I know it's been a long time. Ridiculously long. I've had nasty writer's block and extreme indecision about how to get these two to where I want them to be. This chapter is going to be very unsatisfying for you all I think, but I swear to God this story is not finished and part 9 is so close I can nearly taste it.
Thanks to everyone who sent encouraging and mildly threatening feedback, it's what got me going again.
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Mark sat at the lip of the deck built onto the side of his parent's house, his feet dangling over the edge. It was starting to get colder in the evenings and the leaves of some of the trees in the gully below were starting to turn orange. He heard his cell phone chime from inside the house, a text message alert. It would be Marie again. It had been two days since he'd seen her, he'd have to put in some face time soon or she'd think something was wrong. Mark sighed and closed his eyes. Suddenly he smelt the faint scent of freesias, and a warm hand squeezed his shoulder then trailed across his back.
"Hi Mom," Mark said, tilting his head up to look at his mother. She was small and slender, with fair skin and long, thick brown hair. She had a tendency to wear long, flowing skirts and walked with the lightest of steps; Puck had always called her Fairy-Mom when they were kids.
"Hi there," his mother replied, moving to stand next to him. "Are you around for dinner tonight?"
"No, I'm going to the library to tutor."
"You've been doing a lot of extra tutoring lately." Mark shrugged. "Well, don't take on too much. You're supposed to have a bit of fun when you're 18 too, you know," his mother chided gently. Mark shrugged again.
"It's good money."
"You know you can always ask us for money if you're struggling." Mark screwed his face up and sighed.
"It's not that."
"So what is it?"
"Keeps me busy. Idle hands are the devil's playground, they say."
"They do say," she replied, her head tilting to the side. "And what are you keeping your hands from playing?" Mark gazed across the gully, his blank face belying the turmoil afflicting his head. He shrugged.
"Nothing in particular." His mother was quiet for a few minutes. Eventually, she crouched down beside Mark and took his hand.
"Don't play around with her, Mark," she said in a low, firm voice. "It's not right." Mark's eyes darted to her large hazel orbs and he swallowed heavily. She squeezed his hand and dropped it, then stood up and disappeared back into the house. Mark closed his eyes and sighed, before wearily getting to his feet.
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It had been a quiet day at the store, so Deacon and Sam were rearranging the floor displays to kill some time. The two of them has just set a TV down just inside the window case when Deacon's phone chimed in his pocket. He pulled it out to read the message, irritated at the unconscious rise and fall of his hopes when he saw it wasn't from Mark but Sarah. He shoved the phone back in his pocket without reading the message. Sam, who had been eyeing Deacon from the corner of his eye, made a cutting gesture with his hand across his throat.
"Time out, man. I need a breather," he said. He turned toward the back of the store. "Yo, Scott," Sam called out. A lanky blonde teenager popped his head around the corner of the back room door. Sam waved him towards the entrance of the store. "Come out front while we go for a break, hey?" The boy nodded and scuffed over to the register.
Sam looked at Deacon and jerked his head toward the back room. They both left the store through the back door and leant on the alley wall behind the shop. Sam pulled a cigarette out of a beat up pack in his pocket, lit it and took a long drag. Deacon watched him exhale and lean his head against the brick wall.
"You probably wouldn't be so out of breath if you stopped smoking," Deacon chided. Sam screwed his face up and made a talking gesture with his free hand. Deacon rolled his eyes and huffed a laugh. They stood in silence for a time while Sam smoked, until Sam cast a sideways glance at Deacon.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Yeah," Deacon said with a shrug. "Sure."
"Are you in love with him?" Sam asked. Deacon knew exactly who Sam was talking about, and felt his stomach lurch.
"What? No," he replied quickly, looking away and shaking his head. "No, it was just sex." Sam raised one eyebrow at Deacon.
"Just sex, huh? So you've fucked Sarah since she came back?" Sam asked. Deacon lifted his shoulder in a weak shrug, his eyes firmly on his shoes.
"Yeah," he answered. Sam took one last long drag in his cigarette and flicked it into the car park. He took a tin of mints from his other pocket and popped one in his mouth before offering them to Deacon. Deacon glanced up at the tin and shook his head.
"Well," Sam said, pushing himself off the wall. "It might not be love, but I don't think its the sex you're angsting over, man." Deacon huffed a sigh.
"Whatever. Anyway, it's been months, why do you keep bringing this up?"
"Because...well, I sort of think of us as friends," Sam replied, his shoulders stiff and words hesitant. "And I don't like to see my friends unhappy." Sam clapped Deacon on the shoulder. "Besides, you're clearly too stupid to figure this out on your own." Sam grinned and yanked the alley door open, leaving Deacon leaning against the wall with a scowl on his face.
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Sitting at his usual study desk in the campus library, Mark pushed a hand through his unruly hair and scowled at his textbook. He felt like he'd been reading the same page for hours. Maybe he had, if his blank note pad was anything to go by. He checked his watch - 10 minutes until his Tuesday morning tutor appointment turned up.
'Might as well pack up now and get up to the 3rd,'
he thought. Tossing his pen down, Mark leant back in his seat, reaching his arms behind him and stretching his back out. He turned his head just as Sarah dropped down at the desk next to him.
"Hey," she said. Mark started with surprise and cleared his throat.
