Perceive This - Chapter 7: The Gift
Tired eyes met a digital clock a foot and a half away - 5:09am, December 13th, 2005. Tom groaned as he rolled out of bed, bare feet landing on cold stone floor and goosebumps traveling over his entire body. He grabbed his robe and wrapped it tightly around his previously exposed midsection. The thought of no longer sleeping in just boxers crossed his mind, and he began to warm up to it when he entertained the idea of sleeping in an oven instead.
The fucking thirteenth. Great. Ugh, what the fuuuuck, why did this day have to come? He didn't need a birthday. It was all just one big lame-ass reminder of how much different his life was now and how much fun his birthdays used to be. Oh, and another year to add on to that ever-climbing age number. Awesome!
Even the bathroom mirror refused to go easy on him, only reminding his tired eyes how shitty he looked. Guess it comes with being thirty, Tom groaned internally. He ran a hand through his unwashed hair and reached into the medicine cabinet for his morning dose of life.
Why was he even awake at this hour? No birds, the sun wasn't up, no loud noises... Internal clock, maybe? He scoffed. Yeah, sure, internal clock - wound up on self-loathing with a dash of pity thrown in at every tick. That was a real winner.
Hoodie on, sweatpants on, crutch safely in his pocket - happy fucking birthday, asshole.
He hid away in his studio just like every other day, sipping his coffee while waiting for his computer to come on. Okay, maybe not like every other day - maybe he felt the need to be connected to the world on this joyous day of his birth; maybe he wanted to buy some dynamite off Ebay and blow himself up - what did it matter? The sudden light from the monitor contrasted harshly with the dark room, and a part of Tom cursed himself for not expecting it. His eyes ached. He pressed his palms into his eye sockets and rubbed them roughly, trying to help them adjust. Nope, no luck. God, he already resented the entire day.
I got a gift, and it blew me away, from the far eastern sea straight to here.
Before he even realized it, his fingers were making their way across the keyboard, typing in things without any prior thought. He squinted at the screen in another attempt to adjust to the unfamiliar lighting, and he recognized the webpage that was brought up despite the blurriness. All Tom could muster was a defeated sigh in response. He should've expected no less from his own goddamn self.
Mark's Myspace page towered infront of his face like an angry parent punishing a child. Tom kept his head down as shame rippled through his body. Fuck, even when he was alone, he still found himself revolting.
Bullshit aside, he wondered why he was sitting there trying to act like he had any pride left. Who was around to judge him at such a stupid hour in the morning, anyway? Only himself, and God knows the ache in his chest to check up on Mark would overpower any better judgement he had for those few fleeting seconds.
"Fuck it," he muttered with resignation. This was his sad, pathetic birthday present to himself, he decided. Besides, what if Mark left a birthday wish for him or something? Could he live knowing he blindly turned away from that?
The page scrolled down while his still burning eyes searched for some acknowledgement, any sort of nod towards Tom or what day it was. Even the tiniest, simplest thing would do.
"Let's see, last thing posted... Ah, here, less than an hour ago. Well well, I wonder what this could be."
A post about Mark's new band with Travis, it seemed. Great. That's just what Tom wanted to see. He continued to skim through the words Mark wrote, mouse hovering over the website at the bottom of it all. So, plusfortyfour.com, hm? +44... The UK? What, was Mark planning to move east or something?
In the middle of that thought, the masochist in Tom took over and clicked the link.
Oh God, I feel like I'm in for it now. It's like the rush has gone straight to my brain.
Tom had about half a second and an eyeroll (which he undoubtedly took advantage of, mind you) to beat himself up for clicking it before life showed up with other plans. Strange how things unfold that way, isn't it? Here we have a man, it's his thirtieth birthday, and for those thirty years of his life, he had shaped a particular idea about himself, about the world around him. Then suddenly, in less time than it takes to actually say "life-altering event," one happens and shakes this poor man to his very core. BOOM! - that fucking fast.
The webpage loaded about halfway, and then autoplay unleashed its assault on Tom Delonge as a person, as a human, as an emotional being. It would not rest until it saw him completely destroyed, soul lying in shambles housed in the body of a broken man. Music surrounded the unsuspecting Sagittarius, followed swiftly by the deep, pain-soaked voice of the man Tom used to call his bestfriend - Mark Hoppus.
"Please understand..."
The sound pierced through Tom, and his lungs struggled to find air in all of it. There was an immediate sense of panic, but it was soon overshadowed by an all-consuming feeling of helplessness.
"This isn't just goodbye..."
Every defense, every fake smile, every wall Tom had ever built came down around him, crumbling so violently that he couldn't even grasp at a strand of the false sanity it once offered.
"This is I can't stand you..."
The words sank straight into Tom's soul, redefining everything he thought he was. Pure sadness, loneliness, despair, anguish, hate - he heard all of it wrapped into the voice he once so loved hearing. God, he could practically see the misery dripping from Mark's lyrics. The immense pain it was causing Tom was too much - adrenaline coursed through his veins like acid, leaving his mind to cave in on itself. All he could think, taste, feel - only static.
Happy fucking birthday.
But my voice is as lonely as loud as I whisper a joy of this pain.
Tom was crushed under the weight of it all, from the inside out and back again. Words eluded him; they were a foreign concept at this point. It didn't even matter. He sat there in silence as No It Isn't played on a loop. He let the song, Mark's voice, envelope him and go through him and saturate every pore. It was his own personal torture, and he fucking deserved it. He deserved the agony, the emptiness, and every bit of the blame. This is what he'd done. This was his fault.
Yet somehow... Somehow, he felt happy. Happier than he'd felt in ages, really. It was odd - here he was, completely destroyed, totally empty, with a big stupid sincere smile on his face, and it wasn't even some twisted masochistic thing.
All Tom could focus on (after the initial heart-wrenching desperation, ofcourse) was the fact that Mark remembered. Mark remembered Tom's birthday. Not only that, but Mark gave Tom a song. He wrote it, recorded it, spent time on it, planned it all out for this particular day, this specific event. Hours must have been spent on it, which ultimately meant hours with the brown-eyed guitarist in mind. Mark thought about Tom that much.
His smile grew wider, brighter, almost to the point of making his cheeks hurt. He closed his eyes and slowly shook his head before laughing a short, quiet laugh at the irony of everything. How could a happiness like this coexist with so much agony?
The sinking pit of loneliness Tom had grown so accustomed to feeling in the pit of his stomach suddenly wasn't there anymore. It was a strange sensation. That deep emptiness had been building up inside of him for far too long; it was something he'd come to accept as a simple fact of life, something unavoidable You know, like death and taxes. Death, taxes, black hole of despair - these were Tom's truths. It stunned him that a feeling so gigantic and overpowering could be erased so quickly, but it most certainly had. Just like that. He could almost feel the sheer weightlessness of it all floating through the pieces of his broken heart. Amazing how joy and pain go together hand in hand, he thought.
And suddenly, you've done it all. You've won me over in no time at all.
Thoughts carried on racing through Tom's mind, falling over themselves and getting lost in the static that still waited undertow. "No It Isn't" repeated over and over in the background, and it never got easier to deal with. It hurt on a deeper level than he thought possible, but that was something Mark always knew how to do. He could craft a song with a sharper edge than any blade; Mark thought out every word and carefully placed them in the most opportune fashion, forming a perfectly planned line that could cut someone straight to their core, because he knew how to make it personal yet beautiful. Having lost track of time, Tom had no idea how many times he'd heard the song now. That was okay. It was his birthday present, and it was perfect.
A new smile formed across his features, pulling the corners of his mouth upward again before his cheeks had a chance to fully recover. He could feel the all-but-forgotten butterflies fluttering around in his tummy for the first time since... Too long, he concluded. He welcomed them with open arms, relishing in the nostalgia that accompanied them as they floated through the part of him that once felt totally hollow. They made him feel alive. Most days, he would blame that or any similar feeling in his stomach on the handful of painkillers he'd swallowed already, or maybe on the alcohol he'd been chasing them with. Not this time, though - no, he knew this time was different, and it was fantastic.
After another swig of the poison infront of him, there was a small moment of hesitation. He questioned briefly what exactly he'd put into his system at this point, and how much more he could handle. Not surprisingly, he'd lost count of how many painkillers his body consumed since first hearing Mark's song. No telling how much liquor he'd drenched them in, either.
Tom was still smiling all the same. Only Mark could get this sort of teenage-girl reaction out of him, that dick. Nothing else in his life could bring him to his knees like this; nothing else could make him smile this way; nothing else made him feel alive. Just Mark - a smelly punk from southern California that loved to make dick jokes and smoke cigarettes. It was always Mark.
The computer chair spun slightly at the absence of weight in it. Tom left it behind as he moved to the couch in anticipation of all the drugs that were about to kick in. Standing up was already a task, he noticed, no doubt thanks to the alcohol, and he held onto whatever object was closest to assist in hobbling to his destination. Goddammit, it was so much work. Better safe than sorry, though, right? A dry chuckle was all he had to say to that thought, his head already resting safely on a pillow before the chuckle even finished. He threw his arm over his eyes, guarding them in the crook of his elbow. When he was finally comfortable, he let out a deep breath and sank into relaxation.
Just as expected, the drug haze hit with full force within a few minutes of Tom lying down. It blanketed his senses with a dull euphoria tinted in greens and blues, tiny flecks of orange and yellow glistening through it. Reality started getting away from him - it was a lightly hued smoke that slipped right through his fingers and disappeared before his eyes. He was more than okay with it all; his tired consciousness welcomed the escape with open arms as he let go entirely. Why fight it? Besides, it was his birthday, and he preferred to spend it in a place where he was happy.
It was incredible. His consciousness floated, swayed, shifted, slipped through space and time. A nice, contented sigh escaped his lips as he felt himself fade away from the reality around his physical body. There was somewhere else he had to be, he could feel it. It was calling out to him. His soul ached being away from it. He continued to slide through dimensions, and time shifted, warped, molded itself. A memory began to take shape as he watched silently; every single fibre of every single thing that surrounded him was altering, reconstructing into something he recognized. Matter was being formed from seemingly nothing yet everything at the same time. It was the closest thing to a miracle he had ever experienced, and his awareness weaved in and out of the fabric of creation. It was vivid and beautiful. The ache in his soul ceased as Tom grounded himself in the fully remade world, the new reality that sprung up around him. Weird, he remembered this place...
Tom turned around, only to be immediately sucked in and suffocated by intense blue oceans, clear as the sky, vibrant and full of life and staring right through him in a way he hadn't experienced in way too long. Eyes. He knew those eyes. Oh fuck.
There was Mark, standing right infront of Tom with a huge smile and alcohol on his breath. Tom choked.
If you ask, I will do what you say. All we have is this night to get through.
The weather was surprisingly pleasant for late October. It was just nippy enough to have a slight chill in the air, but not cold enough to be uncomfortable. Skateboarding in a short sleeved shirt was made for weather like this, whereas simply standing around outside would require a jacket once dusk rolled around. It was what many people would consider perfect. Perhaps that was just one of the perks of living in San Diego.
Two drunk boys staggered into the oldest of the pair's room in the middle of the night, the darkness suddenly filled with their prolonged glances and secret desires. The younger one shushed his friend, demanding his attention before pulling a fifth of vodka out of one of the deep pockets in his baggy jeans. Hushed whispers revealed that the bottle had been stolen from the Halloween party they were at earlier, and the two decided to drink to the sneaky seventeen year old's swiping skills.
"Halloween of '92, fuck yeah! Here's to fucking your dad and becoming your new step-father," the twenty year old exclaimed still in a bit of a whisper. A clink came from the tiny shotglasses as they connected shortly before traveling to each boy's lips, burning alcohol washing down their throats at the same time.
"Dude, why are we whispering? It's your fucking shitty apartment," Tom said with a laugh on his breath.
Mark giggled with him. "I have no fucking idea, man. People live upstairs, but..." He trailed off as he walked over to his dresser in search of an ashtray, Marlboro Light being lit in the process. He took his hat off and threw it towards the closet, followed by his shirt, all while he kept the cigarette balanced in his lips.
Tom took another shot of vodka. His eyes were fixed on his bestfriend, watching every move his body made. God, he was intoxicating. All he wanted to do was wrap his arm's around Mark's waist, hold his hand, be close to him. It was fucking eating at him inside. He just wanted to be close to him.
He chuckled aloud to himself, amazed at how ridiculously manly he was becoming.
"What's funny," Mark asked as he put his cigarette out.
"You have your dad's butt," Tom grinned in response.
"Aw Tommyboy, were you over there staring at my ass?!"
"For science, homo. Genetics and shit."
"Uh huhhh, you wanna get a better look at it, don't you?" Mark's stupid smile took over his face, it made him glow, then he turned around and started to bend over just to be a gigantic dick.
"Oh, I can't resist it," Tom squealed. "Let me pee on your butt, Mark! You can call me Fabio while I do it, I know that's what you dream about!" He giggled uncontrollably as Mark tried to sensually rub his ass. What a dickhole.
"Oh, but Thomas..." Mark tried to say it seductively and ended up sounding like an old woman. Tom was laughing so hard that his bladder was screaming.
"Really gotta pee, though, oh man, hold on," he said as he bolted out of the room in the direction of the bathroom, his notoriously small bladder getting the best of him again. Intoxication was replacing his balance, and he giggled with every stumble. Dammit, he was so giddy! A night like this with Mark was always the one thing that could get him in this mood. That's half the reason why these were his favourite nights.
The mirror caught Tom's attention in the bathroom, and he finally noticed how sweaty he was. When did it get so fucking hot? More importantly, what the fuck had he spilled on his shirt? He shrugged and took it off, tossing it to the floor. Kill two birds with one stone, fuck yeah.
He walked back into Mark's room, still giggling as he staggered around.
"Dude, Tom, I hea-" Tom loudly cut him off when he entered.
"Mark, you asswipe, I fucking love y-"
Graceful as ever, Tom managed to trip mid-sentence over a pile of shit that his lazy ass bestfriend left right in the middle of his fucking pathway, that dickweed. Gravity didn't waiver for teenagers with too much alcohol in their systems, and Tom's arms flailed in a panic as he went down, reaching for something, anything, to keep him from falling. Mark happened to be the closest thing, just as graceful as his brown-eyed counterpart, so Tom ended up pulling him down with him. A resounding thud marked their destined arrival on the floor. Goddammit, that did not feel like falling onto a cloud. Instead of a hard floor, though, the younger boy felt warmth there. He opened his eyes and looked down.
Sure enough, there was Mark, right underneath him. Tom was entirely ontop of him, pinning the boy to the floor, their eyes totally lever with one another. Oh God, how many times had Tom thought about ending up in this exact position? Ofcourse, he'd planned for it to go a little smoother, maybe with more kissing or something, but he would take what he could get. Moonlight spilled through Mark's tiny window, illuminating the blue eyes staring directly into Tom's. His breath was taken away for a moment. The moonlight reflected in Mark's eyes, making them practically glow an icy pale blue as they pierced into Tom's deep brown ones. How fucking beautiful could one human be, he wondered, noticing the accents and shadows the light caused on the face below him. His breath finally returned, and through the ridiculously loud sound of his pulse in his ears, he could hear them both breathing heavily, slowly, from the fall. He couldn't take his eyes off Mark, couldn't interrupt the current status of things, even after noticing how long they'd been on the floor staring at eachother.
"Kiss me, Tom."
Lips collided with lips, passion crashing down around both of them in suffocating waves of euphoria. Hesitation had no part in this equation - there was no second thought. Tom's right hand rested lightly under Mark's chin, tilting his face up to bring his lips even closer. He was soft, he was tender - it wasn't an overpowering force, and it wasn't one of those sloppy kisses teenage couples share before ripping eachother's clothes off. This was fucking sensual; it was intimate. Mark's lips were so soft as they moved in unison with Tom's, their subtle movements matching and pushing the other forward. The hands of the young guitarist made their way up into the older boy's hair, one resting on the back of his neck to pull him closer. Calloused fingers trailed up Tom's sides, under his shoulders, finally allowing Mark's arms to wrap around his neck and pull him deeper into the kiss. Their breathing flooded Tom's ears, mixing with the sound of his own heartbeat to make an oddly perfect combination. Soft noises came from them, complimented perfectly by the small gasp Mark let out when Tom bit his lip gently before pulling away, his hands still in the hair of the beautiful boy beneath him.
Their faces were only a couple inches away from eachother, both boys still gasping and trying to catch their breath. Mark stared up at Tom with such an intensity, he could see tidal waves of emotion in the gorgeous blue spheres. Their gaze was locked, held, and said everything they'd needed to say for too long without any words. It was evident, it was all over their faces; it was all around them and throughout them - this was so much more than just sex, more than the alcohol in their systems, more than anything they'd ever felt in their lives.
Tom put his forehead to Mark's as a smile played at his face, eye contact constantly maintained. They both knew. This was completely real, and it was going to change their lives forever.
With a twist of your smile your own way, you left me all up in arms and confused.
Before Tom knew it, he found himself on his back, Mark staring down at him. A part of him wanted to question it, while a part of him was too caught up in everything to bother. His arms stayed resting around Mark's neck while those blue eyes studied his, searched him, tried to figure him out. For just a moment, Mark pulled back, putting some space between their bodies, and really let his eyes take in the sight of Tom beneath him. The moonlight bounced off his slightly tanned skin perfectly, making him look otherworldly. His bare chest continued rising and falling in the pale glow with his still heavy breathing. Mark bit his lip, his eyes darting back to the brown ones he was getting lost in. They caught the light just right, reflecting flecks of dark green within the deep brown. They were wide, but not in a fearful way; they looked up at Mark with a vulnerability that he'd never seen before, glazed over by lust. He was fucking beautiful, and, even if it was just for the moment, he was his.
The brown eyes beneath Mark followed every move he made with utmost curiosity. He noticed this, and that signature Hoppus smile appeared on his face. He had an idea.
Mark's hands found Tom's, holding onto them and intertwining with his fingers tightly. He adjusted his position to straddle Tom's waist carefully, smile still shining from his face. Tom knew where this was going and tried for only a second to squirm away, but it was too late - Mark leaned down, holding onto Tom's hands and stretching them above his head, and placed his mouth beside the boy's ear. His breath was sending chills down Tom's spine, goosebumps across his entire body. Mark moved a little bit, his nose brushed past Tom's ear, as he slowly, gently brought his teeth to Tom's earlobe, biting it, gasping into his ear. Chills were racing up the younger boy's spine, causing him to squirm and shudder, his hips pushing up against Mark. He didn't push back, however - he simply continued to keep Tom's hands pinned while his lips traced over his collarbone.
Moans were lacing the desperate gasps coming from the boy pinned to the floor. His hips were pushing into Mark more and more, even though he tried to control it. That famous smile returned as his eyes fell upon the writhing body beneath him for a moment before the Pisces bit his lip and moved his lips to Tom's ear again.
"I want to feel how hard you are for me," he breathed as lust saturated his voice. Tom whimpered, struggling to get his hands free for a moment before resigning.
"Just for me," he continued in almost a low growl, breathing heavily into Tom's ear. "You're all mine." The groan from beneath him sent chills down his spine. He smiled. All his.
Oh God, I feel like I'm in for it now, and how this kiss will be one wonderfully vain.
Tom could feel every nerve-ending overloading. His body was in a constant state of shivers, squirming as each chill shot up his spine. He'd never felt anything like this. When Mark finally released his hands, he couldn't get them around him fast enough. His fingers tangled in the older boy's hair, grabbing him and pulling their lips together finally. He sucked at Mark's bottom lip gently, moaning in response when it got a gasp out of him. His hands kept tangling in the older boy's hair, trying to pull him closer and closer. Their bodies pressed together, and he felt Mark's right hand tracing circles down his side, igniting fires under his skin wherever he touched. His hands traveled downwards, having finally let go of the fistfuls of hair, and his nails dug deep onto Mark's back as his lips began exploring Tom's neck, teeth scraping gently across his throat before settling into the bend of his shoulder and neck, biting and sucking softly.
His breathing was sporadic, coming out more in pants and moans than anything at this point. Another whimper escaped his throat as Mark brushed against his ear, his hips pressing up against the body ontop of him. There was a soft groan from Mark before he moved to readjust the bottom half of their bodies, never separating them more than he had to. He settled for being slightly inbetween Tom's legs, their hips meeting in a way that even the slightest thrust would be amazing. Their lips returned to eachother once again, deep and passionate and raw. Tom let his nails scrape down Mark's sides roughly, to which Mark responded by finally pushing his hips into Tom's.
He let out a deep, aching moan, Mark's name rolling off his tongue. The Sagittarius wasn't even sure if the noise he made at that point was human, but he didn't care. Everything about Mark felt so good. He pushed his hips into Mark again, which made him push back at the same time, and Tom could swear he saw stars in that moment. His eyes squeezed shut, his arched his back to get closer to the boy ontop of him, and his breath hitched in his throat.
Then Tom turned the tables on the older boy. He gasped and sighed, lips right against Mark's ear, sending chills all throughout the blue-eyed boy's body.
"Moan my name, Mark. Please," he halfway begged, and Mark caved. He completely and totally caved. Their hips met again, and Mark moaned Tom's name like a fucking swear word.
I swear I'll melt if you touch me at all, but then I'll ask you to do it again, and again.
Mark could feel how close Tom was getting; he could feel how much this was getting to both of them. Their bodies were squirming, aching to get closer to the other, bucking their hips and clawing their skin, gasping for air that their lungs didn't want to take in. Tom's face was in Mark's shoulder, kissing and biting the sensitive skin under his ear. It was enough to push Mark over the edge, but he fought it. He refused to finish before Tom.
He leaned over, holding himself up on his left elbow, allowing his right hand enough room to trail down Tom's body and between them. There wasn't much space put between them - even Mark wasn't strong enough to fight it that hard - just enough to sneak his hand between their hips. Tom had his fingers tangled in Mark's hair again, pulling him into another soul-devouring kiss. Fingertips trailed across the younger boy's chest, down his tummy, stopping just below his bellybutton to drag his nails across the delicate skin. Moans floated through their kisses while Mark's hand continued to sneak lower, pausing at the waistband of Tom's pants as if to ask permission. Tom's hips pushed upwards against Mark, begging him to continue. One quick flick of the wrist and his jeans were unbuttoned, allowing Mark's hand to slip under the fabric of Tom's boxers.
He kept his eyes on the older boy's hand as it went lower, his entire body on pins and needles in anticipation. He looked up at Mark, their eyes holding contact for awhile before he finally began to caress Tom softly. He gasped at the touch, Mark's name pouring from his throat with every moan dancing on his breath. His hips pushed against Mark's hand involuntarily and drew more groans from him. Mark bit his lip in an attempt not to get carried away himself, his hand still stroking the boy beneath him.
Tom slipped his hand into Mark's free left hand and laced their fingers together tightly as he looked up into deep, suffocating, gorgeous blue eyes. "Don't stop. Please, Mark, don't stop," he choked out.
Mark smiled.
And now, I'll stop the storm if it rains. I'll light a path far from here. I'll make your fear melt away, and the world we know disappear.
Tom's eyes stayed shut as the painkillers wore off, snapping him back from his memory, yet not fully into reality. He squeezed his eyes tighter, hoping somehow that it would return him to where he was. It didn't. Fuck, what would he have to do to get back there? Take more fucking pills? Die? Why couldn't he have just stayed there for a few more minutes...
His mind was racing, trying to come up with any plan to get back to that memory, anything to get back just long enough to hear Mark say, "I love you." His heart broke all around him, aching to return and hear all those emotions that were finally shared that night. That was the first time they admitted anything, and that's when they admitted everything. It was Tom's favourite memory, something he held closer to him than anyone could ever understand. It was his most guarded secret, his closest memory, the thing that defined him more than any other experience of his life. He sighed. Ofcourse, he would wake up at the good part.
Even if it was just a memory replaying over and over, he would be happy. It didn't have to be anything to live through. Staying on autopilot forever as that memory replayed on a loop would be more than fine. He had no idea what he would do, anyway, if he had to actually relive it. Would he go into it with a blank slate? Or would he go into it knowing all that he knows now? He couldn't even say what he would've done differently if he'd known then what he knows now. Would he have done anything differently? That night was pretty perfect the way it was. Maybe he would've run away with Mark way back then, before they had anyone else to worry about. Maybe he could've kept him happy, offered him a different life... One where they would've been together.
Tom sighed. He could feel the tears building up, even though his eyes were still clenched. This was all fucking stupid.
Make the world we know disappear.
There was a creaking noise in the background, which Tom knew to be the studio door. He didn't react to it at all - he figured if he ignored it, it would go away. He didn't even care. He just wanted to sleep, dream, die. Anything but this.
"Your birthday dinner is in a couple hours, don't you wanna start getting ready," Jen asked, her head poked through the door. Tom didn't open his eyes to see.
"Nah, I don't feel up for it tonight," he sighed, burying his face deeper into his arm and shutting everything else out. Infact, he had no plans to move from that couch.
Tom heard her try several more times to get a response from him, but he couldn't be bothered to make a sound, much less form words. Finally, he heard her leave and shut the stupid door, which meant he was free to wallow in his misery. That's what he was best at these days.
Everything about today was stupid, he decided. His birthday, the date, the fact that he was alive - everything. Fuck today. It was his fucking birthday, Mark remembered. That was the only part that wasn't stupid. Why couldn't he just stay locked in his memories of them together? Maybe locked in the memories of shit they'd done together for his past birthdays... Anything. Anything was better than not having him at all. He got up and wobbled over to the computer, starting "No, It Isn't" again. Even a song like this, designed to destroy him - even it was better than nothing at all. Why did it fucking come to this? He sighed.
Birthdays are fucking stupid.