You Can Trust Me - A Markiplier Fanfic

Chapter Four: Twenty Questions

           "And that's why my high school created the 'no kilts' rule as an addition to the dress code."

        Mark's hearty laughter filled up the cafe nearly as fully as the afternoon sunshine.  I smiled down into my coffee and giggled under my breath.  Some of the other people enjoying their lunch rolled their eyes with each outburst, but the elderly couple near the door kept smiling at us and shaking their heads.

        "So this Sheamus character," Mark managed through his chuckles, "was your boyfriend at the time of the incident?"  I could barely keep my own laughter down.

        "Well, at the time, no.  We actually got together after the cast party."  I shrugged and tried to remain straight faced.  "I guess I have a thing for men in skirts."

        "Oh really?"  Mark wiggled an eyebrow at me and took on a 'macho' tone.  "If I'd known dressing in drag would seal the deal, I'd have thought twice about wearing pants today."  I buried my face in my hands, trying to hide how red I was. Mark chuckled briefly and continued in his manly voice. "So, you and this so-called scottsman still together?"

        "Oh, God, no," I laughed. "I'm actually quite single at the moment." Mark's smile widened a little bit.

        "Reeeallly? I'll keep that in mind."

        "Okay, okay," I waved a hand in the air, pushing away the thought.  "So it's your turn to ask a question."  Mark leaned forward, smiling into his coffee cup.

        "Hm.. Okay. Well, what brought you to L.A?"  My smile faded at the memory.  I sighed quietly and directed my gaze anywhere but at Mark. How much of the truth do I give him?  About the move...

        "Where will you go, huh?"

        About my family...

        "There's no one to protect you!"

        About Lee...

        "I'll always find you, Harleen."

        "Ellie? ... Hello? Ellie, are you alright?"

        My eyes snapped into focus to a visibly concerned Mark.  I winced at the sight. I didn't like seeing him like that.  Regaining a little composure, I cleared my throat.

        "I'm fine."  Mark lowered his voice, speaking softly.

        "Look, you don't.. you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, I just-"

        "No... That's okay." I fidgeted with the napkin on the table. "Anyone else would have gotten a pleasant lie, but you... For whatever reason I feel like I can just talk to." I smiled down at my hands. "It's nice; making a friend."

        Mark listened patiently, and I got the feeling that he genuinely cared about what I was about to say. So when the tears silently streaked down my face, I didn't bother to wipe them up. I kept my voice soft, trying to keep others from noticing the scene.

        "I.. moved out of my parents house the week I turned eighteen. Never looked back. I lived in Missoula for a bit, then Portland, and finally Seattle. I had a bit of a problem with.. this guy, we dated for two years. He wasn't, uh..". My voice broke.  "He wasn't a very good person." I cleared my throat and tried to lighten the subject.  "But, I'm done with that now. I got out of there, and now I'm here.

        "As far as work, I'm a graphic artist, so finding work in cities is relatively easy if I know where to look.  Magazines, web sites, that sort of thing.  Los Angeles was sort of a long shot, since the only family I have in the state even is my weirdo estranged uncle, the musician." I smiled at the memory of Ryan and his passion for art.  "I thought, if he can get out there and make it, so can I."  I shrugged at that, not knowing where to go from there. I wiped away the remaining tears in a quiet, dignifed manner. Mark waited, and when there was nothing else, he ventured to say,

        "So this ex boyfriend... Did he do that to you?"  I followed his gaze to my arm.  I recalled our encounter at the store and sighed, as he hadn't even seen the worst of it. I pulled my sleeve up so that Mark could take in the full damage on my shoulder, and then covered it back up again, avoiding his eyes. The only response I could give was a nod: 'yes.'

        Mark let out a small but sharp breath, and when I looked up at him, his jaw was clenched tight, eyes cast down toward the table as his brow furrowed in a mix of emotions.  I couldn't quite figure out what he was thinking. His fingers gripped his coffee cup tightly, and without much thought, I reached across the table to slowly loosen his fingers from the cup.  Mark looked up at me, his expression melting into something akin to hopelessness.  I could tell he wanted to console me, but didn't know what to say or do. I smiled at him sadly and lightly squeezed his hand.

        "It's over now.  I'll be fine.  I promise."  He nodded slowly and gently rubbed his thumb over the back of my hand.  I smiled sheepishly.

     "So what about you?  Did you grow up here or..?"  Mark smirked and took a deep breath.  He told me about his childhood, his brother and parents, and about their divorce, and about the hospital and his tumor and losing his dad.  So much had happened to him.  My heart went out to him, and somewhere deep inside, I wanted to protect him from all the bad stuff.  But despite his rocky past, Mark continued to smile.  He told me about moving to L.A. and his friends Bob and Wade, and that he felt truly happy here.  I smiled wide at that.  If anything, this sweet, caring, genuine man deserves to be happy.