"No."
He knew that look. He had worn it on his face a few days prior. It had been hotter then, stickier. There were still bits of blood and dirt left in his nails from then.
The rain continued pouring now. The wind ran around him, chilled him. Coldness crept into his veins, his bones. But this all looked so, so familiar. He could imagine what Marceline was going through right now.
He was so scared.
"Marcy, come on, I- I've been here before, I've done the exact same thing. It sucks, it sucks, I know, but- but, there's still Blaise, right? They're still out there."
It was such a weak reason to convince her to stay. But he didn't have any other good reasons, he couldn't think of any. That was the only one Marceline had given him, the only one on her own terms. All the other reasons he had were so selfish.
Don't leave me here.
Don't leave me alone.
No one else will have me.
Please.
"Please, come on, Marcy. Please."
The words came out needling, childish. He was pathetic.
Beyond Human (Barely Human)
Day 12. Private. You know why.
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VoltTurtle
- Posts: 801
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 4:10 pm
- Location: Dreamland
Marceline felt the hurt in Diego's voice, the desperation in his pleas. She knew what he was feeling, how much he wanted her to stay. Not because of Blaise like he claimed, but because he had clearly gained some strange fondness for her, for reasons that she couldn't possibly fathom. Maybe it was for some sort of selfish reason, maybe it was just because she had spent that one night with him without betraying him, but he clearly cared about her. She didn't deserve his kindness, she didn't deserve to have him care about her. She was a monster, a murderer, a vile, ugly creature that destroyed everything else she used to care about all in the name of keeping a promise to a girl who would never see its fruition. Yet, he cared about her anyway.
For a moment, she didn't want to leave.
That was when she knew that she had to, no matter how much it hurt.
Maybe that connection had already been formed between them, without her knowledge or consent. Parting with Diego would hurt, but it would only hurt more if she decided to stay and if she allowed herself to grow truly fond of him. She would lose him just like she did with everybody else. It was only natural. Everywhere she went she brought death, accidentally or otherwise. It was presumably only by the graces of some higher power that the death curse she had been afflicted by hadn't yet brought about her own demise.
She couldn't risk it, with Diego. She couldn't lose another person, again.
Without a word, she pulled the boy into another hug.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
Marceline had never been good at goodbyes. She had never been good at dealing with loss in general, and leaving somebody behind, temporarily or not, was a sort of loss. Even if there was the promise of seeing them again, she still felt the weight of their absence. She wasn't built to be alone, and never was. She was afraid of isolation, afraid of being trapped with nobody but herself. This island had forced her to become more comfortable with it, allowed her to no longer feel that burning need for someone to be there, but she still wanted it. Something that ingrained into her very soul would not be changed, even in the inferno of this place.
She pulled back, her hands still on Diego's shoulders, and her eyes full of tears.
"Thank you for showing me kindness that I didn't deserve."
She knew that this was a mistake. She knew that staying with Diego was her best bet for continued survival, but she didn't care anymore. She had thought it over and over and over but it was still true, she couldn't go through this again. If she really wanted to win, then she would need to destroy what little remained of her humanity. Diego was the last thing standing in the way of that, his presence forcing her to remember that she was still a person and not just a monster, that she cared about other people, that she wanted to both love and be loved.
Even though she wanted to, she couldn't stay with him.
She bent down, picking up Roxanne's shotgun in one hand, specifically leaving the SPAS lying on the ground where it was. Then, she unzipped her bag and Diego's own bag in turn, spooning the ammunition for the weapon from one to the other with her hand. It would be her last gift, to the closest thing she had to a friend still left. Something for him to remember her by.
"Keep it. For safety."
She zipped her bag back up, before moving to collect Roxanne's own, and whatever supplies remained within. She began to walk away from Diego without another word, only to stop in her tracks and turn her head back to face him, one last time. He deserved a proper farewell.
"Thank you again, Diego. I'm sorry, again. Goodbye."
((Then, without another word, she turned and ran away, afraid that if she looked back again that she might never leave.))
For a moment, she didn't want to leave.
That was when she knew that she had to, no matter how much it hurt.
Maybe that connection had already been formed between them, without her knowledge or consent. Parting with Diego would hurt, but it would only hurt more if she decided to stay and if she allowed herself to grow truly fond of him. She would lose him just like she did with everybody else. It was only natural. Everywhere she went she brought death, accidentally or otherwise. It was presumably only by the graces of some higher power that the death curse she had been afflicted by hadn't yet brought about her own demise.
She couldn't risk it, with Diego. She couldn't lose another person, again.
Without a word, she pulled the boy into another hug.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
Marceline had never been good at goodbyes. She had never been good at dealing with loss in general, and leaving somebody behind, temporarily or not, was a sort of loss. Even if there was the promise of seeing them again, she still felt the weight of their absence. She wasn't built to be alone, and never was. She was afraid of isolation, afraid of being trapped with nobody but herself. This island had forced her to become more comfortable with it, allowed her to no longer feel that burning need for someone to be there, but she still wanted it. Something that ingrained into her very soul would not be changed, even in the inferno of this place.
She pulled back, her hands still on Diego's shoulders, and her eyes full of tears.
"Thank you for showing me kindness that I didn't deserve."
She knew that this was a mistake. She knew that staying with Diego was her best bet for continued survival, but she didn't care anymore. She had thought it over and over and over but it was still true, she couldn't go through this again. If she really wanted to win, then she would need to destroy what little remained of her humanity. Diego was the last thing standing in the way of that, his presence forcing her to remember that she was still a person and not just a monster, that she cared about other people, that she wanted to both love and be loved.
Even though she wanted to, she couldn't stay with him.
She bent down, picking up Roxanne's shotgun in one hand, specifically leaving the SPAS lying on the ground where it was. Then, she unzipped her bag and Diego's own bag in turn, spooning the ammunition for the weapon from one to the other with her hand. It would be her last gift, to the closest thing she had to a friend still left. Something for him to remember her by.
"Keep it. For safety."
She zipped her bag back up, before moving to collect Roxanne's own, and whatever supplies remained within. She began to walk away from Diego without another word, only to stop in her tracks and turn her head back to face him, one last time. He deserved a proper farewell.
"Thank you again, Diego. I'm sorry, again. Goodbye."
((Then, without another word, she turned and ran away, afraid that if she looked back again that she might never leave.))
Marceline shrank into the horizon as she continued her mile-long walk. Diego stood unmoving for several moments, watching. There was a feeling that if he moved, he would shatter. There was a feeling of defeat. There was a voice in his head telling him 'I told you so.'
The rain had soaked him, his belongings, her belongings thoroughly by the time he decided to enter the forest again. There had been someone else aside from Roxanne and Marceline in the gardens. He did not know where she'd gone off too. He did not wish to return to the manor.
Once the trees surrounded him, he kneeled down onto the muddy ground, dirt touching dirt, and sorted the extra bag he'd brought with him from the manor, scavenged the remains. Busy work was good at keeping his mind off things, usually.
It was quiet again, a silence imposed by someone else. He should have left her himself. He should have made the choice on his own. He didn't know if it would've mattered, if he would've felt any different, but he might have.
He was methodical in transferring the remnants of ration bars, bread, water, medical supplies to his own bag. He'd done this before, the other times he'd been left alone. He set aside Marceline's gift to him, laid it on the soil, and rearranged the items so everything could fit. His bag was beginning to bulge now, fabric struggling to hold in the remains of so many other lives. He managed. Marceline's gun and ammo was put back in last, on top of everything else. He moved the zipper, it struggled, stalled for a bit, and then it closed over everything. He was ready.
And then he closed his eyes.
Behind his eyelids, Marceline continued her eternal walk. It didn't matter. None of this mattered. Cam pulsated against his hands. He'd told himself this would happen, he knew this would fucking happen. Declyn blinked in and out of existence. No more allies he had said. No more allies he said. Ty gave him one last squeeze, bloody hand losing purchase on bloody hand. They all died anyways. They'd all die anyways. He pressed his hands to his face, he shook, he sobbed, he felt so spent. It didn't matter. It didn't matter. It meant nothing.
He collected himself later. He always did. He had no choice. He'd do the rest of this alone. No more allies. No more pain. He'd put the work in. He'd lean into it.
He zipped up the extra bag, left it, and walked off. Anywhere else would be fine.
((Diego Larrosa continues in And Now Those Days Are Over and We Are All Ghosts))
The rain had soaked him, his belongings, her belongings thoroughly by the time he decided to enter the forest again. There had been someone else aside from Roxanne and Marceline in the gardens. He did not know where she'd gone off too. He did not wish to return to the manor.
Once the trees surrounded him, he kneeled down onto the muddy ground, dirt touching dirt, and sorted the extra bag he'd brought with him from the manor, scavenged the remains. Busy work was good at keeping his mind off things, usually.
It was quiet again, a silence imposed by someone else. He should have left her himself. He should have made the choice on his own. He didn't know if it would've mattered, if he would've felt any different, but he might have.
He was methodical in transferring the remnants of ration bars, bread, water, medical supplies to his own bag. He'd done this before, the other times he'd been left alone. He set aside Marceline's gift to him, laid it on the soil, and rearranged the items so everything could fit. His bag was beginning to bulge now, fabric struggling to hold in the remains of so many other lives. He managed. Marceline's gun and ammo was put back in last, on top of everything else. He moved the zipper, it struggled, stalled for a bit, and then it closed over everything. He was ready.
And then he closed his eyes.
Behind his eyelids, Marceline continued her eternal walk. It didn't matter. None of this mattered. Cam pulsated against his hands. He'd told himself this would happen, he knew this would fucking happen. Declyn blinked in and out of existence. No more allies he had said. No more allies he said. Ty gave him one last squeeze, bloody hand losing purchase on bloody hand. They all died anyways. They'd all die anyways. He pressed his hands to his face, he shook, he sobbed, he felt so spent. It didn't matter. It didn't matter. It meant nothing.
He collected himself later. He always did. He had no choice. He'd do the rest of this alone. No more allies. No more pain. He'd put the work in. He'd lean into it.
He zipped up the extra bag, left it, and walked off. Anywhere else would be fine.
((Diego Larrosa continues in And Now Those Days Are Over and We Are All Ghosts))