Markiplier Imagines

112 | why'd you leave me?

note: i wrote this at 2AM after making that gif up there so enjoy

words: 583

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Mark stared at the camera, eyebrows furrowed and heart sunken.

There was so much on his mind, so many things to say. He'd already pushed the record button, and he knew Ethan would laugh at him later for just staring at the camera for five minutes, completely lost in thought.

But he couldn't help it. There was so much he could rant about, so much he could say to them, to himself, to his friends, to her. There was so much, so many words in his brain, but none of them seemed to fit the current situation. 

Opening his mouth, he looked down at his desk and then sighed, deciding that it wouldn't work. No matter what he said, the air would still feel heavy, the room would still be freezing cold even if the air wasn't on, his hands would still feel impossible to lift, his heart would still hurt. 

So much, so much, so much, not enough. Not enough. Not. Enough.

"Why wasn't I enough for her?" He finally whispered.

"Why did she leave me when..." he sighed, "why did she leave me when she knew I wasn't going to be okay?"

He swallowed, then without thinking, let his words flow, "She left me, said that she had somewhere else to be, that this place wasn't meant for her and it never would be. She fucking left me for... for darkness! She left me because it promised her that it would do something more than I ever could for her, when it didn't do shit! 

"I could have provided everything for her, I could've given her everything she ever wanted, anything but she didn't see that. She didn't see that I could've done everything for her, that I could've been the one to comfort her, that I could've been the one to hold her when she needed someone, that I could've been the one to kiss her woes away, that I could've been the one to love her.

"I loved her with everything I had, everything," he whimpered, hands falling from the air and voice cracking. His eyes welled up with tears at the thought of her, at the thought of what she did, and he wanted nothing more than to go back to that day. He wanted to tell her that he wasn't leaving, that he wasn't going to leave her and that he would never hurt her the way that prick would. 

He knew the dangers of that man, he knew the dangers of being close to him. He was at one point or another, because that man, it was him. It was everything he hated, everything he despised, but she didn't care. But now she's gone, she's gone, "She's fucking gone."

He held his face and cried, shoulders shaking and chest quaking, "She left me for a void of nothingness. She left me for empty love, she left me for him."

He silently weeped for a few moments, hurting, grieving, wanting, needing. There was nothing he could do to get her back, there was nothing he could do to talk to her, to get her out of that living hell. There was nothing he could do. 

"Please," he whimpered, forehead falling onto his forearms, "please bring her back. P-please."

He looked up, as if he was talking to her, as if he could actually persuade her to come into his open arms, come back into his life, and whispered, "Come back. I miss you, y/n. Come back."