Druggie Love - Septiplier AU

Epilogue

(Mark's POV)
I hurry out of the room, looking for someone, anyone, who could open that door. I don't know what he's doing in there, but I watched him grab his clothes and head into the bathroom. I figure it can't be anything good he's doing in there. "Oh, God, Jack. Don't do anything stupid," I think to myself.

"Hey! Miss, uh, excuse me? Do you know who has the key to the bathrooms? The ones in the rooms, I mean. Please, it's an emergency!" I plead with the receptionist, an older woman wearing way too much perfume. She nods, moving slowly over to the other side of the small island. "Miss, please! This could be life or death!" She looks back at me, eyes aged with wisdom throughout her years. "Sir, I'll get there when I get there. People die all the time in here. Please be patient," she murmurs. I let out an exasperated sigh, running my hand through my hair. She turns once again, finally making it to the phone.

A custodial man arrives a few minutes later, obviously taking his time. I couldn't sit and wait, so I paced the small area. I notice the man; he carries with him a loop of keys. He's also an older person, mustache graying. "Well," he begins, drawing out all the syllables in his crotchety Southern voice, "Looky what we got here, Marge. We got us a Yank!" The receptionist laughs heartily along with the man; I don't have time for this, I've got to get back to Jack. I snatch the keys out of the janitor's hand and beeline back to Jack's room. The man bellows a, "Hey! Get back here with those!" I'm still fumbling with the keys at the bathroom door when I suddenly hear a small thud come from the other side. The man arrives next to me without my noticing. Snatching his keys back, he finds the correct key. Pushing him away softly with a, "Thanks," I manage to get into the bathroom. The sight is horrendous: Jack, my Jack, sprawled out on the ground, labored breathing. I fall to my knees, cradling him gently in my arms. Tears begin to fall, but I pay them no attention. Nor do I pay any attention to what I'm saying. I faintly hear the old man walk away.
~~~~~~
Jack's funeral was beautiful. No, it wasn't. Who am I trying to kid? Jack is dead, for fuck's sake, and these people here don't even seem to care. People just say that funerals are beautiful 'cause you're supposed to. I've been to a few funerals before, and none compared to my father's. Jack is the closest person I've ever met that only slightly compares to my dad. The pain is just as heavy, though. Just as, well, painful.

The Preacherman gave a small sermon; Jack was never very religious. A lot of people showed: his family, his extended family, junkies, friends, and me. I could tell some were just there for the food; I couldn't even think of food without getting sick.

He was buried here, in America. His family didn't even know he left Ireland; they said they got a note that said he just needed some time alone. Whether he actually sent that note still remains to be determined.

Jack looks so handsome in his black pin- striped suit. He was wearing his favorite hat, his mother's as I recall. The mortician tried to curve his lips upwards a bit to mimic a smile; the end result just looked absolutely gruesome without Jack's essence behind it. His hands were positioned so that they looked as if he were holding a bouquet of orange and yellow carnations.

A large photo of him smiling, maybe even laughing, was set up next to the casket. He looked so happy and carefree. Thinking about him, his photo, his very existence brought me to tears.

I stifled them best I could, and waited until everyone else had gone. Approaching his body with weak knees, I tentatively reached out for his hand. My breath hitches as a choked sob snakes it's way out of my throat. I can't help it; he's so cold, so lifeless. I crumple to the ground in a heap of grief, not even trying to regain composure. 'Jack is dead! Fucking dead! How could I have not seen this coming? It's all my fault!'

Eventually catching hold of myself, I pull myself up slowly. I take one last look at my lovers' death- ridden face, pecking his cold cheek one more time. I glance back at the photo of him, remembering how he looked when he was alive and full of piss and vinegar.

I'll remember him like that: alive. Happy. It's how he'd want to be remembered, I knew him well enough to know that. I turn and hang my head, shoving my hands into my suit pant- pockets. I take a deep breath, exhaling slowly, shakily.

I push open the front doors, stepping into the bright light of the day. I smile to myself. 'We had a good run. We had something good. And now it's gone forever. But I'll remember you, Jack. I'll remember you, forever.'