since eighth grade. → markiplier

Chapter Forty-Three: Story Telling

Chapter Forty-Three: Story Telling

Ellie 

With the promise of further contact, Mark and myself have to leave Cincinnati and return to our home in California. Like every other flight, it is long, tiring and leaves me with a stiff neck that aches to be cracked constantly. My face is pressed against Mark's shoulder, my eyelids heavy and drooping. My mouth tastes as if it were stuffed with cotton balls - bland and dry. 

When it is finally time to get off of the plane, I have to blink rapidly, crack my neck and stretch my stiff muscles in hope to wake myself up. I was dreading keeping myself awake tonight in attempt to avoid jet lag, but I knew that, if I wanted to wake up at a normal time, I had to do it. Pawing at my heavy eyes, I forced my legs to cooperate as I walked into the airport. 

"Are you excited?" Mark asks suddenly, throwing my a look. My eyebrows bunch together in confusion, the tiredness causing my memory to lack.

"Hmm? Excited about what, exactly?" I question, lugging my suitcase from the baggage claim, my grip tight on the black, plastic handle. Mark scoffs, running a hand through his tousled hair. 

"Your birthday, silly," He reminds me, causing me to pause for a moment. "You're finally going to be twenty-five. Woo." He says, his enthusiasm fake. 

"Man, we're getting fucking old." I comment, rubbing my hand over my neck. He pokes me in the side, smiling. 

"Hey! Twenty-five is not old."

"Really?" I ask him, cocking my head at an angle toward him. "Just think - it's been twelve years since we first met."

"Okay, that does make me feel old." 

"Exactly." I say, chewing on the inside of my cheek.

"You know, when I was forced to sit next to you in maths, I never thought that, some day in the future, you would be carrying my child." Mark says, just as we step out into a strip of sunlight beaming through the glass doors. The heat is overpowering in comparison to the frosty winter air of Cincinnati. "In fact, I don't think anybody at the age of thirteen thinks that."

"Oh, I beg to differ," I tell him, chuckling a little. "Girls tend to plan out their entire lives at that age."

"Really?"

"What the hell do you think we do with our spare time?"

"Read and write smut?" Mark asks, smirking. 

"Well, if I was introduced to that sort of thing at that age, then I would have probably spent my life doing that, instead." 

"We are not introducing our child to that sort of thing until they are of a suitable age." Mark decides, shaking his head. I lift an eyebrow.

"Ooh, look at you acting all fatherly," I say, smiling at him. I sigh, leaning into him a little. "You're going to be a great dad, Mark."

"I hope so. I mean, I was taught by the best." Mark mutters, his eyes shooting upwards a little, the clouds reflecting into his eyes. He lets out a sigh. "I hope I haven't let him down."

"Mark, I know that your father is more than proud of you. You don't need to worry about him thinking any less of you for making a few mistakes - everybody does that, Mark. Nobody is perfect." I reassure him, giving his arm a squeeze. His shoulders sag in defeat.

"Yeah, I guess. Thanks, Ellie," He tells me, reaching for my hand and squeezing in back in response. A smile creeps onto my lips. I notice our cab rolling down the road, smoothly heading towards us. "I love you so much, you know that, right?"