I. “someone will give you the world, marc,” mama tells him once. marcus doesn’t dare look at the purpling bruises around her neck, long-fingered and painful. instead, he eyes the bottles littered around the kitchen, half-drunk and stale. there’s resentment festering in his chest, hate eating away at his ribs, at him, at himself.
he hates him for giving mama the world and drinking the promise away. he hates himself for not being there when her world came crashing down. he hates himself even more for not believing her words.
ii. “i’m okay, marc,” mama murmurs. blood trickles from her forehead from where the bottle had struck her. marcus is ready to scream, to take a bottle of his own and smash it on his head. he knows mama is lying, knows from the way her hand shakes in his, knows from the way her chest hasn’t stopped heaving from the moment he arrived home.
school becomes secondary. mama scolds him for ditching sixth for the seventh time that month, but he knows he made the right choice when mama is unscathed. it doesn’t matter that he takes the hit for her.
iii. “he loves me, marc,” mama whispers, broken. they both know it’s a lie. marcus knows the bastard hasn’t loved his mama ever since his lips began pressing kisses to a bottle instead of hers. he remembers him coming home late in the night, arguments exploding and the sound of breaking glass. there’s no love to be had, just a broken woman holding onto to ghosts.
so when he feels a flicker of that feeling bubbling in his chest, marcus runs. it aches to see the disappointed in those warm, warm eyes. he tells himself that it’s okay, that it’s better this way. oliver deserves better and he – he doesn’t deserve anything at all.
iv. “i met someone today,” mama confesses. “she makes me happy.” she whispers it like a deep, dark secret. marcus just pulls her into a hug, burying his head against her neck, and swallows the sob. she cries and mentions the divorce papers that had been in the desk drawer, wasting away. “i think it’s time i choose to be happy,” she says.
marcus thinks back to the boy he left a month ago and his heart hurts. mama notices his silence and kisses his forehead. “i think it’s time you choose as well, marc.” he just holds her tighter, closing his eyes. he doesn’t cry. he doesn’t.
v. “i like him,” mama says with a bright smile, “he’s good for you, marc.” marcus doesn’t regret bringing oliver to meet her. they had recently moved out from the old apartment, the divorce papers signed and filed. he doesn’t let it happen without a fight, but there’s a satisfaction in breaking the bastard’s nose.
oliver stares at the place in wonder, taking in everything like a child at a candy store. he brings flowers, goddamn flowers, and mama laughs with her girlfriend, placing the sunflowers into a vase. marcus just shakes his head and takes oliver’s hand, playing with the temptation to kiss him right then and there.
vi. “i love her,” mama says casually one day, “i think i’m going to marry her.” marcus laughs, not at all surprised. he thinks of oliver, the pure, adrenaline-obsessed moron that has managed to fit against his ripped edges and replies, “that makes both of us.”
– it’s not you, it’s me | you deserve better than me tropes
for the @hprarepairnet and @slytherdornet tropes challenge!