after all these years

Two

"You deserve this," she whispered, and even though the audio was distorted and grainy Mark could hear the malicious glee in her voice. "You're so pretty I can't help but want to see you, princess."

Clenching his fists, he stripped off his shirt, exposing his naked chest. The room was cold, and he wanted to put his clothes back on and sleep the day away. "What do you want from me?"

Her eyes widened in anger, and she flopped backwards in her chair. "I just want to see you! Is that too much for a girlfriend to want?"

The gross sludge in his chest and the looming sense of wrongness said yes. His mouth, however, gave her the answer she wanted.

"No," the word felt wrong in his throat, like the months of disuse had caused him to forget the pronunciation. "I'm just... tired."

Her eyes flashed, and the easy smile on her face melted. "What did I say about being tired?"

"To not be."

"Good!" She paused a moment, and then waved her hand jerkily. "Well, are you going to be a good boyfriend or what?"

Mark was so tired of being a good boyfriend.

A flash of white from his monitor snaps him out of his daze, and he blinks blearily at the screen. What had he been doing?

Slightly more alert now, he looks over at his hand and releases the white-knuckle grip that he had on the mouse. That must've been what opened the new tab. Shaking the ache out of his hand, he looks back at the computer, and scans the other tabs opened.

Oh, yeah. That's what he was doing.

Mark closes the new tab, and the quiz he had opened before pops back up. Bright purple letters blink back at him. Before he can stop himself, he reads them again, blinking rapidly. Were you sexually abused?

It's stupid to ask an online quiz something like that. There's no way for a computer to answer for the ache deep in his bones, the subtle sense of wrong he's felt for years. But he's desperate for validation, and it seems like this is the only solution.

Taking a deep breath, he closes the window, too tired to try and continue down that rabbit hole. He needs to be up early tomorrow - he can't be staying up all night again, searching for an answer he'll never find. Even if he stubbornly holds onto the hope that he will.

The only noise in the room is the shuffle of his socks against the carpet as he carefully turns off the lights, and the utter silence makes him wonder what time it is. Had he already wasted the night away?

As he rounds the corner of the hallway and looks at the clock on the oven, he's pleasantly surprised to see that it's only seven. Unfortunately, the pleasant feeling is short-lived as he realizes what that means. Even at seven the house is usually buzzing with some kind of life.

Slightly panicking now, he flings the door to his bedroom open. It knocks gently against the wall as he does so, and he winces at the noise. Amy just looks up from her phone with her eyebrows raised, and just like before the sense of relief that had filled him was quickly replaced with worry.

"Woah, there, champ. Never seen someone so excited for bedtime." She murmurs, letting a small smile make its way onto her face. "What, did you miss me?"

Mark knows she's teasing. Logically, he knows that. But he can't stop comparing Amy to her. "Sorry," he chokes, jerking a hand out. It hangs uselessly in the air, and he brings it back to his side, internally cursing himself at his stupidity. "I didn't mean to hit the wall. Sorry."