Left Behind (Marcel FanFiction)

{Olivia's POV}


I sat on my front porch the following day, which was a Saturday. I had Lance's guitar rested atop my knees and was strumming the lines to Shattered by O.A.R, which was the last song my brother played. It wasn't that he was depressed, and it's not that I am either. It was simply that Lance knew he wanted to get away from here, from everything, but he always told me the same thing.

"I can't leave you, Olivia," He would say, hugging me, "You're my baby sister, and I need you in my life to stay sane."

He sang Shattered to me the last time I ever saw him. He and my father never got along because my dad wanted him to be a doctor and my brother wanted to play music. It's not my dad's a bad guy, and it wasn't that my brother was a rebellious delinquent. It was that Lance wanted freedom, and like me, he found that in music.

I began singing the lyrics silently to myself, getting half way through the song, when I heard someone sit beside me. I knew who it was and didn't stop singing, but got louder.

"All I feel is the realness, I'm faking, taking my time, but it's time that I'm wasting!" I sang, leaning my head against Marcel's shoulder. He sighed and wrapped an arm around my shoulders, rubbing the one farthest from him.

"Your voice is beautiful," Marcel complimented when I was finished. I sat the guitar next to me, careful not to break the fragile instrument.

"I can't believe I actually did that," I chuckled a bit.

"Did what?" Marcel raised an eyebrow.

"Sang, in front of you." I said, chewing my lip and playing with my fingers.

"Why?" Marcel laughed.

"I just," I said, paused, sighed then continued, "I haven't sang to anyone since Lance, and I-"

"Don't." Marcel stopped me.

"Don't what?" I asked.

"Don't talk about your brother, because when you do, you cry." Marcel said, pulling me into his chest. I sighed and nuzzled in.

"I still remember the day it happened," I whispered, playing the hem of Marcel's shirt.

"Olivia.." Marcel trailed off.

"No," I sighed, "I want to talk about it,"

"Only go to where you want to and stop," Marcel said, pulling me into his chest tighter, his arms tightly around me. I sighed and began my story.


"Olivia, come down for dinner, sweetheart." my mother called up to my room. I tore my eyes from the picture of my brother and I and sighed, getting off the bed and walking to the door, opening it and waking to the stairs. As I made my way down, I could hear my father setting the dinner table. Like every night since Lance left, I heard him pause. He always paused at Lance's seat, sigh and shake his head. He hated the idea that Lance ran away to pursue a music career.

I heard the sigh and walked down the rest of the stairs, approaching the kitchen. My mother turned to me, smiling, "take your seat, babe." she greeted.

I nodded and walked to my seat, where I got a peck on the cheek by my father. I gave him a half hearted smile and sat down, sipping the water that my mom had placed in front of me.

When everything was situated, my mother was the first to speak. "Olivia, have you got his guitar out lately?"

"No, why?" I asked, taking a bite of corn.

"Just wondering," she smiled, taking a bite herself.

"Olivia, what do you wanna do when you get older, love?" my father asked, giving me a smile.

"Hugh, please." my mom sighed.

"Cindy, please." my father mocked.

"I don't know," I shrugged, "I'm only 17 right now,"

"But you'll be 18 as of 2 months and a senior in high school," My dad sighed, "maybe you can get some tips from Marcel!"

"I'm not asking my best friend for tips on what I should be one day, dad" I raised an eyebrow. Before he could reply, the phone rang. My mother excused herself to go answer it and left the table. My father and I watched her walk away, then exchanged glances. We stayed silent so my mother could talk.

"Yes, this is she," she said, "yes, Lance is my so-" she stopped, then continued, "wait. what?" I heard the phone drop and my father and I ran into the other room. My mom was on her knees on the floor, the phone next to her. She was sobbing. I knelt down to comfort her while my father grabbed the phone.

"Hello?" my dad said, "My name is Hugh Newton, my wife was just talking to you, now she's crying, what happened?" my dad stayed silent, then his eyes swelled, "there must be" some mis-" he was cut off as tears began to slip down his face, "th-thank you." he said, hanging up. My father lowered himself to my mom and I's level, hugging us both to him.

Lance was speeding. He didn't see the red light and drove through it. The other car tried to stop, but couldn't. Lance suffered from several injuries and they say there was no help for him. He was only 19.





"You're crying, baby, stop." Marcel said, rocking me in his lap.


I pulled away, shaking my head and reaching for the guitar. I began the cords to play Shattered again. I peered up at the sky. "Lance," I said, "this is a song for you."

Notes