○ marcus tries to distract himself. it goes about as well as one might expect. ◝◜◝◜◝◜◝◜◝◜◝◜◝◜◝◜◝◜◝◜◝◜◝◜ / march 11, 2131 - marcus gill / Marcus had returned home with a white, white bandage over the wound on his arm and, with Avior's threat still lingering in the back of his mind, given his parents an abridged and fabricated version of the events that took place in the library. In the days that had passed since then, there had been instances and moments where he came close, so close to revealing the truth. He'd wanted to ever since he woke up in the infirmary, and every time he closed his eyes, he saw what he could have done: saw Mr. Finch's eyes growing wider and wider, saw Avior's already pale face go chalk white, saw him stuttering and fumbling and grasping for a lie, any lie, searching for that tiny chance of saving face. Yeah, he thought about that a lot. He didn't like how much he hated Avior. He felt sick every time he thought about how much he'd like to punch him in the face. That wasn't how he was! He was a good person, but Avior brought out the worst in him. Avior probably brought out the worst in everyone, Marcus reasoned. He probably made a game of it. Ten points if you can get Bradley to sigh deeply! Fifteen if you can make someone snap at you! He wouldn't doubt it. Avior was a nasty, awful person. Marcus had plenty experience with nasty, awful people, and he was pretty sure Avior was the nastiest, most awful person he'd ever met. At first he had tried to be reasonable. Maybe Avior had a bad home life, or he simply didn't know how to interact with other people, or he was just stupid and mean. Either way, Marcus didn't care. He was looking forward to the next five months, free from Demons and stupid [][][]holes. He was starting back at school again next week, and he'd get to see his friends again, and he was happy about that. It was going to work out okay. ⋘◦⋙ The first thing Marcus saw after being dropped off at school unreasonably early on a Monday morning was a blur of dark hair and long, gangly limbs racing toward him at an incredible speed. The first thing he felt was two long, bony arms wrapping tightly around him and squeezing, and for one terrifying moment his mind yelped ‘SCANT!’. But it was not a Scant. It was his best friend, Jasper Cooper, who had recently undergone an extreme growth spurt and had yet to adjust to his new height. “You’re back from your fancy camp!” Jasper exclaimed. “I missed you so much!” “I missed you too!” Marcus said, smiling widely. This was right. This was where he belonged. "How was camp?" Jasper asked. "It was okay," Marcus said. "Boring. I wish you and Bastian could've been there," Sebastian Mooney was the final piece of their little trio. He was chronically late and just a *tiny* bit absentminded. The three of them— Jas, Marcus, and Bastian— had been friends for years. They had the same enemies, the same interests, the same ideas and hopes and dreams. It was safe. It was normal. It was home. It wasn't Demons, or rankings, or weird rivalries, or cabins, or dark forests and imminent danger. It wasn't Avior. Marcus almost scoffed out loud at that. He hated how Avior managed to worm his way into his every thought, every waking moment, even when he was miles and miles away. It was infuriating. Why couldn't the guy just leave him alone? That was it. No more thinking about it. He didn't have to see Avior for five more months, and he was going to enjoy that time, goddammit. ⋘◦⋙ And he did enjoy his time away from Xiphoid. He spent hours upon hours with Jas and Bastian, he filled an entire sketchbook with drawings and then hid it under his bed because somehow, on the very last page, he had managed to draw a portrait of his worst enemy. Without even trying! He did anything and everything to keep Xiphoid and Demons pushed to the back of his mind. He joined every club he could get hold of a sign-up sheet for. Chess, GSA, Astrology, Poetry, whatever; though he didn't dare touch the Debate Club. And it worked spectacularly. He was happy. For a short while. Then the burnout hit from doing *too much* all day, every day, and he was once again resigned to picking at the scabs on his arm and watching the snow drift lazily to the ground, though it did not last long before melting now. It was late March. Just over four months left. Though he tried to think of something, anything, everything else, still his thoughts returned to the library, and it was like he was there all over again, the Scant's mouth, overfilled with those sharp little teeth, grinning down at him, black, black blood dripping out of its sides, an immense weight on his chest. His vision blurring as it clamped its gaping maw down on his arm. The world going black. Waking up in the infirmary with a bandage on his arm, red, red blood already seeping through, Mr. Finch standing over him and talking (he never stopped talking. Marcus didn't mind that, he hated silence).
His worst enemy standing right there, that Avior-specific sort of iciness in his eyes, just daring him to try something, and what had Marcus said to him? "You just love acting all high and mighty, don't you? I bet you're afraid that everyone will hate you, and that's why you're a huge jerk all the time. That's really sad, because everyone *does* hate you, and I hate you more than anyone else," His own voice dripped with venom as it echoed in his mind. What a stupid, stupid thing to say. He could have said anything other than that. What kind of idiot *psychoanalyzes* the guy who just tried to kill him? How embarrassing. There were about a million and one other things Marcus could have said. 'I can't believe you would do that to me' 'What kind of sick, twisted person ARE you?' 'I don't like you any more than you like me, but at least I have the basic decency not to kill you!' Any one of those would have sounded better than 'I bet you're afraid that everyone will hate you'. He wished there was a way he could still tell Avior exactly what he thought of him. Well. Well, now THERE was an idea. Marcus was going to write a letter. ⋘◦⋙ "Dear Avior," he began, then scratched that out. Avior didn't deserve that decency. Time to stop playing nice. "Hey, [][][]hole!" he tried, then scratched that out too. That was a bit rude. He didn't want to be rude. "Hello, Avior (whatever your middle name is) Viator," That sounded okay. But what would come next? "SC[][]W YOU!" Too abrupt. "I wish YOU were the one that almost got killed!" No need to stoop to his level. "Why don't you go crawling back to heII?" Jeez, why couldn't he start with something nice? "There are about a bajillion things I want to say to you..." All right. Now he was getting somewhere. He was going to write a letter to his worst enemy, and then he was going to ball it up and throw it in the garbage and forget about him forever. That was a good plan. ⋘◦⋙ / the finished letter, after being fished out of marcus gill's garbage can / D̶e̶a̶r̶ A̶v̶i̶o̶r H̶e̶y̶,̶ [̶]̶[̶]̶[̶]̶h̶o̶l̶e̶! Hello, Avior (whatever your middle name is) Viator, S̶C̶[̶]̶[̶]̶W̶ Y̶O̶U̶! I̶ w̶i̶s̶h̶ Y̶O̶U̶ w̶e̶r̶e̶ t̶h̶e̶ o̶n̶e̶ t̶h̶a̶t̶ a̶l̶m̶o̶s̶t̶ g̶o̶t̶ k̶i̶l̶l̶e̶d̶! W̶h̶y̶ d̶o̶n̶'̶t̶ y̶o̶u̶ g̶o̶ c̶r̶a̶w̶l̶i̶n̶g̶ b̶a̶c̶k̶ t̶o̶ h̶e̶I̶I̶? There are about a bajillion things I want to say to you (and they all have to do with the Scant!!!) H̶o̶w̶ c̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ y̶o̶u Why did you do that to me? Why did you try to KILL me? What did I ever do to you? I̶ w̶i̶s̶h You've hated me since the day we met each other. WHY? I hate you too. I don't think I could ever like you now. ESPECIALLY not after what you did to me. You are a nasty, hateful person. There is NOTHING stopping me from telling everyone what you did. Did you read that? NOTHING. Count your days!!! S̶o̶m̶e̶t̶i̶m̶e̶s̶ I̶ t̶h̶i̶n̶k I just don't u̶n̶d̶e̶r̶s̶t̶a̶n̶d̶ w̶h̶y want you to EVER even THINK about pulling anything like that again. Got it? You make me feel s̶o̶ m̶a̶n̶y̶ d̶i̶f̶f̶e̶r̶e̶n̶t sick. Hatefully, Marcus Gill
