since eighth grade. → markiplier

Chapter Thirty-Three: I'm Sorry

Chapter Thirty-Three: I'm Sorry

Mark 

I can't process the words that come out of Elliot's mouth. She just claimed that the pills, in Joe and Bryony's possession, where her own. And, by the look of sorrow and fear, almost, in her eyes, I know that she isn't just saying this to shift the blame off of Bryony. With a stab of pain in my gut, I place my hands on the table and push myself up. I needed to get out of here.

I feel a hand on my shoulder, and I shrug it off. I turn to see Ellie, a pained expression washing over her features, but I just brush her off and walk away. I really needed the time alone, and she needed to know this. Why the hell didn't she tell me that she was pregnant? Just even thinking of the word pregnant sends shivers down my spine, more stabs of pain to my gut. 

I don't know where I'm going, but my feet seem to be carrying me somewhere. The cold air doesn't bother my skin, through my eyes are burning. I know that my eyes are watering with shock, but I'm far from crying. I'm not upset, I'm not mad. I just feel as if somebody has ripped something out of me... almost like the feeling of betrayal or sense of distrust. 

I stumble across some bar, one of which seems to be close to empty. However, it seemed decent enough. Letting out a sigh, and watching my breath fog up and disappear, I step inside. Rock music, faded out into the distance a little, reaches my ear over the chatter of about fifteen people who hold beers in their hands, gathered around tables with hunched backs. I collapse on a stool beside the bar, running a hand over my face. I hear the clinking of a glass in front of me, and I remove my hand off of my face.

"Here, it's on the house." The woman, who presented the glass to me, says. Her arms and neck are heavily inked up, her black hair pinned back with a red headband.

"No, I can't accept that. Here." I say, fumbling for money in my wallet. I reach my hand up, offering her the money. She places my hand down on the table, shaking her head.

"Take the damn drink, boy," She says, almost firmly. "You look as if you need it." She says, picking up a dirty glass from the side and passing it to someone out back. I glance down at the glass, noticing that it is full of whiskey. I sigh, clasping it with both hands before knocking it back. The liquid has a sweet bite to it, one of which warms my body up from the inside out, and it burns the back of my throat momentarily. I place down the empty glass, letting out a sigh. Oh, yeah, I definitely needed that. 

"Thanks." I tell her, running a hand through my hair. 

"So, what's on your mind?" She asks, pacing around the bar and stealing a glance or two off of a few men. I narrow my eyes, feeling anger swell.

"What's it to you?" I snap, clenching my jaw. She lets out a sigh, turning one of the black curls of her hair in her fingers. 

"Look, I know the look of somebody who needs a little comfort, or at least to get something off of their chest," She says, her eyes full of concern. Why? She doesn't know me. "And, it may be none of my business, but I'm all ears if you want to talk." She says, tucking strands of hair behind her ear. I let out a sigh, staring at the bottom of the empty glass. What harm will it do to get this off of my chest? Even to a complete stranger? After another shot of whiskey, I finally let everything out. Well, a summary, anyway. 

"My girlfriend..." I begin, rubbing my nose as I begin to feel myself choking on emotion. "Well, we've known each other forever, been best friends our entire life. We started dating a couple months back, and I..." I fumble with my words, finding that they don't fall out of my mouth smoothly as they usually do. "Well, I just found out that she was pregnant in the worst way. Her friend had pills in her bag for her."