It's All So Incredibly Loud (Mayor Damien/ Actor Mark)
a/n : hiya! this is my first time posting a fic on tumblr please be nice, im experimenting with my writing style a lil so apologies if this is a lil weird to read :3 enjoy!!
Content Warnings:
- Depictions of strangulation
- Murder
- Descriptions of a corpse
The aftermath of Damien's death, where all Mark can do is cradle his body and drown in regret.
Two words Mark never thought heād have to say again had begun to spill from between his lips like a waterfall, repeating over and over in soothing whispers until theyād completely lost their meaning.Ā
āIām sorry, Iām sorry, Iām sorryā¦ā
Mark looked down at his friendās limp body. Without the blood and bruises around his neck, and without the sickeningly pale tone of his skin, it would be easy to imagine that he was just resting against the Manorās wall ā sleeping soundly and peacefully. His dark, long hair was damp with sweat and rested lightly on his calm face. He remembered how Damien used to sweep away any loose strands of hair that found their way onto his face. Heād complain about how he despised the claustrophobic feeling of it, yet refused to even consider cutting it short. It was that kind of stubbornness and persistence that, if it had remained, mightāve saved him from ending up the way that he did. But who knows? Mark was stubborn and persistent, and look where that got himā alone, kneeling over his best friendās corpse.
Markās trembling hands found their way to Damienās cheek, which had begun to lose its signature warmth and rosy tint. He let his fingers trace over every little freckle under Damienās closed eyes, over all the little scars he had from playing too rough when he was little, over his pursed and soft lips. His thumb stopped at the end of Damienās mouth, gently trying to push the corners into forming a smile. It ended up looking almost uncanny ā lacking everything about Damienās familiar sweet smile except its vague shape.
Looking at his misshapen curled lips that were being held up by the thumbs of an equally misshapen man, Mark felt a twisted and painful version of the warmth that Damienās smile once gave him, nothing but the aftertaste of the joy it once held. The very sight made Markās stomach turn even more than it already had. As the disgusting and unfamiliar feeling of what he can only assume to be guilt began to set in, Mark pulled his hands off Damienās face, and back was the peaceful, distant looking frown that came with his sleep.
Guilt. What an odd feeling. The human mind can feel grief over its own poor decision making, feel regret and responsibility at actions it chose to take ā sometimes knowing how they would inevitably end.Ā
And Mark didnāt know guilt very well. Guilt was more a white noise in the back of his head, ringing endlessly so much so that heād learned to tune it out. Guilt was a distant friend that he only spoke to when he needed something, or when it needed something from him. Never, not even while he had his hands around Damienās throat, did he expect this moment to be the time his conscience caught up to him.Ā
Despite the fact Mark was not well-acquainted with guilt, one thing set it apart from the plethora of negative emotions he couldāve pinpointed at that moment. One singular thought that consumed his mind, body, soul and voice.
Iām sorry. Iām so, so sorry.
It was hitting like bullets, a shot through the heart every time those futile apologies left his mouth. Damien is dead. He is dead. He is dead, his soul is stuck in the horrible void Mark had learned to call home, and he is not coming back. Damien is dead. He is dead, and by Markās hands.
And now it was those same hands that Mark put on the corpseās cold back, gently massaging the points he knew Damien was the most tense ā as if clearing his stiffening muscles of their tension would bring him right back to life, as if his muscle ache was the only thing keeping him on the ground.Ā
Markās slender fingers found their way to Damienās neck, placing his fingertips on the deep purple bruises that heād left just minutes ago. He stopped, reliving the memory.Ā
Despite the dreadful consequences, Mark wouldāve been lying if he said that strangling Damien wasnāt exciting. Mark knew what it was like to feel a rush of adrenaline at committing violence, but this was something deeper. Feeling the last breath slip out of Damienās throat in his hands was borderline euphoric. He recalled the way Damien croaked out his last few breaths; the way his futile little gasps for air gave up on him little by little. He felt the tips of his fingers push into Damienās neck in remembrance.Ā
There was gasping, choking, then silence. Pure and utter silence, even from the horrible voices that plagued his mind. The hauntings and time itself paused after his friendās last little choke, giving the dutiful Mayor his well-deserved moment of silence. But the silence was deafening. Disapproving. The voices being quiet felt more like a motherās punishment than a moment of peace, as if the universe was crossing its arms and saying: Now look what youāve done.
Silence. Between the two of them, not one breath was taken.
Moving a little bit closer, Mark wrapped his arms around Damien and cradled his body just like he used to when they were young and in love. He stared at Damienās unmoving pout and began to speak in a low, hoarse whisper.
āShhhā¦ Itās going to be okay.ā He spoke to nobody and began to rock the corpse back and forth, as if comforting a lost child. āIām sorry this had to happen, Iām so sorryā¦ā
Mark slowly shut his eyes, grasping as much as he could onto an escape he could never get. ā...I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you, Iā¦ā
He forced a deep breath before slowly lowering his head and planting a soft kiss on Damienās lips ā a last-ditch effort to wake his sleeping beauty from his rest.
āIām so, so sorry.ā
tangentwithtanner
stormborns
blakekathryn
2087
