AN
All right, I have really not written in a long time. But the creative juices are up and running again, so I'm writing again! :)
I hope to get a bit of feed back on this, if I do, it'll encourage me to write more stories, as will any requests, so please, if you want anything written just message me, I still look for messages!
Also, I only reposted this because FF killed my lines, see lower down.
Doyle
T-H-E-D-U-M-B-W-E-B-S-I-G-H-T-D-E-L-E-T-E-D-M-Y-L-I-N-E
Well that was interesting.
I'd seen her before, but we had never really talked. I'd seen her where she works to, down at the cat scratch club.
The stripper.
Mimi
In the end, it is probably better for her that we couldn't find her stash.
She'll probably get more though.
Ah well.
It was interesting.
T-H-E-D-U-M-B-W-E-B-S-I-G-H-T-D-E-L-E-T-E-D-M-Y-L-I-N-E-A-G-A-I-N
"Roger!"
Groan.
"Mark, I'm asleep." I told him, rolling over.
"Get up!"
Why does his voice have to be so annoying? It's not so bad when I'm fully awake, but seriously at- I glance at the clock- 2 in the morning?
"No. I'm sleeping."
"Roger, get up!"
He pushed me off the bed.
I starred at him.
What the hell?
Oh, that wasn't out loud.
"What the hell?"
"'What the hell?'?" He said, just starring at me.
I slouched up against the dresser, the handles digging into my back.
Ow.
"Yah." I said it slowly; he didn't seem to be getting the message.
"I should be the one asking 'what the hell?'!" He shouted in his kinda deranged way he gets when he's really pissed.
Mark only really gets like this when it has to do with Maureen.
"Why's that?" this is annoying.
He threw his arms in the air, obviously made, like he thinks I'm purposely not getting it.
An angry sigh from him, "What was this doing in the living room?"
A small plastic bag.
Powder.
Wait.
"Where did that come from?" I asked just starring at it, confused.
"Roger, don't play dumb, please." The anger now just fading into concern.
Again, I just starred at him.
I should be asleep.
"What?" now this is really annoying. What was I doing before I went to sleep? … gaw, I'm so tired.
"Roger… don't give up now, please, you've been off for a year already, you've gotten so much better."
Mimi.
Oh yeah.
That was her stash.
That she dropped.
That we couldn't find.
The explanation was so simple, I had to laugh.
Mark looked up at me, perched on the edge of his bed; his head had been in his hands.
He was tired to.
And mad again.
"Roger, this isn't a joke!" Shit, now he's pissed off again.
"I didn't say it is a joke!" Hell, if he can be mad for no reason, so can I! I stood up, the blanket falling off my lap, the cold going right through my sweat pants.
He stood up to, the bag still in his hand.
"Well you're acting like it is-"
I cut him off.
"That's not even mine."
I pointed at the bag.
We both starred at it for a second.
"Wait, what?"
He looked between the bag and me; I have a feeling that I looked pretty pissed.
"It's not mine. The girl down stairs- Mimi- she came earlier, it was in her pocket, but it fell. She couldn't find it. Now can I please go to sleep?"
With that I blew out the candle on the table and crawled into bed, piling the millions of blankets over me. He must have stood there for a minute at least, and then I heard him move, taking of his shoes and crawling into bed, not bothering to change out of his clothes.
"Hey Roger, you awake?"
I ignored him.
For a second or two.
"Maybe."
"I'm sorry."