Your Mark on Me

Chapter 14: Aftermath

It was already late when I got back to my house, after crying my heart out on a bench in the small neighbourhood park. I made myself a sandwich, but couldn't eat; every time I tried to take a bite I kept remembering that beef lying on the floor and felt the tears rush in. I'd never ever in my life felt so bad. What was he thinking of me? That I was rude and ungrateful, obviously. After how kind he'd been to me...

I made myself a hot bath, to help me relax a little bit. While letting the water soak away the horrible feeling in my stomach, I decided that my life was a mess and it was time to pull myself together.

After getting dressed, I dialled Brian's number.

To my relief, it went to voicemail. He had a silly welcome message, involving a "hey yo" which apparently rhymed with "Brian's phone", but I didn't find it all that funny. My skin shrivelled at the sound of his pre-recorded voice, bringing back that unnerving memory of waking up semi-naked, with a stranger bending over me. I waited for the beep, then spoke loudly and clearly.

"Hi Brian, This is Scarlett. You should know which Scarlett, since you've been telling everyone that we hooked up. Just wanted to let you know that I know that you and Steve spiked my drink that night. I've got the results from the hospital. So yeah, I heard the punishment for spiking someone's drink is up to ten years in jail. Not sure what it is if you're underage, but it can't be nice. So if I were you and I still wanted that soccer scholarship, or any kind of decent future really, I'd make sure the rumours stop. Don't bother to call me back."

I didn't know if that would be enough to scare him off, but for now, I would just try my best to push him out of my mind.

I went to the computer and did some research on piano competitions. There were quite a few of them, in several states. Hilton Head, in March, and Van Cliburn, in June, looked particularly interesting: both prestigious, and both scary as hell. Just scrolling down the list of past participants and the repertoire requirements was giving me the shivers. Was is strange that I willing to try only because Mark believed I could do it? I wasn't sure I could fight my anxiety and deliver anything close to a decent performance under that kind of pressure, or even if I'd be able to bring myself to perform at all. There was a reason why I had been avoiding piano competitions so far.

Next day, in the morning, on the way to school, I went by the comic book store and bought the latest, freshly released issue of Ex-Machina, a comic me and Roy had been following since freshman year. I got to school before him and most other people and left it on his desk along with a note tucked between the pages.

"Think about all the things we have in common and all the things we've done together.

After so long, I would have expected you to give me the benefit of the doubt - that's what friends do. Whether you still want to be friends or not, it's up to you. If not, maybe it was a good thing that our date never happened."

I made sure to pop out all the right answers during Mrs Thornton's class, then hung out with Chloe as if nothing happened, and by the end of the day everything felt almost back to normal.

There was one thing left that I had to fix. I didn't think I had much chance of undoing the wrong, but I had to try.

Around 6pm, I went to the neighbourhood's Thai restaurant and bought food for two, then headed to Mark's. I tried to picture it, but I could absolutely not imagine his reaction at seeing me again. Would he be mad? Would he tell me to go away? I wasn't expecting anything. I just wanted a chance to apologise.

His car was not on the driveway and the house lights were off. I sat down on the porch, waiting in the dim light of the evening until, fast and sure, it got dark.

I'd been waiting for about an hour until the car pulled in to the driveway. I saw him get off and heard him lock the car doors, then his silhouette made its way towards the entrance. My glance followed the bright red dot of light that seemed to float in front of him - the end of his lit up cigarette.

He didn't see me until he was so close that the sensor-triggered light above the entrance door switched on, dispelling the darkness that had been concealing me.

"If you're here to smash any more of my belongings, can I please ask you to spare the teacups. I'm very much looking forward to a cup of tea."

I couldn't tell if he was mad or not. The tongue-in-cheek tone was throwing me off.

"I came to apologise," I said quietly.

He was about to open the door, but then changed his mind and instead, came and sat down next to me.

"Oh", he exclaimed noticing the take-out boxes. "I'm sorry, I had dinner out. I didn't know."

"I'm sorry, too. I already had mine while waiting. I was hungry."

He didn't say anything. We sat there in silence, neither of us moving, until the porch light turned off again and we were left in the dark. Mark stubbed out his cigarette, then pulled another one out of the pack in his pocket and lit it up.

"I scrapped Jeremy's daughter. It didn't seem right to use her anymore. She was supposed to be a boy initially, anyway. It's a shame though, she could've been an interesting character."

"You don't have to scrap her. I overreacted yesterday. Actually... I'd feel flattered if you kept her."

We were silent again for a little while, until he absent-mindedly hummed a melody. I joined in, continuing the broken fragment he left unresolved.

"I've been practicing it", I said, hoping this would lead to an invitation. "It's a very sad piece".

It was the four hands Fantasy in F minor we'd played before.

"Most beautiful things are sad", he said and got up. "Come in."

The score was still on the piano; we played it again, this time without me stumbling. As the music filled the room and our hands stroked the keys at times so close together that they almost touched, I couldn't help but feel sad for Schubert and his unrequited love, and think how amazing it was that his music was helping me now project the same feelings he must have felt over a hundred years before I was even born.

I sighed. The notes of the piano were floating in the air above us, and between us, sweet and frail, just like the heart of a teenage girl.