still another day, part 2/4 (mark/eduardo)
from here.
*
He gets a message in his inbox the next day.
I meant what I said. Send me the information and I’ll pay for your trip home.
Mark
It’s enough to get him to book the ticket, and he swallows back any regret he might feel because Mark doesn’t give a fuck about him and so neither does he.
He goes and he doesn’t ask for Mark’s fucking charity money because he isn’t the youngest billionaire in the world but he sure as hell isn’t poor.
It’s three days days before any of them contact him, and it’s Chris - of course it is, it can’t be Mark, wouldn’t be Mark.
Eduardo is maybe a little bit wasted when he answers, something like a giggle on his lips. “Hello?”
“Eduardo,” Chris says, and breathes an audible sigh of relief.
Eduardo rolls his eyes; Chris can be such a drama queen. “What do you want?” he asks, and what the hell, checks Facebook for the first time since he landed.
He has thirty-seven new messages from mark; some are angry, some worried, but it’s been three days and she’s left him too many messages and he can’t deal.
(Eduardo, I didn’t mean that I didn’t want you around.
I do give a fuck, I suppose.
Eduardo, get your ass back into America.)
“Shit,” he says.
“You’ve finally logged on, then? Good. Mark’s been freaking the hell out, thinking you’d died.”
“She obviously doesn’t care that much, Chris,” he says, rolling his eyes, because really.
Chris’ voice goes a bit funny. “And what makes you say that?” he asks, after a pause.
Eduardo rolls his eyes again. “You don’t have to - fuck, Chris, if she wanted to know how I was she would have called me, not had you do it.”
“She sent you forty messages,” Chris says, voice low. “Doesn’t that seem a bit much to you? Doesn’t that prove she cares, at least a little bit?”
“Not from her, not enough,” Eduardo says, and he tips the bottle back. He’s way past tipsy, now, but he’s holding his own well, he thinks. “She lives and breathes the Internet. Real contact is different, it’s more - personal.”
Chris is silent for another long moment that seems to drag on, until - “Did you want her to call you?”
“Don’t make me answer that,” Eduardo says, pleads, and his eyes shut.
“Why?”
“Because I’m drunk and - I needed some time so I took it.” (Thirty-seven. More than ten a day. That’s a lot - but he can’t think about that.) “She couldn’t fucking wait for me to leave.”
“What makes you say that?” and it’s that same fucking question again.
“Eduardo feels impossible tears in his eyes, but no, no, he refuses to cry over Mark, of all people, again. “I’ll call you later and - and we can talk then.”
“Sleep well,” and Eduardo can feel the distance between them, stretching and twisting.
He hangs up and closes his eyes, lying on his bed. It feels less like home than a hotel room in California does, and he feels impossibly lonely.
(If he opens his laptop and stares at Mark’s picture - not her profile, one Dustin uploaded of her, in sweats and a t-shirt, laughing at something off-camera - well, he’s drunk.
He wants to commit her to memory, he thinks.
As though he could ever forget anything about her.)
*
He absolutely doesn’t expect to hear from Mark, now.
He doesn’t and so he calls up Sandra, and it’s like it always is and always has been with them - easy. They go on a proper date, first, a date where she eats a strawberry and he puts a hand on her thigh, laughing - and they go back to his apartment and he can’t get enough of her.
They fuck, for lack of a better word - as they always have, since they met each other in that hotel bar. And, to be fair, he has missed her - the soft of her skin and the sparkle of her eyes, the way she bites her lip when she’s trying to pretend to be shy.
(He doesn’t expect it to make thinking about Mark hurt any less, and it doesn’t, but it’s fun.
H hasn’t let himself really let go and have fun in a long while.)
*
He’s in the shower the next morning when he hears his phone ring, and he knows Sandra will pick it up, gets out of the shower, drying off quickly.
“Who is it?” he asks, finishing and stepping out of the bathroom, running a towel over his hair. After a moment, Sandra just looks at him, shaking her head.
“I don’t know, but it’s a California area code. They hung up right after you walked out.”
And Eduardo knows what this is, knows immediately, knows even if he doesn’t quite believe it. “Mark,” he sighs, lets slip through his teeth, and his eyes shut.
(If this is her caring, he’s just fucked it up.
She doesn’t care about him, he knows that. She’s told him. This doesn’t mean anything - but he can’t help the faint hope.)
He smiles at Sandra, though, because Mark doesn’t care and so neither does he. “Breakfast?” he asks her, smile at the corner of his lips, and pretends that he doesn’t notice the way she’s studying him.
“Sure,” she says, but her eyes are thoughtful.
*
(Mark sits, stares at her phone, and finally hits send, eyes shutting. This is it, she tells herself, and she knows what she’s going to say, until -
“Hello?” comes the answer, in a voice that’s female, what the fuck. Mark frowns; she must have the wrong number, and the words are on her lips until she hears “Who is it?” from somewhere else.
She closes her eyes, because that’s him, she would recognize the voice anywhere. He sounds happy, comfortable with this woman in a way that he’s never been (and may never be able to be) with mark.
She hangs up, and tries not to let the hurt course through her veins, because Eduardo is not hers to have been hurt by, has never been, and she’s driven him away.
She hopes the woman, whoever she is, makes him happy - and she feels a stab of pain when she thinks ahead, and - it’s morning, there.
She opens her eyes and wires in.)
*
Eduardo feels guilty.
He feels guilty, which is stupid because he hasn’t done anything wrong - because Mark deserves to be hurt like he was, anyway, deserves to hear how little Eduardo cares.
He would hope it feels the same for her as it did for him but he knows that it won’t, because Mark isn’t like him, not in that way.
Mark genuinely doesn’t give a shit, and he almost wants to know why she called, the, but he won’t ask - because Mark can read him better than anyone else, because to Mark, Eduardo is an open book, easy to read.
And he can read her, too, has always had a special gift for doing that, but it’s not the same because she’s trying harder, now, with him, trying harder to control her emotions and hide herself.
He doesn’t know why she’d want to do that - wouldn’t it be better, for her to let him know just how uninterested she is in anything - a friendship, even, much less a - a fucking relationship?
He closes his eyes - because he doesn’t know how she feels, because sometime between “Shit, Mark, that’s good, that looks really good” and “I was your only friend” he lost some of the knowledge, the easy understanding he once had of her.
(He knows how he wants her to feel - he wants her to want him, the way he wants her. He wants to have been missed, wants to be thought about.
He’s pathetic.)
He feels guilty and Mark has given up trying to contract him, hasn’t’ sent him one more message.
He wants to talk to her, to tell her everything, to let her know that she means something, but he’s so fucking terrified to tell her, to have her laugh at him, as he knows she will.
I don’t give a fuck.
Sandra stays with him for a couple of days, and they fuck like they used to.
It’s not the same, though, and she seems to get it.
They spend a lazy Sunday together, her head on his chest, him tracing pictures on her back. He’s become attached to her, over the years. She’s been his best friend since the night he broke down in front of her and she’d wrapped her arms around him, kissed the top of his head, held him until he stopped shaking, and then gone out to buy alcohol for them.
He told her, that night, about a girl named Mark who was going to change the world and the boy named Eduardo who’d only wanted to help.
(“I don’t want - you’re not replacing her,” he’d told her, words tripping over each other in their haste, “you’re not, I just - think about it, sometimes.”
And Sandra had smiled her soft smile and nodded. “I get it, sweetie.” She handed him another beer. “You haven’t spoken to her since?”
“Not properly,” and he’d snorted, shaking his head. He leaned his head back against the couch, eyes sliding shut. “Hey,” and his voice was soft.
He felt her laugh. “Yeah?”
“Thanks,” and he wasn’t sure what he meant it for, entirely, but she seemed to get it.
She put a hand on his arm. “You’re welcome.”)
She looks at him, now.
“You miss her.”
Eduardo shrugs. “I have you.”
She rolls her eyes. “We’ve been in this - thing for years, now. I think I know you well, yes?”
Eduardo nods, slow.
“You haven’t properly dated since then, not really. You’ve had me and that’s the closest thing you’ve had to a stable relationship.”
He nods again, looks away from her, can’t look at her.
She smiles. “You want to be with her.” It’s not accusing, not sad, just a statement.
He’s always loved that about her.
“You want to be with her and I think you should go for it. In the friendly sense, at least.”
“What if she -”
“What do you have to lose?” she asks, then.
And he doesn’t know, so he just shakes his head.
“But you-” he tries.
She gives him a small smile, runs her hand through his hair as she’s done a thousand times before.
“This has been fun,” she says, “and I - I mean, the sex is great. You’re great. But - I’m not - we’re getting older. We can’t be doing this, now.”
He nods, slowly, closing his eyes. He leans in, kisses the inside of her arm, and she sighs, sounding content.
“I hope she’s good to you,” Sandra says. “You deserve good. You deserve the best.”
He breathes, harsh, through his nose, and nods. “You’re right.”
“Get her, then,” she says. “As - as a friend, if nothing else. You want it, and so does she.”
“She doesn’t,” he croaks out.
Sandra looks at him, tilts his chin up so they’re eye to eye. “She does,” and this is almost wistful. “It’s obvious, and I haven’t met her.”
“You don’t know her like I do,” he says, desperate now, because he’s not giving into false hope again, not like he did at Harvard (because she couldn’t have felt anything for him, because he still remembers point zero three percent and a blank stare across the deposition tables and that’s not what love is, that’s not what caring for someone means).
She nods. “You’re right, I don’t. But maybe you don’t know her as well as you thought you did. Have you considered that?” Her voice is still soft, still soothing. “You’ve both grown up. You need to talk, and you need to fight. Let that happen and I think you’ll get what you want, or if nothing else you’ll get closure.”
“I’ll miss you,” he says, and leans into her, kisses her, soft.
She flashes him a smile. “I’ll miss you too, Eduardo.” She smirks. “But it isn’t as though we’ll never see each other again, is it?”
He hopes not.
When this all falls apart (he doesn’t dare let himself think if) he’s going to need someone to put him back together again.
*
His heart is racing, later.
Sandra’s left and Eduardo has a ticket back to the States, back to California and Mark and everything he’s afraid to get, for the next week.
He RSVPs yes to the next dinner, as he did before, and Mark didn’t invite him but that doesn’t mean he can’t go.
*
(Mark’s sitting at her computer, idly looking at Facebook (although of course it’s never really idle checking, she’s always trying to make sure everything’s perfect), when she gets a notification.
Eduardo Saverin is attending Shareholders’ Dinner.
Her heart climbs into her throat and she has to shut the computer.
He wasn’t supposed to come back.
He has a girlfriend now, a pretty little girlfriend that he’s fucking, and she lives in Singapore and Mark lives in the States and -
She’s being pathetic but fuck, she’s allowed to.
She closes her eyes.
Fuck.)
*
He gets to the meeting early.
He’s already called Chris and Dustin, and let them know he was going to be there.
(His conversation with Chris had been quiet, until -
“Look, I’m sorry,” Eduardo had said. “I just - I got scared. The last time I trusted Mark she fucked me over. I’m - I don’t know if I can do that again.”
“I know.” Chris’ voice was soothing. “But you can’t go through life being afraid of her.”
“I’m not -” Eduardo had started, because it’s not Mark he’s afraid of, it’s everything that happens when he’s around her, everything he feels that she doesn’t.
“Okay,” Chris had said, interrupted him.
He understood - and that was all Eduardo could expect from him.)
He has no idea if Mark knows, no idea if she’s going to want him there, no idea if she cares at all.
He walks up to the building. It hurts less to be here now, than it did, and he swallows, eyes fluttering shut. It’s been a while but he feels something click, here. He’d made the right choice, coming back.
He’s going to try, damn it.
He needs to.
He walks up and there’s a girl, standing, a cigarette curled in her hand. She’s - it looks like Mark, and Eduardo frowns, walking closer to her.
“Mark?” he asks.
She looks up, quirks an eyebrow. She doesn’t look surprised, but resigned. “Yes?” she asks, and her tone is falsely cold.
“Mark,” and it comes out as more of a sigh this time. “You’re smoking.”
She raises an eyebrow at him, not saying a word.
“You shouldn’t,” he says, nodding at the cigarette, because he can’t help being like this around her. “You’re going to get sick, or something.”
She smirks at him, shaking her head a little. “You’re so protective,” she says, and there’s something in her tone that Eduardo can’t quite place but that he likes. “Come on, live a little, Wardo.”
And that’s something so undeniably Mark to say that he walks to her, wrapping her in a hug. She smells like smoke, and he clutches her closer.
Wardo, he thinks, and he won’t let her go because no one’s called him Wardo except for her, and he doesn’t want to lose that again.
At first, she seems amused if a bit stiff, holding the cigarette away from her. He buries his face in her curls, breathing deep, and she flicks it aside, hugging him back, tentative.
“Wardo,” she breathes, and seems to get choked up, or something. Her arms come up higher, around his neck, and she has to stand on her tiptoes but she doesn’t seem to care. “Wardo,” she says, again, louder.
“I miss you,” he says, to her, to her hair, because he thinks he can say that, here. He’s desperate for something that he can’t name.
She stiffens in his arms and then she’s nodding, pulling away slightly. “I miss you, too,” she says, quirking a smile.
He grins, and wrinkles his nose. “You smell like an ashtray, you know.”
She shrugs. “I’m CEO, bitch.” She seems to hold her breath, as if waiting for what Wardo’s going to say (and he’s Wardo again, has never been happier about it).
He laughs, throwing his head back, and nods at her. “That you are,” and he looks at her, properly, because she’s a marvel and he’s missed her.
“Shall we?” she asks, and he nods, letting her go first.
He wants to put a hand on her back, wants to lead her in, but he doesn’t know how she’d react and so he doesn’t, just follows her in.
*
They sit next to each other, again, and this time she smiles more, and her breathing seems to have nearly fixed itself, and he wonders if he was noticing things that weren’t there, before.
After the dinner, she looks up at him and her eyes are wide but she’s smirking, bumping her shoulder against his.
“I’ll - there’s another party, in a week,” he says, too-quick.
She nods.
“Are you going to be there?”
She quirks her lips into a real smile for half a second. “I am.”
“I’ll see you there, then,” he says, and her face goes soft for a moment before she nods.
*
(She texts him, two days later.
Want to hang with C&D again this weekend?
She doesn’t wait for his reply, goes straight back to code. She hears the response about an hour later but she’s already immersed, fixing a stupid fucking bug.
She takes a break, drinks a Red Bull, finally lets herself look at his response (although it’s not really a big deal).
Love to.
She smiles.)
*
He’s more prepared, this time.
He goes to Dustin’s house and he’s wearing a smile and before Dustin can say anything Eduardo’s hugging him, patting him on the back.
“I’m sorry about last time,” he says, and holds up beer as an apology. “Okay?”
“Of course.” Dustin grins. “I get it,” and they walk into the living room.
Mark’s sitting where she was before, holding a water bottle, and Eduardo feels a fondness for her that he can’t contain.
He smiles at her. “Marci,” he says, because that’s what he used to call her, sometimes.
She smirks. “Wardo,” and tilts her bottle toward him.
Dustin snorts, looking at the two of them. “Marci?” he says. “Really?”
Mark shrugs. “You see why I go by a nickname,” but she sounds amused.
Dustin shrugs. “Can I start calling you that?” he asks, laughing.
Mark looks at Wardo, smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “I don’t think so,” she says, dragging her eyes away to look at Dustin. “Only Wardo, you see. We’ve each got a nickname.”
Eduardo nods, and sits down, shrugging a bit. He’s close to her, and she curls into him almost instinctively, head resting against his chest.
*
(She’s comfortable, with him.
She can’t deny the way she feels warm when he calls her Marci, and he’s the only one she’d ever let call her that, the only one who can.
She looks at him, when he’s distracted by the game Chris is kicking Dustin’s ass at. The light in the room is dim but she can make out his features, and she feels a tightening in her chest that isn’t due to her problem.
She feels dizzy, for a moment, and thinks - this is it - before she registers what it is, what it has to be.
She stands, quick, and Wardo’s eyes snap to her. “Mark? Are you okay?”
She nods, runs a hand through her hair. “I’m just going to - walk,” she says, thumb pointing outside. “I need - it’s warm in here, don’t you think?”
Dustin stands up, looking worried. “Do you want me to come with you?”
Mark feels herself panic for a moment before shrugging, nodding at him. “If you want, sure.”
Dustin hands his control to Eduardo, who takes it without much protest, though he’s staring at Mark as though he’s trying to figure something out.
They walk outside, and it’s cool out, enough to make her skin erupt in goosebumps. She wraps her arms around herself and Dustin takes her in, next to him, holding her close.
It’s comfortable, with Dustin. He’s been there for her since the fucking beginning, since he’d looked at her when she walked into his dorm with Chris and said “I need somewhere to stay”.
And unlike Chris, he’d cocked his head to the side and smiled. “I’m Dustin,” he’d said, holding out a hand. “Where are you going to sleep?”
And she’d taken Billy’s room because he’d dropped out and Dustin had become a permanent fixture in her life, always there to make her smile when she most needed it.
He’s here for her now, too, here in the form of an arm around her shoulders and an ear to listen to her, whenever she needs it.
She trusts that he’ll wait with her all night, that he’ll stay with her until she decides to go back, and that means the world to her. Wardo’s always been good at listening to her, too, but something’s always been charged between them.
Nothing’s there, with Dustin. She loves him more than anyone else.
She swallows, feeling tears prickle the corners of her eyes, and she feels so, so small, suddenly.
“Dustin,” she says, and stops.
He squeezes her arm. “Yeah?”
She shakes her head, trying to get rid of the tears, of the emotion engulfing her. “I just - I love you a lot, you know that?”
He visibly swallows and tightens his hold around her, so she’s pressed into his side. “I love you, too, Mark.”
“I -” she’s shaking, now. “You’re the one that I’m most worried about leaving,” and it comes out as a whisper, a confession. “I want -” and she can’t breathe, “I want you to be CEO.”
He stops, then, turns to look at her, sharp. “What?”
“You’ve been there from the beginning,” because she’s thought about this a long time. “You know what Facebook was and what it is. Chris is going to quit, soon - I know he would have, if not for - everything. And Eduardo - he’s important to the company but he’s not built to be CEO. You are.”
Dustin studies her. “I can’t tell you how much that means to me,” he says, and pulls her in so he’s hugging her, almost desperate.
Mark’s getting choked up, again, and she holds onto him, fists her hands in his jacket. “I just -” and a dry sob escapes her mouth. She’s not going to cry, not now, not when Wardo’s waiting for her in the house and she’s having a good day. “I’m scared,” she whispers.
“Of what?” he asks, still pressed against her.
“Losing him again,” she tells him, whispers, and she’s suddenly so scared. “You can’t -”
“I won’t,” and he gets it, gets her, in a way that no one has before and no one else will.
A tear slides down her face and she wipes it away, smiles, shakes her head. She pulls away from him, needing to do something, be busy. She wraps her arms around herself again. “We should get back.” It comes out too loud in the air.
He nods, still studying her, and then a grin splits his face and he’s back to being the Dustin that others know, the Dustin that he is when she doesn’t need someone else. “One of these days I’m going to beat Chris,” he says.
Mark snorts. “Fat chance,” and they’re walking inside.
Chris and Eduardo are sitting next to each other. Eduardo’s laughing, taking a drink of beer. His neck is exposed and she wants to hold him, tight, kiss his neck until he kisses her.
He’s beautiful. His smile is beautiful. His hair is beautiful.
Mark has never before or since felt about anyone the way she felt (feels?) about Eduardo.
He has a girlfriend, now, she reminds herself, and walks inside, seats herself next to him again.
He sets down the beer bottle, smiles at her. “Are you okay, now?” he asks, real worry in his eyes.
She grins. “Of course.”)
*
It’s two in the morning before any of them think about leaving, and by that time Mark’s curled up on the couch, head on Eduardo’s shoulder.
He should let her go, should make her move. They shouldn’t be at this stage, and he shouldn’t feel this comfortable around her, shouldn’t want to pull her tight, kiss her on the top of the head.
They haven’t discussed anything and that should scare the shit out of him, but it doesn’t.
Dustin and Chris are talking, quiet, and Mark’s nearly asleep and so Eduardo doesn’t move. He wraps an arm around her and hears her sigh, soft.
He falls asleep.
It’s not long before he wakes up, barely. The weight of Mark’s shifted off of him and so he opens his eyes just a bit, still half in dreamland.
Mark’s standing, putting a blanket on top of Dustin. She looks peaceful, then, looking down at him, curled up on the armchair. She kisses him on the top of the head before making her way back to Eduardo.
And she does come back to him, exactly the same position as before, and he wants to hold her tight but she thinks he’s asleep.
So he doesn’t, he just lets himself fall back to sleep, with Mark curled up next to him.
*
He wakes up, and Mark’s gone.
She’s sitting at the other end of the couch, hair tied up, staring at her laptop screen.
Dustin’s still asleep and Chris is nowhere to be found, and Eduardo’s never been this comfortable in someone else’s house before.
He stretches, and she passes him the barest of glances before returning to her screen. “Did you sleep well?”
He nods, yawning. “Great, thanks.” He squints at her. “How long have you been awake?”
She half-shrugs. “A while.” She looks at him. “Hey, would -”
“I should probably go,” he says, not wanting her to finish her sentence, too full of other things to hear what she has to say. He stands up, shaking his head, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
“Oh.” She sets her laptop to the side. “Yeah, of course.”
He smiles at her. “I - I’m glad you invited me.”
“It was Dustin, really,” she says, shrugging, and there’s the beginning of a smirk on her face.
“Yeah, but it was you who asked.” He yawns again, shaking his head. “I’ll see you this weekend, then?”
“Of course.”
He leaves.
*
(He always leaves her, she tells herself, and this is exactly why he doesn’t need to know - because he’d either leave her straightaway or stay because he knew and she can’t have either of those things.
She goes back to her code, as Dustin sleeps on.
Chris walks back in, freshly showered, looking put-together as always. “Where’s Eduardo?”
She shrugs.
He nods, but there’s a crease in his brow. “All right.”
She doesn’t care.
She goes back to code.)
*
He texts Mark, through the week.
He tells her irrelevant things and sometimes she replies, sometimes she doesn’t, but he keeps in contact with her because he can’t lose that, again.
She says things that make him smile - after you left chris kicked dustin in the head to wake him up and dustin nearly smashed his head open - and it’s like things are back to normal.
They haven’t done anything close to talking about the past, about the dilution or the depositions, and he wants to bring it up but he’s terrified of Mark saying it doesn’t matter.
(He doesn’t care if it doesn’t to her - it was his life for too long, it was hell for him, and if she doesn’t give a fuck he doesn’t want to find out, won’t wreck this thing they have.)
They’re having a nice discussion about Mark’s assistant - Eduardo’s met her, she knows what Mark wants and what Mark needs are two different things and brings her the latter - when he decides to ask her.
From: Eduardo
To: Mark
Would you like to go to the party this weekend together?
He hits send and pockets his phone, trying not to let himself get too carried away, be too nervous.
There’s a reply within minutes.
Sure.
He smiles.
*
(Across the city, Mark’s smiling, too, down at her phone.
She hopes it means the same to him that it does to her.
She goes back to her code.)
*
He picks her up, because he feels like he should.
He hasn’t been inside her house, ever, and so he rings her doorbell, and when she opens it he nods inside.
“Can I come in for a minute?” he asks, and smiles at her.
She nods, stepping to the side, and she’s holding too-tight to the door frame but she looks beautiful.
She’s dressed up and he tries not to let himself think it’s for him, but she’s staring at him with wide, open eyes and he hopes.
Her house is modest, not very decorated. There’s a couch and a large TV and in the kitchen she has the basics, a coffeepot she never uses, a sink that looks clean.
He turns to look at her, and she looks almost nervous.
And then she cracks a smile, holds out her hand. “Come on, in here it’s boring. Let’s go.”
He smiles, and nods.
*
She’s wearing heels, and she’s nearly as tall as him, now. She holds his hand, tight, and doesn’t let go of him.
They make small talk with other people, because he feels like he should, but she’s shaking and looks so small and he wants to protect her.
He leans in, close, and whispers in her ear. “Would you like to get out of here?”
She smiles, helpless, and nods, gripping his hand tighter.
*
They end up on a hill, somewhere. Mark had directed them around until she’d decided to stop and she’s lying there, on the ground.
Her dress is short, nice, and her hair and make-up are done well.
He swallows past a lump in his throat and lies down next to her, facing her.
The air is cool and she isn’t wearing a jacket and so he puts an arm around her, another underneath his head.
She smiles, and her eyes close.
They’re close enough that their breaths mingle, and he swallows, thick. He opens his mouth, to say something, anything, but -
She smiles. “I want Red Vines.” She stands up and pulls him with her, starts walking away from him.
“The car’s the other way,” he says, catching up to her, and he thinks that maybe there was a moment lost, that he missed something, that they missed something.
She shrugs. “I don’t mind walking. Do you?”
And he doesn’t.
*
She takes her shoes off, after a minute of walking, and when they reach a 7-11 she’s barefoot, padding around the store.
She picks things up and sets them down again, and she says things that make Eduardo laugh, face splitting open.
She grabs a six-pack of beer and too many Red Vines and the cashier tells them to have a lovely night and Mark still doesn’t put her shoes back on, walks all the way back to the spot barefoot.
She sits on the ground and her legs are crossed and she cracks open a beer, handing it to him before opening one for herself.
They drink all six in relative silence and it’s comfortable in a way he didn’t think it could be again, around her.
They end up lying on the ground, again, and Mark’s staring at the stars and Eduardo’s staring at her, because he’s more than a little bit drunk and he can. Mark isn’t moving and neither is he.
Finally, she speaks. “What would you do if you weren’t afraid?” The words are soft but they come out with intent.
He could lie, should lie. He should say nothing, should break this moment. He shouldn’t give her anything to use against him because she’s proven that she will, time and time again.
But her eyes are open, now, and she’s staring at him like she wants to know the answer, and he’s more than a little bit drunk and why shouldn’t he?
He shrugs, doesn’t need to think that hard about it. “Say ‘fuck you’ to my father. Finally leave everything that he wanted for me behind.” He smiles, a ghost of a smile. “Eat Cheerios. I never have, never did as a kid because he wouldn’t let me. Cheerios and Pop-Tarts, that’s what I wanted and all of my friends had them but I never got the chance to ask. Wear something other than a suit to work.” He doesn’t finish. Kiss you. Tell you how I feel. Love you.
She nods, as though this is acceptable, as though this fits with what she expected. “You should,” she says, then, with conviction. “You - tell your father to go fuck himself because that’s what he needs to do. You - you don’t deserve that shit from him.”
He’s never heard her sound like this before and he loves it. He smiles, and nods. “I know.”
“I mean it. I just - life’s too short for - for fucking games.” She shakes her head, staring at the sky again, refusing to look at Eduardo. “You can’t be expected to - to listen to - to act like everyone else wants you to. You shouldn’t have to. He shouldn’t be so fucking judgmental. You’re brilliant.” The words seem to be spilling out of her, now, and she reaches down, grabs his hand again, squeezes. “You’re - you were integral to Facebook. I couldn’t have started it without you, and - and I fucked it up and you fucked it up but you’re still important. You always have been.”
He’s never heard her say something like that and he feels something warm come across him. He smiles at her. “Important?” he asks, because Mark doesn’t say things like that unless she absolutely means it.
“Incredibly,” and this comes out matter-of-fact, like she always is when she always means something from the bottom of her heart.
It always means more, when she says things like that. She’s not putting on any façade, she’s saying things that, to her, are obvious.
(Eduardo is important.
Eduardo has always been important.)
He smiles at her, and strokes the side of her face with just the tips of his fingers.
She lets out a sigh and he wants her so much it hurts but she’s pulling away, standing up, brushing herself off.
She holds out a hand and helps him up and he just stares at her for a moment, swallows, harsh.
“I - thank you,” she says, and she’s still barefoot and still drunk and he still wants, so much he can’t fathom it.
“For what?”
“Taking me,” and she smiles. “I - you should - get back home, yeah?”
He frowns at her. “I - what?”
“Your girlfriend,” she says, soft.
He frowns at her. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”
She closes her eyes, squeezes them shut. “Of - of course. I’ve - take me home?”
“Are you all right?” He holds out a hand as though to steady her but it falls flat, because he doesn’t know what’s appropriate, for her.
She nods, jerkily. “I just - need to get home.”
“You believe me, don’t you?” he asks her, low.
She opens her eyes, wide. “Of course I do,” and she smiles.
*
(She’d thought he was lying, for a second.
But - perhaps it was just a one-night stand. And that hurts, more than anything else, the thought that he’d gone out to Singapore after their fight and just fucked the first person that had asked, when Mark - if he had asked - if he asked, now -
She’s too drunk to have these kinds of thoughts and so when she gets home she flops onto her bed, falling asleep.
Cheerios, is her last thought.)
*
continued here.