Don't Leave (JeanMarco)

Chapter 12

Chapter 12

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Jean's POV

        "Wh- what?" I stood back up. Marco moved his hands away from his face. 

        "I mean, Jean, I love you. I love you more than anything too. I want to say yes, I really do. But I'm still imperfect. I'm missing a fucking leg for pete's sake." he started crying again. I sat on the bed and wrapped my arms around him. 

        "Marco, I don't care about your leg. I just want to be here for you. I love you, okay?" I started tearing up myself. 

        "I'm still viewed as an outcast. No matter how hard I ever try to be normal again, I won't ever be. And it terrifies me that you would be seen as just the husband of the disabled guy. Jean, I just can't." he stood up. I grabbed his arm and pulled him into a kiss. 

        "I don't give a shit about what other people see us as. It only matters to me that I'm with you." Marco pushed me away again. He walked into the bathroom and grabbed his sleeping pills.

        "Jean, I still love you. And I don't want to break up, but I'm going to go to a hotel for the night. Refresh my mind and I'll be back tomorrow. Okay?" he shut the door in the bathroom. After maybe 7 minutes I heard a toilet flush and he came out again, still in tears. 

        "It's going to be okay, I just need a quick break." he grabbed the keys and left. Without another word, he left. 

        God, I hated him sometimes. I sat on the floor where I was standing. I wrapped my arms around my knees. i wanted to cry. Every part of me wanted to break down, and feel weaker than I already did; only I couldn't. My heart was breaking on the inside, and I wasn't reacting. I hated myself. I wanted to die. 

        I wanted to be able to hate Marco. To absolutely despise him for breaking my heart.

        Only I couldn't. 

        I still loved him with every part of my being. He could hate me to infinity and beyond for all I cared. I loved him, and that wasn't about to change. 

        But if he loved me... why did he leave?

        He didn't love me. It was as simple as that. It was the thought of Marco really hating me that eventually got to me. I broke down, sobbing into my knees. He could lose both of his legs, and I wouldn't love him any less. Nothing that he could do would make me love him any less than I do now. 

        And because I couldn't make that clear, I hated myself. I could kill myself right now. Marco wouldn't care, seeing as he left when I fucking proposed. Without Marco, I had nothing to live for. 

        I could just do it...

        I wouldn't. On the off chance that Marco did ever love me back again, I would want to be there to love him too. 

        I sat there in a puddle of my own tears, unable to move. Like a butterfly with its wings torn off. 

        When I finally gathered the courage to get off the floor, I walked to the bathroom. One of Marco's shirts was on the floor and I grabbed it. I put the lid down on the toilet and sat down. Marco's shirt still smelled like him even caked in my tears. 

        I was about to leave when a paper caught my eye. Sitting on the edge of the sink was a neatly folded piece of notebook paper with my name written in the corner. I threw the shirt on the ground and grabbed the paper. 

        Marco left me a letter. He left me a fucking letter. He wrote me a damn letter instead of talking to me. I felt sick to my stomach imagining something that Marco had to write down instead of tell me. 

        I read it. 

        I cried as hard as I have ever before. 

        I dialed Marco's number as fast as I ever have before. 

(A/N: Okay, so tomorrow I'll publish a shorter chapter called Marco's Note. I already have it written, and I still have to type it. I actually cried while writing it, so I'm really sorry.)