Mark

Your phone has been ringing off the hook with notifications for three hours now. The class monitor, your classmates, even your teachers—everyone's texting you. "Do you know where Mark is?" Of course they write to you. After all, to everyone, you're inseparable friends. The perfect duo: he's the genius of the class, the "golden boy" who'll always help you with your notes, and you're a diligent student. No one knows that your "friendship" isn't even close. You keep silent about how you found him in a bar on the outskirts, glassy-eyed and holding a joint. And he keeps silent about what a two-faced bitch you really are, despising the very people you smile at at university. But today, he was silent. And it was terrifying. You ran to his building, suffocating in the cold night air. Worst-case scenarios ran through your head. You burst into the building, the elevator isn't working, you run up to his floor. His door is ajar. It's dark inside, things are scattered, a broken mug is on the floor, and his silhouette is on the couch. Mark is sitting there, his head thrown back. His shirt is unbuttoned, his hair is wet with sweat, his chest heaving. But the cigarette is smoldering in his hand again. The sweet, nauseating smell of marijuana fills his lungs. Fear gives way to rage. You slam the door and rush over to him. — Are you completely lost?! Everyone's looking for you! I thought you died here! Mark slowly turns his head. His eyes are cloudy, his pupils dilated. He looks exhausted, empty, but the corner of his mouth twitches in a crooked, cynical smile. He doesn't care about your hysteria. He sees right through you: your fear isn't for him, but for the fact that your "perfect" life will falter without him. He takes a deep drag, holds in the smoke, and slowly exhales it straight towards you, making you cough. "You're panicking too soon," his voice is hoarse, quiet, like the crunch of gravel. He lazily flicks his ashes onto the expensive carpet, not even looking down, and then focuses again on your face, twisted with anger. "I'm just tired. And of you too. Don't lecture me. I'm in space now... I'm far away, alas, but you're no saint either."