One-Shots

100 Letters {S}

* this story is darker than some of my other works, as it deals with relationship abuse and anger issues with hints of rape. please, if you don't like any of these things, skip this chapter and/or the italics.*

"Stop!" Jack cried. "I told you to fucking stop!"

"Shh," Mark quieted him.

Mark started to run his hands down the Irish man's body and started to undo his jeans. Jack flinched and walked back into a wall. 

"I told you to not move!" Mark yelled, taking his belt off.

Jack swallowed hard. He knew what was coming. He braced for impact.

Jack was walking down the busy street with his hands in his pocket. He saw a man who looked familiar. 

"Mark?" He thought. "No. It isn't."

He shook his head and looked back. He sighed when he realized it was just his mind messing with him. He moved his hands to his back pocket. Jack felt an anger within him as he found a letter in his right pocket. He knew it would be no use, but he decided open it anyway. 

Jack.

Listen, 

He sighed. Each letter started the exact same way.

You know who I am. Rather, who I used to be. I think you can bring that side of me back. But only if you come back. Jack, please.

Love, Mark.

Jack crushed the letter with one hand and threw it on the sidewalk. He started walking again, brushing away tears as they fell one by one. He was flooded with memories.

"Please don't go away, Jack! Please don't go away!"

"It's too late!" Jack cried. 

Mark reached forward to try and grab Jacks hand.

"Don't ever fucking touch me again, Fischbach!"

Mark stood still for only a few moments before reaching out and slapping Jack quickly. Too quickly for Jack to move away. 

The next thing that happened not only shocked Mark, but also Jack himself. 

For once, Jack fought back.

He punched Mark so hard he fell to the ground, buying Jack time to run away. So, he did.

The letters Jack littered the street with were also littering the floor to his house. Note after note, he was being buried. 

Jack.

Listen, I didn't mean it. Come back.

Love, Mark. 

Jack.

Listen,

Jack. 

Listen,

Jack.

Listen,

Jack was fucking tired of listening. For once, he wanted to be the one to say something. To yell at Mark. To finally tell him off. But Jack knew he could never face him again. He started crying at the mere thought of him. 

Jack was more mad at himself however. Because he never told anyone, Mark was still a threat. And Jack knew he would never tell anyone. He refuses to talk about it. He refuses to live the memories again.

Like the time he woke up fully naked with Mark on top of him.

Or the many, many  times he woke up with a black eye, or half a red face.

Or the broken nose. 

Any of the pain, he refused to think about, let alone talk about. 

Jack knew one thing for sure. He was trapped in an internal hell. All because of Mark.