The Silence | MARCUS
Tell me a piece of your history that you're proud to call your own...
Marcus was shocked awake by the fire alarm, immediately in panic mode-- and that was never good. He gulped a few breaths in, trying to calm himself down and more important, lower his heartbeat. He took a look at his watch, constantly monitoring his heart-rate-- 112 BPM. Shit. Okay. It was okay. It was high, but it wasn’t dangerous. He’d just had a shock, it was fine. He was fine.
Finally pushing himself off his bed, he registered the smell of smoke. “Oh, fuck.” He hissed out. This wasn’t a drill. This was for real, and he had to go n--
An earth-shattering boom sounded out, loud enough for Marcus to drop to the floor to avoid imagined danger. “What the fuck?!” He’d never heard a bomb go off in real life before. Today that had changed.
120 BPM. He needed to calm down-- and get out. Marcus was in nothing but pyjama pants, that barely stayed up by the drawstrings on his thin frame. That wasn’t going to keep him safe. He needed protection.
As quick as he could, he grabbed a jacket, stuffed his phone, meds and fucking fuck it, if the school was burning, he might as well grab that bottle of whiskey he’d smuggled in. If this was going to be it, Marcus wanted to go out drunk and unaware of the pain.
He pushed on, out into the hall, the anguish at having to leave his computer behind immense. People were already clamouring around, and his eyes scanned the hall for Michael-- where was he? Where was anyone he gave a damn about? He couldn’t figure out where to go, what to do-- until a sharp commanding voice told everyone to head toward the exit. He didn’t know who she was, but she was right.
Marcus moved with the crowd, and then stopped-- Rhiannon. Doc. The only two people in this stupid school that got him aside from his family, they were at the faculty end. He had to-- he had to know if they were okay, but the sea of people forced him along and outside of the building.
And then he saw it.
One half of the building was on fire and the other-- the faculty’s end --was nothing but rubble.
“What--” Marcus had nothing to say, no words coming into his mind as he stared at the wreckage. He had to go in there, Rhiannon and Doc were in there. Doc especially. Even Nachos was beyond helping with this. He tried to take a step forward, tried to rush in there and help them get out. But he couldn’t move.
St. Brendan’s was on fire, and Marcus was a coward.
He was taking short, shaky breaths as he fought with his body. How could he call himself a man if he couldn’t even do something to save the people he cared about?
Raising a hand up to his head in distress, he let out a shaky sigh, finally falling to his knees.
There was nothing he could do. He was too much of a coward. He was too weak. He couldn’t even try. A tear dropped down his cheek as he watched the chaos unfold. Marcus was no hero. This wasn’t a fairytale. This was horrible, terrible real life.
Defeated, Marcus sat down properly, and looked at the whiskey in his hand. There was nothing else to do but drink.
So he did.