“You didn’t let anyone down,” Marcus said. “Surviving isn’t a betrayal, Tyler.”
“I only moved six feet away… this mom was struggling with her smiling, cute-as-hell kid and juggling groceries—so normal—and I helped. I fucking helped.”
Marcus’s grip on my shoulder tightened, his voice low and urgent. “Tyler, listen to me. You helping that woman and her child wasn’t wrong. It was human. It was kind. You couldn’t have known what was about to happen.”
I fought back tears that threatened to spill. “But I should have…”
“Should have what?” Marcus asked. “You can’t blame yourself for something you had no control over.”
His words hit me like a punch to the gut. I wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong and that I should have done better, but I was exhausted.
“I see their faces,” I whispered. “Every time I close my eyes. You can’t understand that.”
Marcus was quiet for a moment, his hand still steady on my shoulder. “You’re right. I don’t understand what you went through. But I do know survivor’s guilt when I see it.”
The phrase hit me like a physical blow. I flinched, but Marcus didn’t let go.
“It’s not your fault they died, Tyler. And it’s not a betrayal to keep living.”
I wanted to argue, but I was so tired of fighting, of the constant noise in my head, and feeling as though I was drowning in guilt and memories.
“How do you know?” I asked, my voice small and broken. “How can you be so sure?”
Marcus was quiet for a moment, his fingers tracing absent patterns on my shoulder. His voice was soft, tinged with a pain I hadn’t heard in him before.
“I don’t know the same as you, but I’ll be here for you while you work on it.”
Silence stretched between us, and I nestled into the cocoon of warmth he created. His body heat, the softness of the blanket, and the quiet hum of his breathing came together to create something I never wanted to leave.
I let my gaze drift, following the inkcovering his forearms. I’d never asked before. It always felt too personal, too much like prying into a past I didn’t deserve to share. But now, the words came without thinking in this quiet, safe space.
“What do they mean?”
Marcus glanced down at his arms, then back at me, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You mean the ones I remember getting?”
I huffed, not quite a laugh, but close enough. “Yeah.”
He traced a finger over one of the older tattoos, a faded symbol I didn’t recognize. “Most of these?” he said, shaking his head. “Drunken mistakes. I don’t even remember half of what made me get them. A dumb bet, a lost game, a night out that went too far.”
He fell silent, then turned his arm to show me a different tattoo near his inner elbow. This one was clearer—a date in simple black script.
“But this one,” he said. “This one, I remember.” Marcus exhaled. “The day I stopped hurting myself.” I blinked, surprised. He didn’t look at me, just resting his fingers over the ink. “Since I stopped trying to drown everything out with alcohol and drugs.”
“I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry I?—”
“It’s not a secret,” he reassured me. “Just not something I usually bring up.”
“Thank you for sharing with me.” I curled into him as his warmth surrounded me. He was unshakable, and I felt protected.
It had been so long since I’d felt safe.
“I want to be safe,” I whispered.
“I’ve got you,” he said.
From somewhere deep inside, tears forced their way up, drowning me. I shook with the force of them, ragged breaths breaking through the silence. I tried to hold them back, but Marcus held me steady. He didn’t speak; he ran his hand up and down my back as the dam broke, and I couldn’t stop the tears.
I didn’t want to stop them.
