99 Steps

Step 50: Don't Lie to Yourself

He moved on. That's all there was to it. If Mark still cared about Jack, he would at least put a little effort in and sent back an emoji or a blank message or something. Mark made it easy, like he climbed to the top of a mountain with a megaphone and a big banner, repeating "I'm over you!" Jack forced himself to be reasonable for a second. Maybe he was busy, maybe he just didn't know how to reply yet.

He sat on his bed, phone in one hand, bottle in the other. It was 4 in the morning, and if Mark stayed in the same time zone it would be around 8. Maybe he was already sleeping? He could be busy with moving still.

The tick changed; Mark opened the message. He waited for any indication that he wad typing, but none came. Maybe he just didn't know how to reply to the message. Jack wasn't sure if it actually made sense or not. Then again he just wanted to know that Mark wasn't ripping himself out of the others life.

Finally, Mark is typing...

Then it stopped. No message.

Again. Mark is typing...

Nothing. Jack guzzled down more of the vodka, something his mother had tucked away and unopened. His stomach was warm and he wasn't sure if it was butterflies or booze, but it was starting to burn. So Mark wasn't ignoring him.

Thirty minutes later, sitting in the same spot, staring at the same screen he thought, for sure, Mark was ignoring him now.

"Who gives a shit?" Jack asked the walls around him. Drinking more out of the bottle, he locked his phone. His mom wouldn't be home from work for a few hours, so he could easily go to bed and forget about having to deal with her too. Maybe he could go for a walk, or swing on the wooden planks at the park. He found himself staring at the message again.

Just wondering if you settled in okay. I guess I did. I really miss you already, maybe we could meet half way or something.

It made perfect sense, Mark was just being a dickwad. What kind of asshole didn't respond to a message like that?

On the other hand, Mark was wondering what kind of shit head would send a message like that. He wanted to say yes, that he'd pack his bags and be on his way. He knew he couldn't though. He couldn't let Jack keep dragging himself back for Mark to chop away at emotionally.

Don't lie to yourself, Jack thought. You're such a shitbag you can't even commit suicide after how many times? Why would Mark want you in his life?

So Jack sat, on his bed, phone in one hand, now near half empty bottle in the other.

Never mind. He typed.

Sent.

Delivered.

Read.

Too late, Mark. He thought to himself, not knowing his own thought would turn out to be so true.