Whisk Me Away (Septiplier)

~ FIVE ~

"Shit!"

"Hey," Mark ran over to my side of his car, helping me out carefully. I winced, grabbing my left shoulder. "Are you okay? Take it easy!"

I sighed through gritted teeth, letting mark walk me up the driveway. We had just arrived at his house, a white home with luscious green grass in a nice upper-class neighborhood. It was a beautiful day, and it almost made me forget that I'd been stabbed just a few days earlier and had next to no memory. "S-Sorry," I mumbled as we reached the door.

Mark sighed, looking at me with a disapproving look as he dug some keys out of his red shorts. "You don't need to apologize, Jack."

"But-"

"No buts." He unlocked the door, swinging it open. It was dark inside. He looked back at me, putting his keys back in his pocket. "Did you forget? I volunteered to help you out."

I pressed my lips into a thin line, letting him lead me into the house. He flipped on the lights, leading me through the hall to the living room. "Yeah, I'm sor-"

"Stop saying sorry." He cut me off sternly. I stopped talking, facing him. He turned to fully face me, crossing his tan arms.

I stayed silent for a moment. I was being rude, and I really shouldn't. This man was trying to help me after all. "I'm stubborn," I sighed, collapsing on the couch with a wince. "I'm sorr- I mean," I tried to think of more to say, but I was simply too exhausted.

"It's okay, Jack." Mark sat next to me, uncrossing his arms. I avoided his gaze, staring at the beige carpet. "The authorities are gonna figure out what happened. We'll get your memory back, and you'll be fine." I didn't say anything, and eventually he stood up. "I'll get you something to eat. Just relax bud."

He walked off, and my eyes wandered to my shirt, where you could see the large lump from the bandage. How had this happened? It was a terrifying thought, to think that some lunatic was out there, a lunatic who had tried to kill me.

What had I done?

What did I do that was so terrible, that someone would stab me and leave me out in the ocean to bleed to death?

How come when I woke, I was so keen to accepting that?

I hadn't realized I had begun to clench my fists until Mark's footsteps awoke me from my thoughts. I looked up, seeing he had come back with a paper towel and a sandwich. "Mayo, lettuce, tomatoes, and ham." He handed it to me proudly.

"Thanks Mark," I took a bite, my eyes widening. "Holy shit."

Mark laughed, placing his hands on his hips in a sort of I'm-flipping-amazing-and-everyone-knows-that sort of way. "I may be an idiot, but I can make a pretty awesome sandwich."

I laughed, taking another bite. "Good quality to have." Mark sat back down, and while I kept my attention on the godly-sandwich before me I could still feel his curious look. I looked over at him with one eyebrow raised and he blushed, quickly looking away. "What's up?"

He stared down at his lap, clearly thinking. "I don't know...I...do you remember?" He looked up at me. "Like, anything?"

I stared back at him, my mind glazed with an unforgiving fog. "I don't remember...anything." He sighed. "Why?"

He shrugged, leaning back on the couch. "Curiosity, I guess." He looked ahead at the blank screen of the TV. "I mean, we get a lot of crazies here in LA, but murderers? Maybe more in center of town, but definitely not around here. And in broad daylight?"

I sighed, leaning back as well. We both didn't say a word.