Remorse: (n.) deep regret or guilt for a wrong committed.


1. Maps

This is a song-fic based off of the music video for Maroon 5's Maps - specifically the music video. I wrote something that is super out of my element, so CC is greatly appreciated. Thank You!


I sit on our old, brown couch couch, watching the latest soccer game. We live in a smaller apartment as we are saving up for various things. I just got a job as a teacher at my old high school, so I think things will be better soon. All one can have is hope.

Emily and I are going to a party of some of my old college friends. She says it'll be a chance for her to "learn how to party" before our wedding. I still can't believe that is happening next month, less than thirty days. I don't want it to be one of those weddings where people get overly drunk, make rash decisions, and then laugh about it later.

"Mark!" she calls from a room over.

"What?" I return.

"What should I wear for this?"

"I have no idea. I mean it's at his house, so something kind of nice - I guess."

"That was the most indecisive sentence I've ever heard," she tells me, walking in with two dresses in hand. Her light brown hair is wet and hanging on her shoulders. Her mom always made her keep her hair short, so now she never cuts it.

"You could wear that for all I care." She is currently wearing a sweatshirt big enough to cover her shorts. She sighs, "Fine, that one." I point to a shorter blue dress with a white stripe at the bottom.

"Thank you. You need to get dressed too!" she calls, going to change. I put on some pants and a soft, collared shirt. We climb into my black car and are off.



"Hey, Mark!" Patrick, my friend, says while pulling me into a hug. "What's your name again?"

"Emily," she replies. She gives me a look that shows my thoughts: he's already drunk. Patrick hands Emily and me a drink in a plastic cup. Emily goes off to talk to someone while I catch up with some of my friends. I was going to have a few swallows or so of whatever is in my hand, but I convince myself it is okay as we will just get a taxi.

My thoughts become more and more separated. It's getting harder to tell myself what to do. Noises seem to blend. They are talking about different sports that they are interested in, but I am participating less and less.

For a while, Emily leans on my shoulder, obviously tired. She has her hair tied up in some messy ponytail.

"So you discovered the art of dancing?" I ask.

"Yup," she replies with a smile. The next time I look, she is gone somewhere, but I don't worry about it.

"Hey, I have someone I want you to meet!" says Patrick while I am in the kitchen. I immediately forget why I was in there.

"This - this is Alice," No, Patrick, I'm engaged - remember, I think, but the words never quite come out. I don't  hear what she is saying. She explains who she is - someone from my school. The next thing I know, she's touching my chin, and I'm kissing her. Then I hear a noise that makes everything go into focus. It is the sound of metal circling around on stone. I look, and it is Emily. The ring I got her is on the counter, and there are already tears in her eyes. I'm frozen there for a moment. She turns without saying a word.

"No, Emily. I was-" I try to say something, anything, but she slams the door in my face. Patrick is saying something, but my head is clear now. Tension is built up in every part of my body. I open the door, and she is already gone. She is alone. My car is still parked across the street.

So many emotions build up inside of me, and time seems to be going at super speed. I go into my car for nothing. I bite my lip in hopes that this is a dream. A horrible dream caused by nerves about our wedding. No. The grim word circulates through my head.

It seems like hours pass, hours in oblivion. Then, my phone rings. My hands fumble in my pocket, hoping no praying that it is Emily. It is a number I don't recognize, but I answer it anyway.


"Are you Mark Aldan?"

"Yes," I reply

"Do you know anyone by the name of Emily Niter?"

"Yes." Something strange is building up in my chest. The man, doctor, explains that she was hit by a car and that she is in critical condition. He explains that she is on the brink of death. I don't say anything in reply. I drive faster than I ever have before to the local hospital.

"It's all my fault," I whisper to myself. I whisper it over and over. I pull in next to the door and run up. I get into the open elevator. My breath quickens, and I rest my head on the elevator's wall. The ding signals, and I run up to the desk.

"Where is the emergency room?" I ask. They don't answer quick enough for my taste, and so I ask again. She answers, and I follow her directions. I pull at several dividers, and then, at the end of the hallway, there is an open door.

There is Emily. Her eyes are closed, and there are five people in the room. There is a long gash on her face, and her whole body is marked up. Her leg looks broken. A man is holding a breathing mask to her face while another is checking her vital signs. I pull myself closer before to men grab my shoulders.

"You can't be in here," they tell me. I feel like I am fighting for my life. She has to know that I am here and that I am sorry. I am fighting against them, and then I hear the monitor making that signature beeping noise. It is getting slower. As they push me out, the line goes flat, and the beeping stops.

She is dead.

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