sehnsucht ✓

chapter 13

On the morning school picked back up, Mark pulled onto the curb lined directly with my house, the road empty in the pleasantness of the morning dew, working class middle aged residents having already left for the most part an hour ago.

He rolls the passenger side window and sends me a smile that told of blissful tales, a feeling that everything would turn out alright, removing the sunglasses perched comfortably on his nose's bridge, revealing the eyes I walked moons to catch a mere glimpse of.

I always wondered of the inner workings of Mark Pierce. Understanding him was a never ending mystery, a constantly adapting plethora of information made known to me.

The half smile I return back to him is one of sorrow and misery, as I hop into his sedan, of which I had become very familiarized with over the weekend.

"So what's up? You said something was wrong yesterday," I'm about to speak, but I hear the ignition noise, heightening my vulnerable senses, and I lean back against the seat, anxiously panting for breath.

"Are you okay? Do you want to stay home today?" he turns to me worriedly, holding onto the gear shift, his hand remaining still.

"No. I can handle today. It's easier for life to return to normal so I can get my mind off things."

"Talk to me," his tone is grazed, by what I assume is based off the coldness I was showering him with.

"My mom's leaving on Friday," I let out a sigh, the heaviness building up in my throat gaining relief of its tension.

He gives me an apologetic look, which I imagine is of sympathy, turning the ignition back a few levels to accessory.

Mark leans over and reaches his hand to clasp into mine, but as a first, I retract back in my seat, unexpectedly turning myself away from the sensation of his touch.

I always wanted his touch, and wasn't sure what was wrong with my body today, though I suppose my body never cooperated with what my mind said.

As he looks at me with hurt at why I was suddenly rejecting him today, despite his modest, careful advances, I start to feel anxious again.

"Sorry, I just don't feel my best self today."

"It's alright," he sends an awkward glance while looking back ahead, and is about to turn the engine back on, until I reach over and slap his hand away.

"Wait," I say, my voice a little vicious.

"What?" I stare at his hand and see him digging his nails in.

"I'm acting this way towards you because," I'm blinking rapidly, wondering if I was too sensible, or not sensible enough.

He stares at me in confusion.

"We're playing a game, and I realize it doesn't matter. I should be worrying about bigger things like my mom, who's always engulfed in work."

"Except it's not a game," he puts a hand on his temple, and I hear his voice grow infuriating. A more violent seeming side I had never witnessed, but not villainous. That of a hero, justified by his wit.

"Let me finish!" I yell, wanting to punch him for drifting into a conversation about us, when all I wanted right now was to talk about my mom.

I thought he would understand.

"My mom, she's deciding to leave. Isn't it counter intuitive to make amends by going away for even longer? Isolating yourself from a family that desperately wants you there?" I raise my voice.

"She could've just made the decision to mend and feel alright with herself by staying here. She could've chosen to stay and invest time with her family."