Monster

39

Present Day

Therapy sucks. That's the very first thing Mark learns at the clinic. How bad it really sucks.

The second thing he learns is how much he relied on alcohol to keep him sane. Alcohol and coffee, not necessarily in that order. Because he isn't allowed any of either here. Because apparently caffeine is technically a drug.

And the third and final thing he's learned in this month is that he was just about the most abusive asshole he could've let himself become as everyone else here has stories of neglecting their wife to drink at a bar with their friends and missing work because they were drinking at 5am and his stories are all about emotionally scarring Jinyoung so he wouldn't leave.

His roommate snaps his fingers, dragging Mark's attention back to the game of checkers they're currently playing in the commons room. Mark resists the urge to snap his neck as he moves his checker. He's been a little on edge, coming off of both coffee and alcohol.

"Pay attention" His roommate barks as Mark's thoughts wander again and he forgets to go. Mark takes a deep breath looking up from the game into the eyes of the oldest man he's ever met. Mark fucking hates him. And he can never remember his name.

"Don't fucking snap at me, old man, or I will break all your fingers" Mark spits in a whisper. He found out on the second day that threatening others would get him strapped to his bed back in his room. Does that stop him? No, but now he's quiet about it. The old man just laughs.

"You kids," He laughs, spit flying from his mouth "You try so hard to be scary"

"Have you considered getting new teeth? Spit is supposed to stay inside your mouth" Mark grumbles using a tissue to wipe away the spit on his hands.

"When you get a better attitude, I'll get new teeth, until then I guess we both have to put up with the things that annoy us" The old man moves his checker and Mark immediately moves his, making a show of how much attention he's paying.

Mark has no idea why he's even playing this game. Why he even hangs out with this man and he doesn't think about it too much. Because then he might realize that he's effectively scarred away every other person here, and it would just be too much to have accept it as his fault.

"Are you expecting someone?" The old man asks, looking up at Mark.

"No" Mark looks at his face, grimacing at the bulky eye lids and abundance of wrinkles.

"Then stop looking at the fucking door and, pay attention."

"I AM paying attention!" Mark yells, banging his fist on the table, it briefly attracts the attention of the bigger nurses, but Mark leans back, faking calm until they back off.

"You never have any visitors anyway, don't know what you need to be looking at that door for" The old man mumbles, although he isn't trying to hide what he said.

It pisses Mark off, of course it does, but he takes a deep breath, trying out a technique one of the therapists suggested.

"None of them want to see you. When you die, I'll have visitors" Mark says, adjusting the checkers that shifted when he hit the table.

"You've never had a single one, how would they know?"

"If you want to ask something just fucking ask" Mark is getting really sick of this.

"Okay, why don't you have visitors? Everyone else here does, even if it's just one, and I did, before they all died. But not you. Doesn't anybody like you?" He says it surprisingly kindly, and the pity in his voice pisses Mark off even more. He decides not to answer, taking deep breaths to calm himself down. This technique is gonna work, god damnit. "I guess it's not that surprising, you have a pretty terrible personality"