[center] [h1]Darkness and Solitude[/h1] [img]http://i.imgur.com/jzzw4on.jpg[/img] [h2][color 33ec06]Marcus Howell[/color][/h2] [img]http://i.imgur.com/3R5vYYi.png?2[/img] [color=silver] 𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟙𝟞, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘 / / 𝕃𝕒 ℙ𝕝𝕒𝕥𝕒, 𝕄𝕒𝕣𝕪𝕝𝕒𝕟𝕕 / / 𝕋𝕠𝕨𝕟 / / 𝟘𝟚𝟘𝟘 [/color][/center] [center][sub][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n3aKYYB6mug]Please Don’t Let Me Be Alone[/url][/sub][/center] Somehow, Marcus had managed to find sleep. Perhaps it was the late-night visits that had left him mentally exhausted, or perhaps it was the physical exertion that had left his body tired and achy. Whatever it was, he’d managed to fall asleep amid a tangle of blankets and pillows. Of course, if he had known that the nightmares would return, he probably would have tried to stay awake. [hider= Shattered Night] It was the same scene he’d lived over and over – that fateful afternoon when he had everything taken from him. His neighborhood burned, turning the sunset into an even more striking shade of red. Ever since he’d been brought to USARILN, the cast that showed up in his sleeping moments had been increasing. The first newcomer had been the athletic girl, throat brutally torn open and eyes staring at him. It wasn’t really a surprise that Savannah would be the next to condemn him – head twisted at an impossible angle, blonde locks falling over glassy eyes, an unspoken accusation on her lips. He’d expected it, but it didn’t stop the cold fear that settled in his bones. The next ones to show up were Lawrence and Lily, their bodies oozing crimson far faster than what should have been possible. His mistakes - his moments of hesitation and panic, which had almost killed both of them. The last group was the worst, and then one he had been dreading. Emma. Callan. Siena. All sporting fatal wounds, their bodies cold and pale, but still taunting him. Half of Emma’s face was obscured by the gore that poured of the gaping hole in her head. Callan’s entire left side had rotted away, turning the superhuman girl into a shambling mess as clumps of flesh fell from her. Siena’s awkward gait; bones sticking out where they shouldn’t have, while her head hung loosely, almost cleanly severed from her neck. They seemed to dance in a perverse circle around him, as if they had no other objective than to been seen. It was enough – they didn’t have to say anything for the terror in his heart to swell. Would they be his fault too? His cold sweat grew warmer. Too warm and too fast. Fire engulfed him again – no matter how much he tried to stop it, it always caught him. The stink of burning skin, filling his nostrils to the point where he could almost taste it. The screams. Someone was desperately pleading for help. The pleading turned to screaming. It was so loud. He just wanted the screaming to stop. He just wanted the- [/hider] He jerked up in bed, his stomach immediately doing a flip as he threw the covers off and sprinted for the bathroom. His stomach heaved a few times, the illusionary smell of charred flesh still hanging heavy in his nose as he knelt before the porcelain. No matter how many times he tried to, [i]that[/i] was a scent that he could not erase from his mind, and simply waited for moments like this to resurface. His stomach stopped its turning, the contents remaining safely where they were supposed to be. He was lucky this time; as there had been nights when he hadn’t been as fortunate. Marcus sat on the white tiled floor, breathing heavily, eyes watering and hands shaking. Had he heard a scream just now, or had it just been the nightmares? He strained his ears to find anything over the sound of his own pumping blood, but to no avail. Whatever it was had stopped, or had never existed in the first place. He curled himself up as small as he could next to the toilet, bringing his knees up to his face and resting in that position. There was one thing that was abundantly clear in his mind, despite the slight grogginess: he was alone. He was alone, and he desperately didn’t want to be. He should have asked Emma to stay with him, but he hadn’t. He didn’t want to impose and suggest something like that too early – accidentally insinuate something that neither of them were ready for. It was a choice he was very much regretting at this point, as he hid in his corner. But it was fine; she hadn’t asked either. She probably preferred the room to herself. He didn’t even have the comforting presence of his roommates, either; he wasn’t trying not to trip on the scattered snack packages, or trying to be quiet enough not to wake the dog that was always curled up somewhere inconvenient. He needed someone right now. Someone to just be [i]there[/i]. Siena, Emma, Callan, Max...hell, he’d even take the stupid mutt if it meant that he wouldn’t be alone right now. But they weren’t around. There was nobody. It was his fault. His fault. He couldn’t push it off until later anymore, and this one moment of weakness was all it took. Everything he’d left for ‘later’ was starting to swell over his head, ready to drown him beneath the waves. It had been his fault. Pretty much everything that had happened had been his fault. Emma and Callan were tearing themselves apart, and it was his fault. Savannah was stowed away in a box somewhere, and it was his fault. An old man and a guard were cold and lifeless somewhere, and it was his fault. And he was the only one who knew. It would be so easy to tell them what had happened, but he didn’t want the blame. He didn’t want their hot gazes, angry words, or anything like that. He wanted to hide from his mistakes, even if it meant that he was causing other people to suffer. It was selfish, but he’d take that secret to the grave if he was able to. He wanted to get up. Splash his face in the sink. Glare at the torn face he didn’t recognize in the mirror. Punch something. Be angry. Be [i]strong[/i], like Callan or Max. He wanted to push through it with brute force. With confidence and charisma. Another joke to fill the moment. But that wasn’t Marcus. It was a personality he’d stolen from someone else. The person he’d decided to be after the dream. Someone who could help, even if it was just by making the people around him feel a little bit happier. Someone whose every action was made with the approval and thought of the friends he’d made. He wanted to be the kind of person [i]he[/i] needed. But that wasn’t Marcus. Marcus was a scared kid. The shy one of the class. The wimp. Always hiding behind his older sister when everything started to come down on him. Not strong enough to fight his own battles. The one who didn’t talk very much and didn’t have many friends. The one who was paralyzed by fear in the most important moments, too pathetic to act because of his phobias. He didn’t want to be that kid anymore. He didn’t want to be the broken human being curled up next to a toilet as the panic washed over him in waves, as the tracks of salt water inched down his face, cutting through the slight layer of grime he hadn’t thought to wash off. None of the friends his stolen personality had won were around now. It was just him and the guilt that coiled around like a noose around his neck, forcing his breath to stop in his throat as it constricted. He needed [i]somebody[/i], but he had [i]nobody[/i]. The sound of quiet sniffles echoed through the bathroom, the flickering lights above illuminating the pathetic form as he softly wept.