The Broken Places (Septiplier)

12) Exhaustion

A/N none of the stuff above is mine and this chapter is hard to write....

I also had to be in a shit mood to write this and I had a terrible day and yeah, sorry if it's horrible. 

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There was something wrong with Mark. Jack couldn't tell what it was, and he didn't know how to fix it, either. Mark seemed happy, at least on the surface. But then again, he was very good at bottling everything up. Jack could see it, hidden in his eyes when he looked at him. He was beginning to worry though, because Mark wasn't eating and he was barely sleeping and every time Jack looked at him, he could see how the light in his eyes had died.

Jack sighed heavily, watching Mark poke at his lunch without really eating. It was barely noon and they were settled at the wooden table in Mark's kitchen having lunch. Or, Jack was having lunch whereas Mark was simply playing with his food. His hair continued to fade, now more white than pink, the tips still clinging violently to color where the roots had all gone white from the bleach. Even though it had to be almost 75 in the house, Mark was wearing dark blue jeans and a long sleeved gray flannel, buttoned at the wrists. He was quiet, gaze glued to his plate, seeming so terribly far away.

Jack reached out, desperate to touch him, but Mark jerked his hand away like he'd been burned. He didn't even look up, just simply slipped his hands under the table and continued to stare at his food, blankly. 

"Goddamn it, Mark!" Jack slammed his hand down on the table, hard enough to rattle the silverware. His expression was angry, almost violently so; but when Mark looked up, eyes so filled with hurt and pain and fear, he collapsed back into his chair, eyes filling with tears. "Please just, let me help you."

"I'm fine," Mark replied automatically, before he'd finished talking. "Honestly, I'm fine." 

"You're not! You won't even look at me!" Jack caught Mark's wrist, determined to make the shorter man meet his gaze.

He was in no way expecting the gasp of pain that left the older man. Mark hissed as if he was burned, jerking his wrist away quickly. Not quickly enough for Jack to miss the spread of blood on gray fabric, though.

"Mark! What the fuck happened?" Jack was around the table in a flash, catching Mark's hand and tugging at his sleeve. "What happened!? Why didn't you tell me you were hurt?!" 

"It's nothing, I'm fine." Mark quickly replied, trying to shove Jack away. 

"You're bleeding!" Jack replied in alarm.

"I told you I'm fine!" Mark's voice was a shout and he shoved Jack back, causing him to stumble into the wall, knocking a frame free.

"I told you you're not!" Jack replied, getting in Mark's face. He pushed Mark in return, pinning him against the wall separating the living room from the kitchen. Jack grabbed Mark's hand, tightly, and jerked his sleeve up sharply, exposing everything from the elbow down. 

What he saw brought tears to his eyes. Mark's arm was covered in cigarette burns, in various stages of healing. Those that had bled were the freshest, still welling and dripping with bright blood. Others were scabbed over and healing, though they looked like the scabs were being picked off at random intervals. Some were so old they were even beginning to scar. Most seemed to be in various stages of infection, too. Like they'd been denied any kind of disinfectant on purpose. Without comment, Jack popped the buttons on Mark's flannel, letting it fall to the floor. His entire upper body was covered in burns, all in various stages of healing. Some had been freshly done, others had been violently picked until they bled. Mark's body began to shake and it took Jack a long moment to realize he was sobbing.

Being as careful as he could, he wrapped Mark in a hug. He made sure he wasn't touching anything that would cause Mark pain, but the smaller man still winced. Jack carefully wiped the tears from Mark's face, cupping his cheeks in his long hands. He said nothing, resting his forehead against Mark's as he tried to fight back his own tears.

"I..." Mark finally spoke, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I felt guilty for being happy, for being with you, when Joey was only so recently gone. So I.... I made myself feel better any way that I could."

Jack still couldn't find it in him to speak. He guided Mark to a chair, helped him settle in it and disappeared into the bathroom to get the supplies needed to tend to Mark's wounds.

He wasn't sure he'd be able to fix how broken Mark was on the inside so easily, though.