Under Pressure - Septiplier

Chapter Thirty Nine

He can't do it. Mark can't pull the trigger. He's been sitting here with this gun at his lips for eternity, feeling the wind brush his skin, listening to the leaves rustle with each swirl, ever so alive. Perhaps he's waiting for a sign, for some indication he should. He's a fucking coward. He sits, waiting for his finger to slip, waiting for something to startle him into pulling the trigger because he can't do it on his own. He's a coward.

There's the faint sound of his dog, Freddy, barking at the front door, and the doorbell rings. Mark hears it through the open backdoor. He sits there for a moment, deliberating. His finger twitches on the trigger, and he feels it give slightly. Then, he stands and sets down the gun. Tears sit on his cheeks, fresh droplets running over dried streaks as he walks through the house to the front. His legs wobble as he walks, as if on a rocky, unstable surface, rather than smooth hardwood floors. Mark's hands tremble while he unlocks the front door. They slip on the metal doorknob a few times, sweaty and weak, clawing up the edge of the cliff he'd almost tumbled over. He feels as if he's run a marathon, every part of him weighed down and strung up at the same time. Mark opens the door, only to come face to face with a concerned, out of breath, Ethan.

"Holy shit, Mark! Are you alright?" the boy gasps, breathless from sprinting here. At that, Mark snaps, adrenaline from the dreadful hour pumping through him, exhaustion at this never-ending cycle of never being alright, rage at the off-and-on friendship with people around him. He lets out a broken sob, turning his head away, body shaking with emotion.

"Fuck off, Ethan! Stop acting like you care! I know you just feel guilty! I know you're just fucking sympathetic for the fucking loser! I know it! You tried to fix me, and guess what, it never fucking works! I'm not alright and stop acting like you can fix it, you don't actually care!" Mark screams at Ethan, voice cracked and dry from his hour of hell in limbo. Mark slams the door and locks it, breaking down into full sobs as soon as it's closed.

"Mark, I-"

"Go away!" Mark screams, voice raw and stark, scratching, and high. He punches the door, hitting it a few times before leaning against it. Mark lets out a scream that ricochets through the house, piercing and cutting and sinking into the walls, marking his pain permanently. He slowly drops to the ground, sobbing horrendously. Freddy is a few feet away, shifting from paw to paw and whining. The dog isn't good with strangers, and Ethan being here scares him. They got Freddy for Mark as a comfort animal, but the pup is scared right now. Mark holds up his hands, hyperventilating and staring at them. They hurt, burning, and aching and pounding with pain. Blood is on the ripped skin of his knuckles, and the nerves scream in agony from punching the door several times. Relief washes over him in cutting, sharp waves that throb in his hands. He's still alive. Things still hurt.

Ethan stares at the door before pulling out his phone. He steps back slightly and calls Mark's mom. She'd given Amy and Ethan her number long ago. Ethan talks hurriedly with her, telling her Mark skipped class, and he just screamed at Ethan. Immediately, she's on her way. She tells Ethan to stay and listen. She tells Ethan the passcode to the house so he can get it. She tells him to make sure Mark doesn't hurt himself. Ethan hangs up and wipes away his tears, stepping back toward the door.

"M-Mark? Can I come in?" he asks, voice shaky and scared. Mark sobs out an answer, arms reaching toward Freddy. The dog skitters over and crawls between Mark's legs, curling into the boy's chest as Mark hugs him tightly.

"No," he manages, voice dry. He buries his face into Freddy's soft fur, taking deep breaths and petting over the dog. His hands hurt tremendously, but Freddy calms him down. Pain petting over healing.

"Y-your mom told me to c-come in," Ethan asks, hiccuping slightly from his own adrenaline-filled terror.

"Go away," Mark says, letting Freddy lick at his neck and chin as he leans his head back against the door with a thud.

"P-please?"

"Go away, Ethan. I know you don't actually care. You don't have to keep up the act," Mark groans, glaring angrily up along the length of the front door from where he sits. Mark stands and walks away from the door, Freddy scampering along behind him. The teen goes to the back and puts the rock back where it belongs, taking the gun and paper back inside. He makes sure the safety is on and puts the gun in the original spot beneath his mom's bed.

Mark stands and wanders to the kitchen, turning on the faucet and putting the suicide note under the water. It rapidly soaks through, ink smearing and becoming illegible. Mark crumples it and pulls the softening paper apart until it's one ball of mushy, useless nothing. He dumps it in the trash and turns off the faucet. He turns and grabs the vase from the counter, dropping it onto the ground with no emotion. The shattered glass causes Freddy to yelp, and Mark lets out a puff of air that flutters his hair up before it settles on his forehead again. The teen picks the dog up, so Freedy doesn't step in the glass. Mark goes upstairs and calls his mom, bringing his phone with him into the bathroom to wrap his hands.

"Mark?! Are you alright?!" She immediately asks. Mark clears his throat, brows furrowed.

"Umm, yeah. Ethan's overreacting. I was just mad at some people, and I snapped at him. I broke your vase and tried to clean it up, but I cut my hands. I'm fixing that now. No glass in my hands," he reassures, voice calm and devoid of emotion. No one needs to know. Definitely not his mother. Mark sprays his hands with alcohol, then liquid bandage, and then wraps them up around his knuckles.

"Did you seriously skip class? I got a notification from the school!" she asks. Mark scowls, feeling his hands throb in pain. Hopefully, he didn't break any bones.

"Yes. Some kids were mean," Mark admits, voice soft and tired. He knows he sounds small, weak. The teen stares down at the wrapping over his knuckles, remembering the blood leaking from them only minutes before.

"Freddy is fine. I made sure he didn't step in anything. He's with me now. I'm alright. Just... sick of school," Mark mutters, shifting to sit on the floor of his bathroom, letting Freddy move to sit between his legs, against his chest. He weakly pets over the soft fur, relaxing as the dog cuddles him. Mark relaxes, feeling the dog's breathing and his heart as Freddy snuggles up.

"So you're... you're safe?" his mother asks.

"Yes, Mom," Mark answers, giggling as Freddy licks at his face. "Freddy! Stop it!" he laughs tiredly, trying to fight off the dog's worried reassurances.

"Alright, I'll tell Ethan everything is fine," she said. "I love you," she adds before hanging up.

Ethan finishes up the call with Mark's mom, and he turns, walking away. Each step is agitated, frustration rolling in his core like molten lava, ready to spill at any moment. Mark just doesn't give a damn, does he? Here Ethan is, almost having a panic attack over him, and Mark fucking screams at him. How dare he. Ethan's sick of it, he's so tired of worrying over that boy, then getting rejected at every turn. Ethan wipes away a few tears as he walks away. Amy already did this, but it's time Ethan did as well. Mark doesn't care about them. It's time to stop putting his heart out there for Mark to leave abandoned and frozen alone. Mark's cutting him off. Fine. Ethan will cut Mark off too.

Mark slumps down and cuddles Freddy, sitting in the silent, still bathroom. It's so sterile here, empty and void. His thoughts move leisurely in here. After an hour of sitting outside, it's so quiet in the bathroom with Freddy. He frowns slightly, hiding his face in the dog's fur. He's a coward. He huffs and grabs his phone, opening up his email.