Trust Your Instincts

-57- The Blame

 Some people think that when you lose someone so close to you, you resort to crying for a few days, weeks even, and eventually the periods of sadness grow fewer and further between as you advance through life. Of course, if said person meant so much to you, you'd never forget about them, but it can only get better as your life progresses.

 Time heals all wounds... right?

 That was something Mark always imagined to be the case, but he was beginning to wonder if it was true now that he had personally experienced it. Obviously, it hadn't been a long time since the deaths of his mother and brother, but though he had adapted so that he didn't show it, he still had moments where he would sit in complete silence, his eyes trained hazily on nothing in particular, and his chest constricting painfully as he reminisced on the memories that he had shared with his family. That was something he never imagined would go away, and he pondered on whether it was a weight that everyone silently carried on their shoulders. 

 Everyone loses loved ones, and over time, they appear to be slowly getting over the despair that the death brought, but after living through it himself, Mark began to realise that you never really do get over the fact that someone you loved so dearly will never touch your skin again, that you'll never see them smile in your direction again. It was just a pain that you learned to suppress because you know that's what they'd want you to do.

 And the tear stained letter he was clutching in his trembling hand was written proof that it was something Isaac wanted too.

 He had already read it at least three times since it was given to him, the already gruelling process of coming to terms with Isaac's death becoming all the more difficult with the reminder of how special he really was as a friend. 

 And it was Mark's fault. His nails were what caused the blood to pool in Isaac's lungs. His inability to break free from the hold that Minx had on him was effectively the reason for Isaac's untimely death, and he knew deep down that he'd probably never forgive himself for not fighting that little bit more.

 He looked up for the first time from the wet piece of intricately folded lined paper since it was shoved through the door, his eyes falling on Jack, still reading his own one. His hands were shaking harder than Mark's, and the stifled sobs and choked breaths resonating from his mouth were enough to multiply that feeling of guilt that churned Mark's stomach.

 Jack's note was drenched, the tears falling from his eyes in enormous droplets as a thick string of snot hung from the tip of his nose. Mark wondered how he could even read the words on the letter through the blur that the tears imparted.

 This was all his fault, he could've done so much differently, and he'd bet that they'd all result in Isaac still breathing, and Jack less emotionally unstable. 

 "Sorry." Mark mouthed, surprised that the emotion drowned out his voice completely, not even allowing a decibel of noise to pass his wet lips. He cleared his throat and tried again.

 "Sorry, Jack." he said, successful this time though his voice was strained and hollow, not even a fragment of his usual confidence shining through the cracks in it.

 Jack's head snapped up from the letter he was holding in his still shaking hands, the tears not showing any indication of ceasing. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand to clear the snot, only managing to succeed in spreading it over one side of his face, the viscous substance stringing to his hand as he brought it back down to grip the sheet of paper.

 He was a mess. Mark knew that in time, these heartfelt letters would be the most treasurable possessions they'd own, but right now, so close to Isaac's death, Mark couldn't help but think that they only brought more pain and suffering to his already crumbling boyfriend.