Mark

Score: Midnight Rain - Taylor Swift

Three Years Before

As I climb into the car, a shrilling, high-pitched noise blocks whatever bullshit Patrick is saying. I slam the door shut and look out through the curtain of rain, falling over the car window, for Lydia. She's standing in the rain and still refuses to look at me. She looks like a statue, the only movements of her body the shaking from her quiet sobs.

Seeing her like this breaks my heart into a million pieces. Knowing that it was me who caused her to feel all this pain makes the pieces come together only to be torn apart, again and again, until they are so tattered and torn, that they can't be put together anymore.

I did this...It's my fault...

This can't be true! I was so close! If the fucking Baby Lord had waited just a couple more hours, I would have made it.

My phone chimes inside my jeans pocket and I reach and fumble for it. My hands are stiff from the cold. It is just now that I notice that my clothes are drenched. They are sticking to my body, squeezing me like a cold, wet glove that I cannot take off.

I feel like I'm fucking drowning in my own skin...I can't draw a proper breath. I feel like my vision is narrowing and I force myself to breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth. I need to focus on something.

I read the message from Martha, which is flashing on the screen of my phone and I shake my head, blowing out a breath. I lift my eyes from my phone and my stare is immediately met with the driver's disapproving glare in the rear-view mirror. I can't fucking blame him. We've caused enough trouble for him to have all the right in the world to throw us out.

"...should've seen this coming..." I hear Patrick's voice through the haze, filling the space of my skull.

"What the fuck did you just say?" I snap out of it and turn my head in his direction so swiftly, I'm afraid that my neck might snap, too.

"Gentlemen," the driver growls, warning edging his voice.

I turn my head to the front of the car, facing the headrest of the driver.

"What did you do that for?" I squeeze through gritted teeth. "I told you I had your fucking money..."

"It's not about the money, Mark," Patrick says, his voice cold as the rainwater, dripping from my hair into my eyes. "It's never been about the money. Do you think I fucking care about fifty thousand pounds?" I can feel the fucking smirk in his voice.

"What, then," I ask, although I already know the answer.

"I couldn't let you walk away with her, Mark," Patrick says, and I know he means that. "I couldn't let you have her."

"She's not fucking property, asshole!" I say, white-hot rage bubbling in my veins.

"Says the man, who bet her in a game of poker," Patrick sneers.

I turn around so quickly that even I am surprised when I realize my hand is wrapped around Patrick's neck. It fucking sucks that he's right, but that doesn't mean I can't beat the crap out of him anyway. Blow off some steam.

"Gentlemen, please," the driver says and I drop my hand to the seat between us.

I turn towards the window and watch the raindrops fall onto the glass. Weirdly, the patter of the rain on the glass and the darkness outside somewhat manage to soothe my nerves.

"And what, you think she'll come running back to you, now that she knows the truth?" I manage to say, way more calmly than I thought I'd manage.

"Oh, no, I'm not that delusional," Patrick laughs. I turn to face him again, but he's looking at his hands in his lap. He looks almost...sad? "Lydia will never look at me again, after everything I did to her and said tonight."

Confusion furrows my brows.

"Why, then?"

"Don't you get it, Mark? If I don't get to have her, you don't get to have her, either."

Anger rises in my chest anew.

"You did all this just to spite me?"

"Just as you did, man." He says quietly.

I raise my fist to my mouth and bite into it just to stop myself from driving it into Patrick's temple.

"I didn't do it to spite you. I actually love her, you idiot," I say, through gritted teeth.

"And so did I, asshole. So do I." He says. I don't know whether it's the trembling in his voice, or the look of defeat on his face, as he says that, but I actually believe him.

Silence befalls the small space of the car. I see the familiar gate of my dad's house getting closer through the shield.

"And now, what? We both walk away and leave Lydia devastated?" I can't let that happen. Lydia has to listen to me.

"Oh, come on, Mark! Do you think you can give her what she needs? You're going to go back to America eventually, and she's going to have to figure her life out. What, you think you can take care of her? And do you think she'll fucking let you? Believe me, I tried, and I had a better shot back then, than you do right now, but she never let me in. In the moments she needs people the most, she pushes them away the fiercest. She needs help and she needs someone to be there for her but she just won't let anyone near, while she's licking her wounds. I was there when her mother tried to commit suicide, Mark. I was there. Not you. Me. I know how she is when she needs help the most."

"Where are you getting at?" I snap, tired of listening to Patrick telling me how I hadn't been there for my girl when she needed me the most. I can't help but wonder whether it had been me there, instead of Patrick, things would have been different. If Lydia would have let me in. If she'd actually trust me, as we've known each other literally all our lives...

But there's no point in dwelling on the past. What's done is done, and I cannot go back. And I wouldn't have been of great help, going through my parents' separation and Lily's diagnosis. It would have been the both of us, going through the worst episodes in our lives, emotionally unavailable to anyone and anything else, exhausted by the constant shitstorms going on, clinging onto one another like we're each others' lifelines, only to drag each other down even more in the process.

And, for the first time in my life, I feel actually thankful that Patrick had been there for Lydia. She'd needed something stable to lean on, and I had been a trainwreck at the time.

I swallow hard because my throat feels suddenly painfully tight, unwilling to let the next words that I am about to say pass.

"Thank you," I say, as the car pulls into my father's driveway. "For being there for her."

With my peripheral vision, I see Patrick's head jerk in my direction.

"Sorry, what?"

"Don't make me say it again, prick! It was difficult enough."

"I am...was her boyfriend. I did it because she needed me. What do you think?"

The car pulls to a stop in front of the front door. I can see Martha's Bentley parked in front of us.

"Nevermind. I just had to say it."

I pull some cash out of my pocket and hand it to the driver. He's earned my generosity.

The driver meets my eyes in the rearview mirror and nods briefly. He gets off the car and moves to the back to retrieve my suitcases.

I move to get off, as well, but I glance toward Patrick and see that he's frozen in his seat.

"Anytime now," I say, urging him to fucking move.

"You really love her, don't you?" Patrick says and the hairs on the back of my neck suddenly rise. What the hell?

"Of course I do. I love her so much that it fucking scares me. I've loved her since we were kids." I say. "You were right about what you said in Italy. I hadn't realized it till then, and it took for you to come into her life and show that you wanted her for me to realize that."

Patrick nods curtly. I shake my head and reach for the door handle.

"Unbelievable," I mutter under my breath.

"What's unbelievable?" Patrick asks, getting off the car.

"Nobody seems to fucking believe me that I am in love with Lydia. Not you, not...her...not my dad..."

"Well, it is a bit weird, you know. You've known each other all your lives, then you disappear for two fucking years, and then you come back and you are all I-can't-be-without-you and shit..."

"Yeah," I nod, walking toward Martha's Bentley. "And shit."

The rain is still dripping down my neck, as I reach Martha's driver's door. She rolls her window down.

"Hiya, lovely," she says with a smile on her perfectly painted lips.

"Would you like to come inside?" I ask, leaning with my palms on the door. "Don't worry. There's no one inside." I add.

Throughout our years of...friendship, Martha's made it clear that she doesn't want to be seen with me outside of the underground poker circles. Would be inappropriate, with the age gap and all. Also, I know she's got an actual job that she hasn't disclosed much about, and I think she's afraid to let people in on it. I'm not even sure if her real name's Martha.

"Well, I'm not really into that stuff," she says with a grin, glancing back at Patrick, who's standing a few feet behind, half-turned in the direction of the house, his face not visible from where she's sitting, and then back at me. "Besides, I thought you had a girlfriend now."

A genuine laugh escapes my throat for the first time since my father's wedding.

"It's not like that, you dirty little thing," I say. "He's the one I asked you to come over for."

Martha's mouth gapes open and her hand flies up to her ever-present shades and lifts them to her forehead.

"You brought Patrick fucking Casterly here?" she hisses.

"He kind of tagged along," I say, the fresh memories from just half an hour ago making me squeeze Martha's driver's door right above her rolled-down window.

Martha tuts and then reaches into the passenger seat, retrieving an envelope. She hands it over to me, with a look on her face I can't really read and it unnerves me. I've always been able to read her.

"Thank you," I say, brushing my hand over hers for a second.

"It really is nothing. Don't bother giving it back. But I still can't get why I couldn't have just transferred it to you."

"It had to be cash," I say, shaking my head.

"So, what now? You pay him, he fucks off and you move on with your life with your girl?"

I look down at my feet. I haven't realized I've been standing in a muddy puddle. It perfectly matches my inner world right now...Slowly, I shake my head.

"It's over," I say, and hearing it for the first time makes the realization hit me like a derailed train.

"Oh, darling," Martha cocks her head to the side and tsks with her tongue. "I'm so sorry. What happened?"

I shake my head again and straighten up. I shoot a glare at Patrick, who's looking at me now.

"Doesn't matter. It's over," I sigh and start walking toward the front door.

"If you need me, let me know, OK?" Martha's voice is full of fucking pity, as she rolls her window up and starts her Bentley.

I know what she means by that. And there's no way I'm getting pity-fucked by Martha. A memory of the last time I'd been with her flashes briefly before my eyes. Her lips on mine. Her soft, creamy skin under my fingers. Her husky moans in my ears...and I shudder.

Yeah, right...like I could ever be with her again.

Grateful as I am for her driving all the way here to give me that last five thousand pounds, as we had agreed before Lydia and I boarded the plane in Greece in the morning, there's no way I'm ever going to...need Martha again.

I walk past Patrick and move to unlock the front door. I quickly make my way inside and punch in the security code. I hear footsteps in the hallway and I know that Patrick's right behind me. The footsteps stop and he whistles behind my back.

"Your dad's place is amazing," Patrick says, gaping at the high ceiling.

And that, from a lad, whose grandfather owns a fucking castle.

"Yeah, I'd give you a tour, but I just want you to get the fuck out of here as quickly as possible, so..." I shrug my shoulders and walk past him toward the stairs. "Wait here."

I climb the stairs two at a time, my heart thumping in my chest so fast, I'm afraid it will just burst after the day I've had. I reach the second floor and turn around to look at Patrick, who's standing in the hallway with his hands in his pockets, leaving wet, muddy trails all over the tiles.

This is fucking surreal, I think to myself, as I walk toward my room. Seeing him here is just...Patrick Casterly shouldn't have been the one, standing in my hallway. It should have been Lydia, waiting for me to retrieve the rest of the cash, stashed in a drawer in my room, under the pretext that I'm getting clean clothes after the trip to Greece, before we head back into town. Then, I would have snuck out somehow to meet Patrick and give him his stupid money, and all of us would have just moved on with our lives...

Fucking idiot...How did I ever think a plan like that would work?

I reach my room and stomp inside, reaching my desk in just four long strides. I pull the drawer I've been stashing the cash I'd earned at games for the past months out, and it comes crashing onto the floor. I mutter a curse, getting to my knees on the floor and scooping the cash, overflowing onto the floor, back into the drawer.

I stand to my feet and walk to my closet, pulling out bag. I kneel back to the floor and start shoving the cash into it.

As I do so, an idea blooms into my mind. I finish shoving the money into the bag, then stand up to my feet and pull the envelope that Martha gave me, containing the last five thousand pounds, from my back pocket, and throw it in the bag. I then zip it and walk out of my room, stomping down the hallway and down the stairs.

Patrick is still there, looking at the photograph of my dad, Laura, and Alice in Italy, sitting on the dresser. I jump down the last two steps, and swing the bag in my hand, tossing it at his feet.

"Hey, asshole," I say, standing in front of Patrick. "Here's your money. Now, before you take it and fuck off, for good this time, if possible, I have one condition."

Patrick's eyes meet mine and he laughs. He fucking laughs.

"You're in no position to have conditions, mate," he says, reaching for the bag and flinging it over his shoulder. "You sure it's all in here? I'm gonna count it, when I go home, and if even a penny is missing, I swear..."

"It's all there, knobhead," I say, taking a step forward. "But, as I said, I have one condition. You don't care about the money. You said it yourself, and, knowing your background, I believe you. But you also said you care about Lydia," I continue, raising a finger and pointing it at him. "And, no matter whether I like it or not, I believe you about that, too," I say. Patrick's eyes flare, as he's slowly realizing where I am getting at. "Colin's nearly broke, you know that? And he refused to pay for her tuition. Lydia has no place to stay. She effectively moved out, after what happened the morning after your prom..."

"Oh, you mean, after you fucked her, while she was wasted and we were still together?" Patrick says, stepping one step closer.

"Oh, you mean, after you choked her and called her a whore?" I retort, taking another step toward him. Our faces are mere inches apart, and I want nothing more than to make his look a little less pretty by leaving an imprint of my fist in it, but I decide to stay civil. After all, it is true, what he said, I did sleep with Lydia, while they were still practically together, and her judgement had been clouded by the alcohol. I guess that both Patrick and I treated her unfairly.

"That's not the point," I breathe out, closing my eyes. "The thing is, she needs help, Patrick. She needs all the help she can get. She has no job, no place to live, and doesn't know what she's going to do. And, as you said, she'd never admit to it, or seek help out. But you can do the right thing, man. Give it to her," I nod toward the bag, swinging from his shoulder.

Patrick's face softens. He blinks a couple of times, and shuffles his feet, clearly nervous, and then he nods?! What the hell?

"Already thought of that, asshole," he says, a smile threatening to lift up the corners of his lips, but he's doing all he can to suppress it. "As I said, I loved her, too."

For a second, I just stare at him, lost for words. After everything he had done, after making an appearance at Gloria's today and ruining everything for me with Lydia, after being an asshole for weeks, he's actually agreeing to my plan? There has to be a catch to it! It's not like him to just do something like that, out of the good of his heart.

"Really?" Is all I manage to say, lifting an eyebrow.

Patrick nods. "Yes, really."

"OK, then..."

"OK, then..."

"You better get the fuck out of here, before I throw you out..."

"Yeah..."

He turns around and moves for the door.

"Patrick," I call him, and he stops in his tracks, half-turning his head toward me. "Let me know once it's done, OK?" I say, my voice trembling.

He doesn't look at me, but he says, nodding briefly:

"OK."

"And...and, take care of her, OK?" I say, my voice trailing off to no more than a whisper at the end.

This time, he doesn't say anything, but he just nods again, and then he takes the short distance to the door in a couple of long steps, opens the front door, and disappears into the night.

And, just like that, I lose my Lydia to Patrick for the second time in my life...