since eighth grade. → markiplier

Chapter Fourteen: Stay

Chapter Fourteen: Stay

Ellie

Mark gazes across at me with sad eyes. I slide the sleeve of my sweater down, keeping it firmly in place by wrapping my fingers over the hem. I want to speak to Mark, I want to tell him everything that happened. But, when I find myself on the verge of explaining everything, my throat closes and I panic. Normally, I would be able to tell him anything.

“I told most of our friends about what’s happened.” He says softly, and, not trusting my voice, I simply nod my head at this. I would’ve argued over this, telling him that I would have preferred for them to not know, but I know that, if he were in the position I was, I would have told the others, too.

I clear my throat. “What about Rhett?” I ask quietly, running a hand through my slightly damp hair. It still hadn’t fully dried from my shower.

“Rhett? Oh, right, your cousin,” He replies, and I nod my head again. “No, I haven’t told him anything.”

“Good. He’d worry too much, and I’d hate if he knew. He has a family to worry about.”

“Well, you are his family.”

“I don’t mean that. What about his kids? They need their dad. I’ll tell him when everything blows over. And maybe I’ll talk to Link about it.” I answer, finding that an icy jolt of pain travels through me at the word ‘dad’. My skin begins to crawl, and I touch a hand to it to try and take away the feeling.

Before Mark can reply, I find my thoughts swimming to the face of Caleb. I guess that, with everything else going on, he had been pushed to the back of my mind. I close my eyes for a moment, trying to ignore the wave of pain.

 “Are you okay?” Mark questions, and I let out a breath.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” He pushes.

“Uh… I guess,” I state, blinking rapidly as more images of his face flash before me. “I’m just thinking about… Caleb.”

“Oh.” Is all that he has to say.

“Yeah. I should sort the funeral out at some point.” I say breathily, dreading the moment in which I will have to sit and plan the funeral.

“You know you don’t need to do that. And, even if you feel obliged, you should at least get others to help you.” He tells me, and I consider this for a moment.

“I guess,” I answer, stifling a yawn. “Look, Mark, I’m really tired. Can we talk later?” I ask, feeling a little guilty for brushing him off like this. He doesn’t seem offended by this at all, as he throws me a slight smile.

“Sure.” He says, and he turns to walk away. As he turns and shuts the door, we catch eyes for a moment. I feel a surge of butterflies attack my stomach, but I ignore them. I won’t let have feelings like that. Especially not for my best friend.