Date: Fri, 14 Mar 2014 01:09:22 +0700
From: Robert Glass <robxglass@gmail.com>
Subject: Marc and Luke chapter 12

All right reserved. Any unauthorized use is prohibited. This is a
fiction. Any resemblance to people and/or events is coincidental. If
reading this deemed illegal to you, I implore you to stop. If it offends
you, please do not read on.

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CHAPTER 12: It Hurts with Every Heartbeat


"I always feel warm with you," he says as my tear slowly halts.

"Thank you." Lame answer. I chuckle between my hiccups. He wipes my
drenched face with the sleeve of my favorite coat of his. I took his hand
in mine. "Why aren't you crying?"

"Oh, please. Crying's for the weak. I'm strong now." He laughs. I hate
this. I hate this version of him; the one that denies his internal aching.

I let go of his hand and decided to play along with his joke. "I suppose
I'm weak now."

"Pretty much," he says. "But you made me so weak back then."

"You made me so weak," I stress.

"No, I made you feel strong. I made you feel like a hero. You really loved
to be this super human that saves the world. My world."

He cocks his head and smiles to me. I know he doesn't mean harm. "You're
always right."

"Nice to know I'm right for a change."

I savor the sensation of rubbing his shaved head as he strokes my beard. I
see his eyes; he begs me not to love him. He's done it so many times
before. It is an unmistakable look. I now know why he tried so hard to kick
me out of his life. He always falls, however flat and stable his ground
is. The ground has never been his problem, his legs are.



"Hello?" I hear from the other side.

"It's Marc," I say.

"Sorry. I deleted your number when I started dating Chris."

"It's okay." He keeps on apologizing as though everything is his fault. The
problem is he believes it. "Is this a bad time?"

"No. I asked you to call me later after all. This is later."

I chuckle at his non-joke. "God, I miss you."

"I really want to say 'don't say that' but I miss you too," he says. "We're
going really fast here."

"Do you want me to hang up?" I hope he says no.

"No." Yes! "I need a company. Do you mind if we don't talk about anything
heavy tonight?"

"I don't mind at all." His wish is my command.



"Luke."

"Marc."

"How are you?" Do I even have to ask this?

"I'm great," he says.

"You're having a bad day, aren't you?" I ask.

I can hear a laughter from the other end of the line. "You finally think
like a scientist that you are. Find a pattern and deduct."

I have to chuckle. "How bad is it?"

"Bad enough. I want anti-depressants of any kind. I feel so horrible
today. A pop would've make me less of a mess."

He gets me worried. "You know, I can take you to..."

"No, Marc. I don't actually want to take medication again. I'm not going to
ask you anyway if I did. I've troubled you too much." A guilt is coming.

"You didn't trouble me at all," I say.

"Seriously? I made you come to a couple's therapy when we were only been
with each other for a few months. That's pretty troubling." The guilt
arrives.

Okay, stop with the self-deprecation. I have to know if he's taking care of
himself. "Are you planning on getting any sort of treatment? Therapy,
maybe?"

"Well, I have this whole list of therapists and rape victim support groups
I have to go through. But who are we kidding? I wouldn't open my mouth once
I got there," he says.

God, Luke! "Can I ask you something... serious?"

"Yes?"

I'm recalling the horrifying image the night he was assaulted. I really
didn't want to ask this, but I feel I have to. "On the night of..."

"The rape?" he offers.

"Yeah, that night. Um... you saw me, right?"

"I did," he says.

"I'm not sure if I was just imagining things but I thought I saw you smile
and shake your head no to me."

Please, tell me it was just my imagination. Please, please, please,
please. "I did," he says.

"Oh God." I should have never asked that question. I'm not ready for the
truth.

"I was his punching bag, I know. But I thought if I was enough for him that
way, then good; finally. If I was going to die, then great, I'm finally out
of this misery. Win-win, right?" He laughs.

Fuck! "Luke, please, PLEASE go see a therapist about this. You're
suicidal. Fucking suicidal!"

"Relax. I have that list of therapists. I can just choose one. Besides, it
was like a month ago."

I am not convinced. "I'm serious, Luke. You have to see one immediately."

"Don't worry, Marc," he says in the calmest tone I've ever heard over the
phone.

"Oh, Luke."

"Oh, Marc."



"How's the job search?"

"Unfocused." He laughs. "I ended up on YouTube."

"Why don't you just go back to your old job?"

He sighs. It still hurts me. "That would make my life easier. Also
harder. You know how people see a rape victim, especially if you were a guy
that got raped by your boyfriend of one month. I've heard many things, from
'slut' to 'hypocrite' to 'asking for it' to 'you can't rape a guy'. It kind
of sucks."

"Those fuckers," I say as a form of support.

"To tell the truth, I was kind of asking for it," he says.

What? No! I let him get off the hook with blaming himself several times
before. Not this time. I will not let him take the blame for all the shit
he suffered. "You DID NOT ask for it, Luke. You were violated by that
fucking piece of shit. He didn't hear you, he didn't appreciate you, and he
didn't respect you. He was an animal, a sick, sick animal. None of this is
your fault, Luke. I know you always take it upon yourself but not this
time. I can't allow you to do that. You are a precious human being. You
deserve love and respect. Do not make yourself believe for a second that
you deserved to be treated the way he treated you."

"Whoa, fiery," he says.

"Luke, I'm serious. Yesterday you told me that you wanted him to murder
you, now you're telling me this. I can't... I can't..." As it often occurs
this time of late, I begin to cry.

"Marc?" I think he can hear it.

"I can't let you do that. Look, if it wasn't for my stupidity, you would
still be with me and you would never have met that guy and ended up with
him and in that situation. I... I'm really sorry. I put you there, Luke. I
did." My snorting is too loud.

"You're such a hypocrite. You told me not to blame myself and then you
blame yourself." He laughs, trying to make it light.

"I have to..."

"It's not your fault, Marc. So we broke up and I moved on and I met him, by
chance. He was charming when I first met him. I mean even a guy like you
would be charmed. I didn't know he was Satan. I mean seriously, he was
still fucking me when you were thrashing on the door. He WAS Satan, and I
was just too weak to fight back," he lets a chuckle slip. "It's not your
fault."

"I just... I'm sorry," I say

"It's okay."

"But the things that you said, about how you just wanted to be enough. I
made you feel not enough. If I've given you that, if I was more patient,
you would've..." I argue.

"Hey, take it easy. You were dealing with a shithead, remember? We broke up
because I was this emotionally unstable person who doesn't know how to
speak human. I stayed with him because I was a self-harming lunatic that
doesn't want to fix himself. None of it was your fault." He's not backing
down.

"But..."

"Marc, you didn't know. That's fine," he says.

"Luke, please..."

"It's fine." It didn't assure me.



"You still love me," he says.

He's right. I shouldn't be so surprised. Luke is almost clairvoyant. Luke
is always right. "Yeah."

"I still want you to stop."

"That would be hard to do," I say.

"I should stop talking, then. It seems to be so successful in the past that
it made you left me many times," he jokes. I can't laugh to that. I was
guilty for those dick moves. I vowed to stay by his side yet I left him too
many times. "I'm sorry. It sounded funny in my head."

"It's alright. It's true."

He sighs. "I'm an expert in killing the mood."

"You are," I say.

"I know right." He laughs again. I can still make him laugh.

I turn serious again. I need him to see. I want him to hear those words in
my voice. "I still love you."

"A dangerous path we're walking in," he says, still not interested by the
thought. "I love you too, and I hate it with all my heart."

"At least now we know we still love each other. Don't you think it's a good
start?"

He sighs, again. Can he just stop with the sighing? Seeing him doing that
hurts me enough. Hearing it over the phone only heightens the
sensation. "We could keep trying but things will never change."

"Don't you believe in us?" I demand.

"I don't believe in me."

"Luke..." I can't even form a sentence. Unknowingly my hand has reached my
forehead, trying to rub the blood to flow. "You are an amazing person. You
are the best man I have..."

"Marc, I'm not looking for you to stroke my ego."

"God dammit, Luke." I pant. I'm ad lib-ing these praises for him and he cut
me off. So I pant! I don't know what I feel anymore. Am I angry at him? Am
I missing him? I don't have a fucking clue. I LOVE HIM!  "Luke, I love
you. You love me. Why isn't it enough?"

"Do you remember how I fucked up when we were together? I was just
depressed back then. Now I'm depressed AND traumatized. Imagine how
epically I will ruin things."

"But we can fix this now, Luke. You're open to me now, and I know I can be
patient this time," I argue.

"This is where you get it wrong. The problem isn't the both of us,
Marc. It's not even us as an item. It's just me. I don't know how to love
without ruining myself. I can't do this while insane. I have to fix this by
myself. Don't tell me we can fix this together because the last time we did
I was drenched in guilt that I couldn't even talk to our therapist."

He's right. He's always right. I lost this argument. I only have one
pathetic attempt to not be completely losing. "You are not insane,
Luke. You're depressed. That's not insanity."

He laughs. "Just know that I love you, Marc. I love you so much. I don't
want you to think that I'm doing this because I hate you or anything. I
love you, okay?"

A bit excessive of him but I'll take it. "I know. I love you too," I reply.

"I suppose it's time for you to meet new people," he says.

"That idea doesn't sound appealing at all."

"Come on, it'll be fun. You can go to a leather bar and I'll be your
wingman. Or you can just pull out your Scruff app, but this time just make
sure you write 'no drama' in all caps," he jokes.

"Luke, no, man. I can't..."

"I know," he says before I can say anything more. "I miss you."

I sigh. Please, have mercy and don't tease me with such ideas. "I miss you
too. I miss holding you from behind and rest my head on your shoulder. I
miss you sleeping on my chest or me sleeping on yours. I miss your
kisses. I miss how you..."

"Okay, okay. I get it." He laughs. There's a ton of sorrow behind it but I
can tell this laughter is genuine.  "I miss you as in I want to see
you. Come over to my place tomorrow."

"Really?" Meeting him? At last? Sure!

"Yeah."



Calling him these few days has not been enough. I need to see that he's
alright with my own eyes. I didn't dare to probe deep into his feeling but
he did it voluntarily. I now know that he would open up when he's ready. I
learned the hard way. I was never patient with him. I pushed him too much,
too fast and too long. I was wrong. How could I do that when all my life I
put communication, trust, and respect high in my priority?

He called me again this morning confirming my presence at the agreed
time. I would not miss it for anything.

I skip threads when I run upstairs to his apartment. I really want to see
him. Another day without Luke is... well, killing me. There's an envelope
taped to his door. It says "To Marc" on the middle. I have a terrible
feeling about this.

I do not for a second hesitate my aggressive pounding on his door. No
answer. I do it again and again and again. No answer. I call his phone. The
number cannot be reached. What the fuck? I call and I call.  No answer.

I walk down. Maybe I can get a better signal outside. Even if it's an
illogical thing to do. I have this letter in my hand and I have yet to read
it.

I do get a better reception, but still no success in reaching him. Maybe
the problem is on his side. The last thread of my wit told me to read the
letter. What is this whole deal? Why is he writing me this instead of
meeting me? Has he changed the plan? Why can't he do it with a text, or
email, or other messaging methods?

I find 600 dollars in the envelope along with a letter. I read it. I'm
floored. I'm devastated. I'm heartbroken. Too many times people have
described the feeling of a heart being ripped from the chest.  That's
inaccurate. I feel worse than that. My heart is not being ripped from my
body; it is being punched and stomped and stabbed slowly, repeatedly, and
eternally. It never was ripped, the pain would end much quickly because
you'd be dead. I'm alive and my eyes are open and I'm tortured to death and
my death never comes. Even that is a grotesque understatement.

I shouldn't read it again but I did.


Dear Marc,

I want to thank you for everything. For loving me all this time. For trying
to fix me. For all your sacrifices. For finding me attractive in the first
place. For working so hard for me. I love you for that. I'm sorry I can't
give you half as much. I'm really, really sorry that you have to hear it
through this cowardly letter. I'm sorry for asking you to forgive me one
more time.

I moved out. I've killed my old number, my email, and other means of
contact. I know you will try to find me if you have even an obscure trace
of me. I know you love me that much and I love you too. However, we both
know we will hurt each other if we go down this path again. I have to do
this. I love you.

I'm sorry. Thank you.

Goodbye.  Luke.

P.S. I'm not killing myself, so don't worry.

P.P.S. There's 600 AUD in the envelope, I hope no one steals it. I don't
know how much you spent for my thing but I hope this covers a little.


Money? Really? That's the last thing I need right now. The first thing I
need is his presence!

I call him again. Indeed, he killed his number. That's why I couldn't reach
him. My email bounced. His Facebook page disappeared. I don't know where he
went. I have to see him but I can't. I know he said that he's not suicidal
this time, but I can't be sure unless I have an evidence of it. I'm worried
as hell and I miss him and I want to die.

Luke denies my love and my wish to see him. I want to be selfish and curse
him for that but I love him too much to do that, now that I understand why
he did what he did. He feels the same way. His heart, too, is being punched
and stomped and stabbed. Furthermore he's doing this with a looming
depression hovering above him. He's leaving me despite it. He's doing it
because of it.

It's been a year since the first day I met him. One year since the day I
met the soul that changes mine forever. A year ago I was smitten by Luke
and I fell in love with him not long after. A year ago I found my first
happiness, now I'm alone with despair.

I reach my apartment in the same hurry I performed when I got to his. I
lock my door and threw my key to whatever. I don't care. I have to sit,
even if it's on the floor. I cry. I cry like Luke does. Like when I found
him in his apartment, like when we were on that rooftop, like when I
scolded him for not getting help for his depression. I'm in the abyss.

I went berserk for I don't know how long. The floor doesn't feel cold
enough to arouse me to move away. I can't see my kitchen, one that I spent
a lot of time with Luke in, but the image of it nauseates me. My bedroom is
uninviting. Somewhere my guitar is mocking me. I lie down. I look at the
feet of my furniture, finding no meaning in them. I have no time for
that. My mind is occupied by one truth that remains.

Luke is gone.


THE END ___ Yay! Sad ending. Happy endings are not real anyway. I know that
a happier ending is desirable but I still have to make this a little
rational. They simply don't fit together. Even if Luke stays and return to
Marc's arm, they'll never make it. The sex, for instance; Marc knows that
Luke doesn't enjoy the sex, and he'll feel a longing that Luke can never
fulfil. Where does that leave Luke? Feeling inadequate again. They ruin
each other when they try to fit into each other. Love isn't enough for
Marc. Love isn't even a truly believable concept for Luke.

Why am I explaining this? Just send your flames to me. It's
robxglass@gmail.com and xglass.tumblr.com.

Anyway, did you guys catch the music themes for each chapter? If you didn't
(which I think is the case) and you're interested in listening to all of
them, I've created a morose playlist on YouTube. Follow the link below,
please.

http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLIp5zVtO_16VvO_wZI8SJJeNn-QPeZzul

That's it. Now I can concentrate on The Virgin Joseph and real stuff in the
real world. I hope you enjoyed (even if you despise the ending of) this
story.

I'm sorry. Thank you.

Goodbye.

Cheers!