BORROWED HEARTBEATS

Chapter 6: An Unexpected Connection

Chapter 6: An Unexpected Connection

We finally return to the house, and my mother can’t help herself—she’s on a mission to ask Mark every question she can think of. To my surprise, Mark answers each one kindly, never brushing her off or losing his patience. He's got this calm, easygoing way about him, and he’s almost... charming. He's the kind of person you might expect to be cocky, with his looks and confidence, but he's not. He's just... Mark.

Mark’s here to take a break, to clear his mind and unwind. My mother is thrilled for him, nodding and smiling as he speaks. And then she has the idea I’d been hoping she’d skip: “You two should go outside and enjoy this beautiful day!”

I don’t feel like going out, but I know my mom has this way of pulling you into things. So, after she finishes up in the kitchen, we pile into the car. I claim my spot in the back seat, slipping in my earbuds to escape into my music. Mark’s beside me, but I don’t even glance over. I’m just not in the mood to be drawn into any more questions or conversations, so I turn the music up loud enough to drown everything out. Through the reflection in the rearview mirror, I can see Mark talking to my mom up front. They’re smiling, exchanging stories, and I can’t hear a word of it.

Eventually, we pull up to a cozy little restaurant, with warm, golden lighting filtering out through the windows and a welcoming vibe that just makes you want to linger. The waitstaff greets us with big smiles, showing us to a table near a window. I remove my earbuds, half-hoping I’ll be left alone to scroll on my phone. But as soon as I pull it out, my mom notices, glancing at me with that “checking in” look she gives, like she's waiting for a reason to worry.

“Diego, are you okay?” she asks, her eyes full of that familiar concern. I can tell she’s holding herself back, trying not to hover. But it’s as if her concern wraps around me like a heavy blanket, and all I want to do is shrug it off.

“I’m just going to the bathroom,” I mumble, getting up from the table, hoping she’ll let me be.

Once in the bathroom, I grip the sink, letting my shoulders sag as I turn on the tap and splash cold water on my face. My reflection in the mirror looks tired, like there’s a thousand thoughts fighting for space in my mind. My thoughts spiral, a chorus of whispers, doubts, fears, everything I try to ignore on a daily basis. I close my eyes, trying to shut it all out, but it feels like I’m trapped inside my head.

I sink down to the floor, wrapping my arms around my knees, pulling myself into a tight ball as I lean my head down, hoping somehow it will all stop. A few moments pass, my breaths slowing, but I’m still weighed down by everything I can’t seem to put into words.

Then I feel a hand on my shoulder, gentle and warm. Startled, I look up to see Mark crouched beside me, his face a mix of worry and kindness. His blue eyes seem softer now, searching my face for some sign that I’m okay.

“D,” he murmurs, his voice low, “are you okay?”

I wipe my eyes quickly, not wanting him to see, even though it’s probably obvious I’ve been crying. I wipe my cheeks with the edge of the sweater my mom knitted me, the one she gave me as a "get well soon" gift. The soft, familiar fabric grounds me, reminds me of home, and I take a deep breath.

“I’m fine,” I say, pushing myself to stand up, trying to look like I’ve got it together.

Mark doesn’t move, just watches as I wash my face again. “Are you sure? We can take it easy if you’re not feeling well,” he says, his voice steady, full of genuine concern. There’s something in his expression that makes me believe he cares, that he’s not just saying it because he has to.

But I can’t bear to drag him into my problems. “Really, I’m okay,” I insist, giving him a faint smile as I grab a paper towel to dry my hands.

He nods, though there’s a shadow of worry in his eyes as we leave the bathroom. I try to shake off the heaviness as we return to the table, where my mom’s sipping a glass of wine, her gaze flicking between us, silently asking if everything’s alright. I brush my hands across my eyes, hoping she doesn’t notice the redness.

Mark follows close behind, and I can tell by the way he glances at me that he’s still worried. But he doesn’t say a word to my mom, sparing me from her endless questions. I give him a quiet, appreciative smile, and he returns it, a faint look of understanding and apology in his eyes, like he wishes he could do more.

As we settle back into our meal, I relax a little, feeling a sense of relief that he kept what happened between us. After we finish, we go outside, leaving my mom to handle the bill. She’s talking with the waitress, getting my leftovers packed up, and Mark takes the chance to look at me with that quiet curiosity of his.

“Hey,” I murmur, glancing up at him. “Thanks... you know, for keeping that to yourself.”

He gives me an easy smile, shrugging. “That’s fine,” he says, looking out toward the parking lot. “I didn’t think it’d help to make her worry more.”

I nod, grateful for his understanding. As we head back home, I start to see Mark a little differently—not just as the cool, confident guy he appears to be, but as someone who’s maybe more thoughtful, maybe more grounded, than I first assumed.

Once we’re back, Mark suggests watching a movie. It’s a Marvel movie, of course, his absolute favorite, and though I don’t really like superhero films, I don’t mind going along with it. He seems so excited about it, his eyes lighting up when he talks about all the characters and their storylines. He pulls out one of the DVDs, glancing over at me with a playful smirk.

We settle onto the couch, and as the movie begins, I’m glued to my phone, scrolling aimlessly. Every now and then, Mark glances over at me, a bit exasperated.

After a while, my mom comes out of her bedroom, dressed in her black suit. I recognize the look—it means she’s heading to work.

“Honey, I have to go. There’s an emergency at work. If you need anything, there’s food in the fridge, just warm it up. And if there’s any emergency, call me,” she says, grabbing her keys from the table. She waves and leaves with a quick, reassuring smile.

We’re alone now, and the room falls into a comfortable silence, the sound of the movie filling the air. But it doesn’t last long.

“Hey,” Mark says, his tone light but curious. “Why are you always on your phone?”

“Nothing,” I mumble, still staring at the screen.

“Wait,” he teases, leaning over with that playful grin of his, “are you dating someone?”

I feel my face go red as I look up at him, wide-eyed. He bursts out laughing, his shoulders shaking as he leans back against the couch, clearly enjoying himself.

“No, I’m not,” I reply, trying to hide how flustered I am.

He just keeps laughing, and I find myself smiling despite myself. He has this way of making everything feel lighter, like the world isn’t such a heavy place.

“Can we watch something else?” I ask, hoping to change the subject. “I really don’t like Marvel.”

He gasps, feigning shock. “What? You hate Marvel? We can’t be friends anymore.” He says it with a laugh, his eyes bright with amusement.

“I just don’t get what the big deal is,” I shrug, smirking a little.

He shakes his head, clearly determined to convince me otherwise. “You just haven’t given it a chance. This,” he gestures to the screen, “is Wanda Maximoff, AKA the Scarlet Witch. She’s usually a hero, but here she’s kind of a villain. But it’s complicated—she’s just looking for her children.”

He explains the story with such passion, and as he talks, I find myself less interested in the movie and more lost in his face, his blue eyes lighting up, his lips curling into that easy, warm smile. He has this effortless charm, this magnetism, like he could make anything sound fascinating.

I start to wonder if he has a girlfriend. With a face like that, someone must be with him. And if he does, she’s lucky. I can’t help but think she’s lucky.

Mark keeps talking, going on about how Wanda’s misunderstood, but my mind’s already lost in its own thoughts. I glance down, a slight ache in my chest that I can’t quite explain.