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Boy Toy

over.

“I can’t see you anymore.”
It’s these words right here that make Marshall’s world crash, fall, and burn around him. It’s these words right here that make his heart shatter into millions of unfixable pieces. Okay, maybe not these words specifically, but these words pouring out of Nathan’s mouth, out of his Nathan’s mouth.

Marshall can’t breathe, let alone speak. The tears are pouring out of his eyes, seeming to come from no where. It’s like he knew what was coming before Nathan even opened his mouth.

Nathan’s eyes search Marshall’s miserable face and he’s biting his lip to keep from crying himself, because he knows how it feels to have your heart broken. And yeah, he just broke up with the other boy, but he still loves him, and he’s telling the truth: they simply can’t be together. They don’t work together anymore, they’re not making each other happy, and… well, Nathan doesn‘t like lying. But it’s still going to hurt Marshall, of course it is, or he wouldn’t be crying his once-glistening hazel eyes out.

Nathan stands in front of the miserable boy for as long as he can stand the silence before reaching out and gently caressing the other’s face, whispering “I’m so fucking sorry, Marshall,” and leaving. Leaving Marshall standing with his world falling, falling, fallen, gone.

*

It’s been three whole days since Marshall has left his bedroom for more than the thirty second trip to the bathroom. He can’t eat, he can’t sleep, and he sure as fuck can’t stop crying. He wishes he drank, so that he could just be totally wasted and numb, but he doesn’t drink, and neither do his parents, so the house is alcohol free. Marshall hasn’t touched his bed, it’s still chaotically impeccable from the last time he and Nathan laid together.

He’s sprawled out on the floor, with his eyes shut and the tears continuing to pour, while he wonders what exactly it was that he did to make Nathan not love him anymore.
He’s gone over every moment he can ever remember them having together, even the ones before they began dating that could’ve caused this and he’s coming up blank, time and time again.

The only memories appearing are good ones, great ones that are making his stomach queasy and the tears continue to fall. For twelve whole seconds, Marshall manages to distract himself by wondering how long a person can cry before their tear supply up and dries out.

Marshall isn't sure, but he’s almost positive he’ll end up finding out before he’s over his first love.

*

It takes a week and three and a half days before his mom realizes that he’s not escaped from his room, and makes him come out.

He’s almost a walking skeleton now, the thought of food makes his stomach churn and his head pound. And true to his inkling, he did find out how long it took before he could stop producing tears: 156 hours.

Marshall's muscles and bones ache from the hard floor he’d laid on, it hurts him to move, but he couldn’t produce the energy to get a blanket. So he had continued to lay, his limbs sometimes sprawled out in all different positions, usually uncomfortable looking, as if Marshall hadn’t wanted them attached to his body anymore. And sometimes, they were tucked into him, knees pulled to chest and arms wrapped around himself.

He’s still feeling miserable as he slips his bare and frail legs into a ripped pair of black skinnies. As he does so, he’s thinking: “Nathan’s hand has been in this back pocket, Nathan has unzipped and slipped these off countless times, Nathan was with me when I put the rip in the left knee.”

He can’t eat breakfast, he can’t even look at the boxes of Pop Tarts lined up on the counter.
Marshall is also 89 percent sure that he fucking reeks, because he didn’t have the energy to shower during his 156 hours of absolute misery and he didn’t have the time to shower this morning.
So he simply washed his face and Febreez’d himself before exiting the house quickly.

*

School is hell, Marshall decides. He’s known this, of course. But when he arrives and is immediately met with stares, the stares of people who already know, or stares of pure curiosity, he almost crumbles and goes home. And he’s fucking lying if he claims he doesn’t immediately want to, but he knows his mom is home, and that she’ll just bring him straight back to school.
Because she’s a shitty mom that doesn’t notice when her kid’s MIA for a week and a half, or that her kid’s ten pounds lighter, but she doesn’t want him missing school.

His eyes are bloodshot and his breath stinks and his hair is limp and sort of greasy and he just wants to go home, curl up on the floor, and look at those wrinkled covers with envy. Those covers have good last memories of Nathan and Marshall and Marshall has shit.

But he decides as the bell rings for first hour that he’s going to make it through. And maybe he’ll get lucky and it’ll kill him.

*

It almost does kill him when he sees Nathan in third hour. He feels tears he didn’t know he could produce anymore well up and he has to ask to go to the bathroom to keep them from falling.

Nathan looks good, he looks healthy, and most of all, he doesn’t look crushed in the least.
And this crushes Marshall even more.

He’s in the bathroom with his face pressed to the dirty and smudged mirror and trying to prevent himself from crying when he realizes it.

The bathroom.

The way Nathan had to constantly had to go to the bathroom, but only during school.

His bathroom visits lasting almost ten minutes, almost every time.

And the way the few times that Marshall had offered to go with him, Nathan had acted embarrassed and whispered, “This could take a while, baby. I’m feeling a little nauseous,” word for word, every time.

And then he remembered the way that Kale’s eyes would often wander off after Nathan, and the way that Kale would oftentimes disappear without any words, and return a few minutes after Nathan.

Marshall remembered Nathan’s flushed face, and the way that sometimes, his shirt was buttoned up wrong, or his pants were unzipped, or how a button on them wasn’t buttoned.

The realization that Nathan had been cheating on him for at least three months makes those tears of his stop coming in an instant.

Marshall jerks his head off of the mirror, the fucking mirror that had probably witnessed Kale and Nathan fucking each other’s brains out countless times without mentioning anything to Marshall himself, and glares at his dirty reflection. There’s another smudge now, from where his overly greasy head was laying on the glass.

He’s pissed off, pissed at himself for not realizing the blatantly obvious, pissed at Kale for betraying him, but most of all, he’s pissed as fuck at Nathan, who led him on, who took his virginity, who lied to him, and who broke his heart.
♠ ♠ ♠
Entered in:
Original Slash Contest.
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Word Count:
1246.