Regrets

Chapter 17 - Secrets

Song: Secrets - OneRepublic

The call ended quickly, with Marcus barely uttering "yes" or "no" a few times. His expression was troubled when he hung up the phone after about ten minutes. His eyes wandered around the scarcely furnished room before they landed back on Thomas' feet. For a long while, there was silence, until Thomas finally decided to break it.

"What did he say?"

"Not much. Scolded me for not offering you food. Said it was inhumane to let a kid starve,... are you?", Marcus stopped himself to redirect his gaze towards Thomas' face.

"I can get by", Thomas slowly offered. It was obvious to both of them that by "getting by", Thomas meant stealing. It didn't seem to bother Marcus as much as Thomas hoped it would, though.

"So he threatened to call the police"

Thomas eyes went wide.

"He hates me. Though maybe not for the reasons you think. But he wouldn't do that, he likes drinking with me way too much to sell me out", Marcus winked at the kid.

Marcus had long regained his cool posture, his troubled look replaced by an all knowing smirk. Thomas wanted to dearly ask about the wise expression on the black man's face. It was as if Marcus had the inherent talent to make people - or at least Thomas - curious about him.

"What's with that face?", he finally asked, causing Marcus to look over.

"That's just the face I was born with, kid. Can't do much about it", he finally answered after a seemingly age long pause. Of course he wouldn't answer seriously. What an unbearably secretive man.

"Man, you can't tell me? I barely know you at all", Thomas moaned annoyed.

"And I don't know shit about you. What's your deal?", Marcus growled back somewhat playfully, but there definitely was a serious undertone.

Thomas stared at the floor for a while, unsure whether he should continue pursuing the topic or leave it alone, but he finally made a decision. He wanted to know more. And if it was only to please his curiosity.

"Who's James?", the question came slowly, unsure, but Thomas wanted to know so dearly. He didn't get an answer. Marcus just stayed quiet, looking longingly at the empty vodka bottle.

"Marcus, who's James?", the boy repeated the question, thinking that Marcus hadn't heard him the first time.

"Kid, you oughta learn to stop annoying people", Marcus groaned as he slammed his flat hand against the counter. Thomas took a hesitant step back, as if he had just physically overstepped a boundary and now tried to take it back.

"I'm... I'm sorry. I didn't...", the kid stuttered. But Marcus didn't acknowledge him for quite a while before he spoke up again. A sigh opened his words.

"... did Michael tell you that?", Marcus leaned back against the kitchen counter with a laugh. It was bitter, like he was reliving an ugly memory. "I guess you could call him my best friend. If that phrase holds any meaning to you"

"What, really? Can I meet him?", Thomas replied excitedly, Marcus' outburst already forgotten. Finally a chance to learn more about his host.

"No, I don't think that will be possible"

"What? Why not?"

"He's dead"

And there went Thomas' gleeful and happy expression. "Dead?! Why didn't you say so earlier?!"

But Marcus only shrugged at that, "You didn't ask", he was nonchalant, not at all in a sad phase like one would expect him to be after admitting to his best friend's death. There was nothing about him that indicated distress, remorse, anything really. Thomas couldn't understand it.

"Can you... please tell me about him anyway?"

"Oh, so it's all about him? What did Michael tell you that got you so curious?", Marcus' voice had a hint of detest in it, though Thomas believed it to be because off the mention of Michael. The two didn't seem to like each other a whole lot, and yet, they still got along somehow.

"That you and James fight a lot", Thomas mumbled in response. It wasn't only Michael that got him curious. It was Marcus' behaviour as well.

"Ah yeah... I guess we did do that. Always about stupid stuff too", Marcus nodded, as he leaned down to a lower cupboard, taking out another bottle, Tequila this time.

"Another bottle? Won't you be drunk?", Thomas asked slowly, watching as Marcus poured yet another plastic cup of alcohol.

"That's kind of the point, Thomas", Marcus muttered, his speech a bit slurred after having emptied the cup in one go. The topic was done, Thomas noticed that much. Marcus wouldn't talk about James or his alcohol consumption anymore. Not today, anyway.

"Don't you have to go to work soon?", the boy was hesitant to talk. In his experience, drunk people tended to be quite violent, so he rather kept his distance.

"Pffft, sadly. But is just a nigh shift, nuthin serious", the slur was more noticeable now that a second cup was down his throat. A bottle of vodka and half a bottle of tequila did that to you, apparently.

Thomas could only stare in fear, frozen silent. But Marcus was in his own world, didn't notice the boy's terror, didn't notice much at all.

"I'll head oud now. This ham in de fridge 'n bread on de counder if you's hungry", were the words Marcus used to break the silence. His hand patted the boy on the head lightly, his fingers running through the brown hair softly as he passed Thomas. And then he was out the door in a slightly drunken stumble.

Thomas was once again left behind. And once again, he felt this weird loneliness. He never felt lonely after an adult left him be, no, he usually felt glad, even. Just Marcus was different.

Thomas' hand slowly reached up to his hair, fixing it as he sunk into deep thought.