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One day he will have had enough. One day he will say, "I'm done," but the man sleeping beside him reassured him countless times that "things get worse before they get better," and that he was just going through the bad right now.
"The good will come soon, you just have to wait for it to get here," the man said just the previous day. Jack tried to believe him, but it was difficult with all the thoughts running through his head. He gently pushed back the blanket covering him, and hung his legs over the side of the bed. He put his head in his hands in an attempt to try to block out all the raging voices shouting in his mind. He thought about adding more pale lines to his slowly-growing, concerning collection currently covering his forearms. Jack knows that Mark will shed tears knowing Jack's has these thoughts again, and will continue to question him with concern when he tells Jack to once again roll up his sleeves, revealing the new cuts. Jack sighs and proceeds to stand up from the bed. On his way to the bathroom, Jack opens his top dresser drawer and grabs the roll of tape inside. He marches into the bathroom knowing full-well what he's about to do would upset his lover, but he can't help it. It's not like when he does it this way that it really draws any blood, it mainly damages the skin, tearing it awfully, and hurts way more and for longer. He closes the bathroom door behind him quietly, then sits on the toilet. Jack takes the tape holder apart, and works the ragged blade out of it's place. He sets the unneeded plastic on the counter beside him as he aligns the blade to his skin, already feeling guilty of what he's going to do.
The Irishman could feel tears welling up in his eyes as he began pressing the jagged metal into his forearm. Before he could drag it across his skin, he stops himself, crying into his hands. Jack heard his name called once, the voice audibly sleepy albeit being muffled by the door between the caller and the called. Jack assumed the man had either seen the light from under the door, or knew Jack would be in there as Mark rapped his knuckles on the bathroom door from the outside. Jack sniffled, wiping his tears on the bottom of his shirt.
"You can... come in," he hesitated. The handle turned, and the door slowly opened. In the doorway stood a worried Mark, dressed in nothing but his boxers and a white t-shirt. Jack looked down at his hands as more tears filled his eyes. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mark moving closer. The older man said nothing as he knelt beside Jack on the floor. Jack cast his blue eyes over at Mark and saw tears slowly sliding down his cheeks. He took his thumbs and wiped the tears on his lover's face, then Mark wrapped his arms around Jack's smaller body. Jack froze at first, not expecting Mark to react this way, but he soon wrapped his own arms around Mark's neck. Honestly, Jack expected Mark to berate him like he had once before; it made Jack cry when Mark had yelled at him, then Mark had began crying, apologizing profusely. He could feel the other man's tears on his neck, as well as his own on Mark's shirt. The two sit, embracing, for several minutes until Mark breaks the hold. He grabs Jack's hands, the sharp metal still in his hand. Jack drops it in Mark's hand, and Mark sets in on the counter. Standing, Mark offers his hand to the other man. Jack takes it, standing himself. He assumes Mark would just lead him back to bed with him, but instead, Mark walks through the bedroom door and into the living room. He continues straight through into the kitchen, dropping Jack's hand at the counter, and turning to face him. Jack shoots him a questioning look.
"I'm going to make you a hot chocolate," Mark says, a soft smile on his face.
"In the middle of summer," Jack adds. Mark nods.
"Yes. Hot chocolate in the middle of summer, for someone who was having a bad night. I'm also really craving hot chocolate right now, so shush." The two laugh softly, and Jack hoists himself up onto the counter by where Mark was preparing the hot beverages. Jack looked over at the clock on the other side of the room. It was nearing 2am, and Jack felt terrible for having woken Mark up at this time.
"I'm sorry," Jack says, breaking the comforting silence between them. Mark looks up abruptly.
"Sorry about what? For waking me up?" Jack suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to cry, but he didn't know Mark wasn't finished talking. Just as he was about to say something, Mark cut him off.
"I'm glad I heard you crying, Jack; I'm glad I was able to come to your side when you needed somebody. And I'm proud of you for having stopped yourself, for realizing this would only cause more pain and more urges." By this point, there were once again tears gently sliding down the two men's cheeks, but instead of sadness, they were tears of happiness. Mark was standing between Jack's legs, and wrapped his arms around him, and Jack did the same, happy tears soaking into each other's shirts.
"I love you, Mark," Jack said into the older man's neck. Mark smiled, resting his chin on Jack's shoulder.
"I love you, too, Jack." After a brief pause, Mark pulled away.
"Hang on, I have to go get something." With that, Mark left the kitchen and ventured back through the house and disappeared into their shared bedroom. Jack remained sitting on the counter, clueless, as Mark searched for the box he hid in the nightstand. He found it and quickly stuffed in into his t-shirt breast pocket, making it look like he had a giant square nipple. He laughed to himself quietly before returning to the kitchen to Jack.
"What the fuck is that?" Jack asked, laughing.
"Okay, stand here," Mark directed, gently pulling Jack off the counter by his hand.
"Mark, what are you doing, you goof?"
"I'll show you, now shut up." Mark let that sentence hang in the air for a couple seconds, looked to the floor briefly, then knelt on one knee. Jack stood there dumbfounded, unable to speak or move.
"Jack, I know you're troubled, but so is everyone else in the world. We all have problems, have made mistakes we regret, made promises we unintentionally broke, but that doesn't mean we can't make new promises, learn from our mistakes, or learn to cope with our problems. Everybody deserves to be loved unconditionally, and given a fair chance. I know you've hurt yourself before, and you know I can't stop you, so just let me love you instead. Let me spend the rest of my life caring for you when you're sick, playing tag around the house when it's raining, hiding under the blankets with you when we're watching a scary movie, protecting you from your demons. Let me spend the rest of my life loving you. All I ask of you is to grant me my biggest wish: to marry you." Mark could see faint tears forming in Jack's eyes yet again, and during his little speech, Mark had presented the golden hoop to Jack.
"So Jack, will you marry me?" Jack stood there for a short moment, smiling from ear to ear, nodding.
All Jack could manage at the moment was a small "yeah," but it was enough for Mark to jump up and bring Jack into a tight embrace filled with love. After they parted, Mark took Jack's left hand and slid the ring onto his ring finger. He looked back up at Jack, who was focused on the ring.
"You're right," Jack said after a moment. He looked up at Mark.
"The good was right around the corner, and all I had to do was wait for it to get here." The two smiled at each other, no longer just partners, but now also fiancés. They had their whole future ahead of them, and couldn't wait to spend every day of it together.
The memory ended there, as what came after it had turned to a black haze, as well as what had come before it. It was the last memory to go; the one he wanted to remember the most. It was closing in on 11:30pm, and Jack lay in the hospital bed, trying to remember everything he could, but not getting far. His memory was gone; he remembered nothing of the other people in his life besides his husband, who had been gone for 3 months now. Jack lifted his arm so he could see the scars. He stopped cutting that same day. Tracing the faint lines left on his skin, Jack drifted off to sleep, or what he thought was sleep.
And as the old man closed his eyes and drew his final breath, the machine beside him making one continuous sound, he left the world thinking of the only person that gave him hope, assured him everything was going to get better, and loved him without question: Mark.