Under Pressure - Septiplier

Chapter Twenty Five

The dark bedroom is an empty void. Blackout curtains are drawn tight, fan whirring at high speed, the door shut tight. A vacuum of darkness, where Mark can drift away, mind running wild and body calm. He tries. He tries so hard to make that reality. The noise-canceling headphones play calming ocean waves, crashing over him in a rhythmic lullaby. Yet, he's not soothed. The rhythm is pierced by angry yells. Dad is having another shouting match with Tom.

Every single day, there seems to be an argument. His parents tag-team it, almost alternating in their attacks, trying to strike some reason into Tom. All Mark can do is hide and cry. He is ripping his family apart. He already did it with his parents, now he's doing it with Tom. Mark ruins everything.

The boy lets out a soft sob, tears dripping onto his large hoodie as he curls his arms around his shins, tucking his legs up to his chest in a tight ball. He has the wave sounds up as loud as they will go- the breakers roar, crashing against him, trying to knock his thoughts down. Nothing can drown out his thoughts. They spiral and curl, ebbing, and flowing. They are like water themselves. He tries to control the flood, lets it slowly pool and drip from his hands, but the drizzle becomes a downpour, and the harder he squeezes his fingers to stop it, the more thoughts squelch out. They soak his mind, make it so hard to move, to breathe, to blink.

Mark is the stone carelessly tossed into the beautifully spun glass of his family. He causes all the cracks, all the chips. Mark is the epicenter of the radiating chasms that rip apart his family. A particularly loud shout makes him whimper, and he lets out another pathetic sob. All the young boy can do is cry. His mind is moving too fast, he struggles to keep up. It's not like with Amy and Ethan. No, this isn't lightspeed. His thoughts rip around him, blurs that incite terror. He's stranded on a highway, thoughts speeding at ninety miles an hour around him. Everything is too much.

A few hours later, there's a light knock on Mark's door. He doesn't hear it, having fallen into a fitful, uncomfortable sleep in the corner of his room.

"Mark?" comes the soft voice of his brother. The handle turns, and the door opens. A sliver of golden light from the hallways cuts into Mark's void. Tom peers around the room, squinting as his eyes adjust to the darkness that seems to envelop the entire room, inky black and heavy. They focus on the bed first. However, there is no indicative lump, no fluffy black hair cascading over the pillow. Tom steps further into the room, brows furrowed as he inspects the surrounding area.

His eyes eventually land on the dark mass curled up in the corner of the room. The soft, blinking blue light from Mark's headphones further confirms the identity of the mass. Tom crouches down beside Mark, frowning. He can hear the wave sounds from here! Good grief! The college kid reaches forward and carefully takes off the headphones. Mark needs to be more careful, or he'll end up with ear damage.

There's a soft noise from the younger, and the boy slowly stirs, sniffling and blinking weakly. He shifts about, and his hands go to grab his headphones, frowning when he finds they are gone.

"You'll get ear damage if you play these so loud," Tom murmurs softly, moving to sit down in front of his brother. Mark jumps and flinches, wide brown eyes finding Tom in the darkness of his room.

"I'm heading out today. I was wondering if you wanted to go out to eat something first? I feel like a bad big brother," Tom mutters, looking down. Mark stares at his old brother, eyes puffy and red from his crying.

"No. S' my fault," Mark mumbles, resting his chin on his knees as he averts his gaze.

"Not at all. I place zero blame on you. Mark, you are such a good brother. You try to come to all my meets, you are shockingly polite when it comes to sharing food, you don't bother me when I'm with friends. You're a great brother. No way is this your fault."

"How's it not? It was my panic attack," Mark grunts, glaring angrily at the ground. He is pathetic, panicking during a goddamn film.

"I- Mark, you can't control that," Tom tries.

"Mr. Josh says I can," Mark mumbles. Tom sighs, running a hand over his hair.

"Not all the time. My point is that I don't blame you, alright? The adults are the ones at fault," Tom murmurs. Mark scowls.

"So you're just leaving? Like Dad?" Mark asks. Tom frowns.

"Yes. Like Dad. I have a life, Mark. Being in this family, with these parents, makes me feel horrible. I'm going somewhere where I'll feel better. We'll still hang out, don't worry. I'll basically be on campus, so that means when we hang, we'll be a lot closer to all the cool places to eat and chill," Tom says. Mark glares at the ground, tears burn at his eyes, beginning to form. Tom is leaving, just like Dad did.

"Fuck you, Tom," he whispers, curling up more. His older brother freezes, eyes wide with shock.

"Sorry, what?"

"Fuck you! Selfish prick," Mark hisses, tears dripping down his cheeks. Tom is leaving him. Being utterly selfish, over something so stupid. It's just a few swim meets. Now he's upturning the entire house, wreaking even more havoc in the family, over something so stupid.

"Excuse me? No. We are not doing this. I'm not selfish. Fuck you for being mad at me. I have feelings too," Tom snaps back.

"I was in the fucking hospital! Of course, they rushed to see me! What if I had died! Would you still be moving out?!" Mark retorts, eyes full of rage.

"What the fuck, Mark? Serious, what the fuck? It's not just that! It's how they handled it! They didn't bother telling me for hours, then over text! Fucking hell! Not everything is about you!" Tom seethes, climbing to his feet.

"I was in the hospital, Tom. I doubt getting a call from a stranger that your son is three hours away, unconscious on a hospital bed, is exactly the most calming thing. Here you are, reacting with ditching everyone!" Mark snarls, climbing to his feet as well.

"It's not just this one thing!" Tom argues, fists clenching.

"That's exactly what dad said after my attack in fourth grade!" Mark screams, tears streaking down his flushed face.

"It's the fucking truth!" Tom roars.

"Liar! You're a goddamn liar! You're leaving me!" Mark shouts back, trembling with rage, despair, and hatred. Whether it was self-hatred or hatred for Tom, he could not say. He sees a sudden movement from Tom.

Thunder slams against his cheek a few moments later, and the eighth-grader groans, stumbling to the side as he clutches his cheek. He gasps in shock, eyes wide as he shakily turns to stare back at his brother. Tom hit him.

"Goodbye, Mark," Tom hisses vehemently before he turns and storms out, tears of offense in his eyes and face flushed with outrage. His own brother, calling him a god damn liar. Here Tom was, trying to extend an olive branch, and Mark tosses it into the flames. Well, Mark can follow right with it down to hell.