I'll let you win (a falsettos x marvel au)

Chapter 15: The Mary Jane Incident

This part makes me sad, I don't like this version of Marvin, but I think we have to do this. Any ways, today is my first day of 6th form, I've got 2 hours of maths later and I may die. BUT IT'S OKAY!!!

There were good days and there were bad days. In the beginning they were mostly bad. Marvin would just lay in motionless in bed, not sleeping, not eating, regretting everything he had done, promising he would do better and be better tomorrow, before drowning his sorrows until he would blackout. He would usually wake up to the smell of his own vomit and piss, leaving the dirty sheets for the maid to deal with.

That was the routine Monday to Thursdays. Friday mornings he would get up, eating mouldy takeout or left over pizza, and would scour the rooms for for beer and liquor bottles, locking the remainder into a cabinet so he wouldn't be tempted. He hadn't breathed in fresh air for weeks, and if it wasn't for Jason, didn't have any human contact. On Friday evenings he began the charade, trying to cook Jason dinner and engage with how school had been.

The sad part was, Jason believed it, believed that his Dad had moved on, had apologised and extended olive branches, and it only killed him when he had would visit Whizzer.

Whizzer too tried to pretend he was alright, but it was the tiny things that cracked the porcelain mask he wore. Him spilling tea and ending up surrounded in shattered mugs and glasses, shredding his fingers as he tried picking them up with his wobbling vision clouded with tears. Jason would catch him up late as he raided his Dad's office for circuit boards and parts. He would be sitting at his desk, tears running down his face, pooling on his art and destroying the images, only to wipe them away and plaster on a smile as he went to greet Jason. Jason had noticed tiny, new habits Whizzer was forming, like signing sometimes instead of speaking, or when he was anxious, writing Marvin's name over and over in ASL subconsciously, his hands moving at lightning speed as he spelt each letter over and over again.

Then Sunday evenings would come, and Jason would leave as per Marvin and Trina's original agreement, unknowingly giving Marvin the all clear to continue slowly killing himself.

Then there were the better days, the days when he got out of bed, did 'work'. He would tell everyone that it was work, instead it was a string of handsomely paid prostitutes, male escorts, anyone who would make him feel something. He was often too intoxicated to remember any of it, but one night he knew it was time to be better.

Friday afternoons he would meet with Mendel, trying to control his PTSD attacks that had become even more frequent after the breakup, lying to him about what he had got done that week. Sometimes during those sessions, he would go back to specific moments he wanted to forget, going too deep, the past hurting and overwhelming him until he was a cowering ball in the corner of the room, shaking as Mendel tried to calm him down. Usually he would be able to hold off of the drinking, waiting to see his son. But one day he relived it, his visions of his lovers death and hitting Trina merging into one singular moment and all the progress he had made vanished, disappearing instantly as he emptied liquor shelves at the closest gas station, driving home as fast as he could so he could drain the bottles dry. Lukewarm beer, cheapest vodkas, mixing them with opioids and painkillers, ordering the most expensive hooker he could find. She showed up at the penthouse, a strong Chicago accent, an expensive black dress, five-inch heels so sharp she could cut Marvin with them, the only things he could remember about her as the bottle of whatever he was holding sloshed over her. He vomited on the floor as she scoffed at how much of a lightweight, he was and he became apologetic, trying to pat down her dress with a kitchen towel, getting slightly too handsy as she told him that she had it.

"look mister, I've got it" she said as she forcefully ripped the fabric out of his fumbling hands, "just let go of me"

But Marvin didn't listen, aggressively trying to dry her dress as he patted her down, gripping her tight, fingers leaving bruises on her waist.