nodding and drifting off to sleep. You let a content sigh escape your lips, going into the bathroom and readying yourself for the meetup that was to ensue in a few hours.

As you put a minimal amount of makeup, you started to think about why he wanted to meet up with you again. Maybe he was dumped. Maybe he was the one to dump. Maybe he was just going to rub it in your face that he had moved past you. Maybe he was going to say that he still loved you. Maybe he was just going to act like you were old friends again.

Either way it went, nothing was going to be easy. You'd still have that pure hatred in your heart for him, you'd still think about the day he left you, basically claiming you as the side bitch.