The next day you woke up to the sound of light guitar strumming from across the dim lit motel room. It was already past noon; the curtains were still drawn closed but the midday sun rays found their way in between the curtain folds and peaked through the dirty motel room windows to light up the inside of the place.
Mark was sitting on a wooden chair across the bed with a concentrated look on his face. With his jaw clenched and his cheekbones popping, he strum his fingers through the guitar strings, playing random chords in an attempt to create a melody he liked.
You shuffled between the bedsheets and stretched your body all over the old bed. A squeaky sound echoed in the room due to your sudden movement, which caught Mark's attention. His strumming stopped abruptly and his head jolted up in surprise, his eyes opened wide and his lips dropped to a pout.
"Did I wake you up? Shit, I'm sorry" he whispered, trying to be as quiet as possible.
You rubbed your eyes to clear your vision and looked at him. "No, you didn't. I like what you're playing. Sounds pretty" you reassured him. "Good morning, Mark"
His previously guilty expression was taken over by a wide grin appearing on his face, which turned into a bright smile. "Good morning, pretty," he said.
You smiled at him and he went back on strumming random chords on his guitar. His eyebrows scrunched in concentration and you couldn't help but giggle at the sight of his messy hair and wrinkly t-shirt due to the, apparently, good quality sleep he just had. Your obsessive thoughts took over once again and didn't let you enjoy this glimpse of happiness in the abyss of misery you were engulfed in. Your lips gradually dropped to a frown and your vision became blurry again.
Mark wasn't perfect, but neither were you. He came into your life at the perfect moment, when you needed him the most. It was your first day at the bar, your first time as a bartender. Renjun had been training you all day, teaching you the basic parts of the job and giving you tips on how to handle weird or creepy customers. You were completely drained out that day, so your co-worker and soon-to-be best friend had promised you a pleasant surprise by the end of your shift.
Renjun's definition of a "pleasant surprise" was slightly different from yours. That night, Mark walked into the empty bar with steps full of confidence. You didn't know him back then, but from the very first second you saw his figure enter your life, there was only one word that kept circulating your mind; trouble.
Mark was trouble. With his sharp gaze and well-defined features, captivating aura and assertive moves, it was more than obvious that this guy would mean nothing but trouble to you. For some inexplicable reason, this was exactly why you were instantly attracted to him.
Mark came in carrying all the usual stuff Renjun wanted and gave them over to him without talking much. The two guys seemed to share a lot of past memories together, and you were right. Renjun had filled you in later that night on his relationship with Mark and how they helped each other stand back up on their own feet after they were forced to leave home. A story very familiar to you.
Mark came by the bar every single night. He didn't give Renjun drugs every time, but he sure enjoyed both your and Renjun's company. It's not as if he had anywhere else to go.
That's how you grew quite fond of him very easily. You found yourself looking forward to the end of your shift just so you could see him. He once offered you drugs but immediately took back his offer when he saw your shocked expression. You were at the lowest point in your life and doing drugs wouldn't be the wisest habit to take up, even though this was, at the same time, the exact reason why you should do drugs. Eventually, reality hit you and you caved in, waiting for Mark to come at the end of your shift for one more reason other than just seeing him. He was reluctant at first. Mark didn't want to drag you into this lifestyle, so you annoyed him and begged for it until he finally gave you the lethal medicine.
You and Mark were surprisingly very similar. Maybe that's why you bonded so fast with each other. And maybe that's exactly why you were equally bad for each other. You could see so much of yourself in him, just at a more put-together version. Sure, he was a drug dealer, which was certainly not a better job than yours, but he at least seemed to have a purpose in his life. Unlike you.
As time passed, you started spending more and more time with him. You would smoke crack, get high, talk endlessly until your mouths dried up, go back to your motel room, have sex with each other, and repeat. You found comfort in his presence and became attached to him without even noticing.
But you didn't love him. No, you couldn't call this love. Rather, you were depending on him, no matter how much you hated that. He acted as an emotional support beacon to you, you enjoyed his company and, if you were honest, you genuinely liked him. But it was hard for you to admit to any deeper feelings, so you repeatedly tried to convince yourself that you didn't love him, so that it wouldn't hurt as much if he ever decided to switch on you. You hoped it wouldn't turn out like that.
You lightly shook your head to get rid of all these thoughts and got out of bed to wash up a bit. "I'm starving, I'll go down to the diner to grab some breakfast, do you want anything?" you asked Mark as you were heading towards the humid bathroom.
"Let's go eat there. Together" Mark suggested and you stopped at your steps.
He always avoided going out in places that were too public because he was at risk of being outed as a dealer. Especially now that he was caught selling drugs once and the guy who saw him threatened to report Mark to the police.
"Are you out of your fucking mind? You're on thin ice, you said that yourself" you raised the tone of your voice and walked towards him.
Mark put down his guitar to focus on you. "You worry too much Y/n, like, what are the odds? We're in the middle of nowhere, I doubt anyone knows this place apart from us and the customers of your bar. I think we'll be fine," he cleared his throat, "I mean, I'll be fine. Relax, I wanna spend some time with you."
You decided against protesting and trusted Mark's certainty of his words. Besides, he was right. The diner was out of town, it wasn't very popular among people who weren't familiar with the bar. Most customers at the diner were either drunk people from the bar or passersby. So you simply just nodded and whispered a soft "okay" before you went inside the bathroom, the door emitting a creaking sound as you closed it shut behind you.
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The screeching sound of the fork scratching the surface of the porcelain plate turned your facial expression into a wince, which went completely unnoticed by Mark whose attention was entirely devoted to the pancakes in front of him.
The old diner was relatively empty despite it being lunch time. Other than you and Mark, there was only a group of friends and a guy sitting on a barstool. You were actually very satisfied with the quietness of the place, which was only disrupted by sounds of forks scraping plates and glasses thudding on the tables.
The diner was situated right down the same road your motel was at, so anytime your stomach growled in annoyance you would stop by and fulfill its needs. You were practically a regular customer now and probably the one who kept the place from going bankrupt. It was old, cheap and dirty; the perfect place for you.
Mark gulped down the last bite of his pancakes and thirstily drank the entire glass of water. He then set the glass down and leaned back on the booth, fixating his gaze on you.
You noticed his eager eyes on you and you set down your fork, mimicking his stance and staring right back at him, waiting for him to speak.
"That was a pretty good meal" Mark sighed and you smiled a bit. This wasn't what he wanted to say.
Since Mark seemed to be unwilling to speak his mind, you decided to take matters into your own hands instead.
"Why did you want to have lunch with me?" you asked him with your voice calm and your eyes searching for an answer in his.
Mark crossed his arms and scrunched up his nose before he answered your question. "'Cause I wanted to spend time with you. Actual time. You know, like normal people?" he said.
You rolled your eyes at his response and mimicked his body language once again, crossing your arms over your chest. "I don't buy it, Mark" you said.
Mark sat up straight and leaned closer to the table, resting his elbows on top of it. "Why are you always like this, Y/n? Whenever I tell you something, you never believe me! What's up with you?" Mark's frustration started building up in his attempt to defend himself.
"It's not that I don't believe you-"
"It's that you don't trust me" Mark interrupted you and you stood there with your mouth still open. You didn't know what to say.
Mark's gaze was piercing, his sharp eyes were darker than usual and his lips quivered at the blank stare you were giving him. "You don't trust me," he concluded.
The truth is that you weren't sure if you trusted him or not. You wanted to trust him and he had proved to you numerous times that he was someone who cared and didn't lie. Yet sometimes, you were afraid that if you trusted him too much, he would end up hurting you. So every time he said something you weren't expecting him to say, you immediately assumed that he was lying.
"Mark, listen to me," you started to say and Mark sat back against the booth, rolling his eyes. "I-I do trust you, it's just that-"
"What? You think I don't mean what I say? If I didn't meant what I fucking said then I wouldn't fucking say it! When I say I care about you, Y/n, I fucking mean it. When I say I fucking love y-"
"Don't get mad" you were the one that interrupted him now. Mark was clearly way too frustrated by you now, his voice was getting gradually louder, his eyes were full of fire and his nostrils were fuming.
At the sudden raise of Mark's voice, the guy who was sitting at the barstool turned to look at your booth with a brief glance and then returned back to eating his food.
"Mark, just let it go, please" your voice came out almost like a whisper. You hated when Mark became angry at you and you hated it even more when he did it in public, even though it was practically just you and him in that diner.
Mark's jaw visibly relaxed and he lowered his eyes to his lap, nodding to himself. He lifted his head to look back at you with pleading eyes, much in contrast with his previous fiery gaze.
"Then why don't you come with me? Out of this fucking town? You deserve to live a better life than this. We deserve it. Look, I know I don't have an exact plan on how we'll do it, but I know that we can figure it out together. Please, Y/n" he said, taking your hand in his from across the table, rubbing your knuckles with his thumb.
You lowered your eyes at the spot your hands were joined together. Did you really love Mark? No, actually, did you really trust him enough to depend your entire life on him?
You couldn't give him an answer at that moment. Not a yes, not a no. Not even I don't know. Forget that, it would complicate things even more.
Mark noticed that you weren't going to give him an answer to his question soon, so he let go of your hand and started putting on his jacket. He reached into the inside pocket and took out some cash. He slammed it on the table and got up from the booth ready to leave.
"I have to go to work now, alright? I've arranged some deals. I'll come back later at the bar tonight. If you ever decide what you want to do with me, you know where to find me" he said and without even turning to look at him, you heard the sound of his footsteps grow fainter as he walked out the diner.