The Other Shoe
“Hit me .”
Steven shook his head, stepping back and wrapping his own arms around himself in another unconscious effort to self soothe. He couldn't think straight, he could barely think at all. It was like staring down the barrel of a loaded gun and just waiting. Waiting for something to click, to move, to do something. Whether the gun was lowered, or the trigger was pulled, he didn’t care. He just couldn’t deal with the waiting anymore. He wanted just one thing to suddenly make sense so he could have that something. He wanted to be angry, to feel that urge to hit something, but he couldn't. He felt fake, he felt fictional, the only thing he knew was that he was Steven Grant. That was it. Everything else was some elaborate lie, something to keep him happy. Right now, even that could be up for debate.
"I'm not going to hit you Marc" Steven shook his head, looking up at him. "Is that all? Is that absolutely everything you could possibly tell me? If not, then say it, just say it now because if I have to find anything else out later then-" he trailed off. He didn’t know what he'd do. That was the scariest bit.
•••••••••
Steven was the protector. Steven was the better half. Steven was the one to wrap his arms around and say it’ll be okay. Steven was the safety net. But right now? Steven was stuck on a precipice- Marc could see it in his eyes. The blank look. They had to go through this or he might lose him forever, and Marc didn’t think he could stand to lose another brother figure. He’d take the stance he always did. Better for them to hate you than for them to be gone.
“You’re not real.” Marc stepped forward- they were the exact same height, yet he seemed to tower over him. “Never were.” Right hand to Steven’s collarbone. A light shove. “You’re my childhood imaginary friend I never grew out of.” Finger poking into Steven’s chest. “You’re fake. I made you up. I made you up, you’re not real .” He found himself yelling without ever intending to raise his voice. Both hands on Steven’s chest. A hard shove. “ FUCKING HIT ME.”
••••••••••••
He did.
Steven pushed hard on Marc's shoulders. "Stop yelling at me! Why do you have to-" the words hit him. He could feel everything inside come to a grinding, abrupt halt as if the oxygen had just been sucked from him. He gasped for a breath but there was no air left, the vacuum had surrounded him like a bubble. Now it made sense. The trigger had been pulled and the bullet had done its damage, tunneling through his very being..
He went to speak but found himself rendered mute, nothing he said could express what he felt, so he punched Marc square in the jaw with all the force he could muster, before taking a step back, the blind panic beginning to set in. He stared at Marc, watching him like some sort of crazed birdwatcher in the park. "You-" he almost choked on the word, the pressure around him increasing to uninhabitable levels. "Go away, Marc just leave me alone, go away" he staggered back into the wall, the room beginning to spin around him. He felt sick to his stomach.
••••••••••••••••
Marc didn’t move when Steven shoved him, bracing himself. Finally, Steven stopped. He went still. He went silent.
A crack. The corner of Marc’s vision blacked out for a moment, as a firework of pain exploded through his face, then automatically went numb. There it was. He didn’t stagger, didn’t cry out- just turned away slightly for a moment as the force of the punch snapped his head to the side. He didn’t expect Steven to be that heavy of a hitter- but then again, he had his muscles.
He was in pain. That was good . He tasted metal. That was good .
He took what he deserved. That was good .
Marc looked up at Steven, and when he spoke, his teeth were tinted red. Something had broken between them, but concrete needs to crack before plants can regrow. “ Thank you .” he spat, red staining stark white.
••••••••••••••
"No!" He shouted, pushing back against the wall "No you don't get to say that!" He looked back over at Marc, his vision tunneling in on that bright red. The crimson that now stained his complexion. He'd done that. He'd made Marc bleed. And Marc had just taken it, said fucking thank you. Thank you? What did that even mean? You don't thank someone for something like that
"You don't- no" he stumbled through his words clumsily, like everything was just spilling out haphazardly, against his will. "You don't say thank you like that. I- You don't get to make it out like you're-" but Marc was the victim here. Steven had punched him, Steven had pushed and pushed and now he just couldn't accept what the answer was. That was on him. Now he'd reinforced something he didn't want to, he'd made it all worse. Still, Marc's words swam around in his head like piranhas on the hunt. The sentences he wanted to form, to say, were incoherent. He wanted to shout at Marc, to let everything out and just hurt Marc like Marc had hurt him. But he knew that wouldn't help, it wouldn't make any of this go away. All in all, Marc had created him as a way to cope, he could see that now. He was there to protect him, which felt weird to imagine, all things considering. It hurt more than he'd hoped, knowing that the only reason he existed was to take everything that Marc couldn't and forget about it, like some fleshy stress ball, but it seemed he was rather good at it. He could sort through everything later, cry about it later, shout at Marc about it later, for seeing him as a lesser person despite everything he fucking did for him. Though even that felt unfair, it wasn’t as if he could remember it anyway . For now though, it was clear what he needed to do, and despite that urge inside him to walk away and try not to think about it, he did. He had to.
He pushed up off the wall quickly and wrapped Marc in a tight hug.
"I'm sorry you needed me"