Quick Reminder: This is my first Mark POV fic, EVER. I see Mark a little different than most but I like him. *grins!* Hope you guys like this chapter. Reviews are real cool.

Of course, I don't own anything.

When the lights were out and the room was dark, I knew she was smiling. With Maureen, you could just tell. The feeling the room changed. The room shifts, giving a comforting uneasy feeling. Personally, I enjoyed the feeling. I knew she was happy when I felt it. I knew I was doing a good job as her boyfriend, something I never thought was possible. I would think to myself, 'Maureen and I? That could never happen. I'm not her type.' But, there I was, lying next to her in our bed, hearing her irregular breathes even out. I kept my eyes open, waiting until I hear her small snores. She was my world. I made sure her needs, wants and everything else came before mine. I didn't want to lose her.

But things change. One day, we were cuddling on the couch, whispering sweet nothings in each others ears. The next, she hit me with some big news.

"Pookie, uhm… I don't think I can do this anymore."

"What do you mean?"

"This. Us… it's not working out."

My world came crashing down that day. I couldn't wrap my head around it. She was gone, out of my life. She was out, scissoring some lawyer and I was the loft, lying on my bed, yearning for the room to change, to shift. It didn't.

The loft was mine now. Roger moved in with Mimi upstairs. It was just me, a hot plate and a crappy old sofa. Roger kept telling me to move out, to get a 'bachelor pad' with a mini bar. I would just laugh and nod. Mini bar my ass. I would need a whole room to be a bar to take care of my loneliness. But I don't do that. I don't drown myself in the sorrow and worries. I simply film people who seem to have sorrow and worries on the street and make movies out of it (but most of you already knew that).

I woke up to the phone ringing, pulling the blanket over my head. The echo of me just saying speak played through the spacious living room and I heard my mother.

"Mark, no houses fell on me yet! You have to call me sometime, give me an update. C'mon down for a family barbeque this Saturday." It was a Wednesday. "Bring your lady friend! Oh, please, Mark. It'll mean so much to me. Even you're father will be there. Please call me back. Oh, and Cindy says hello!"

I groaned. There was no way I was going to a family barbeque with no lady on my arm. I told them, about five months ago, that I was completely over Maureen. Her voice didn't hum in my head, the yearning for the room to change didn't occur and I didn't think about her naked all the time. I was over her. I was completely, utterly, undoubtedly over Maureen Johnson. But, obviously, that was the problem. The message on the machine specifcally said, 'bring your lady friend!' Did I have a lady friend? No. Did I lie to my parents to make them feel better about me living alone in New York and make them proud of me for actually moving past this whole Maureen thing? Of course. I might be a mouse but I'm a good liar.

"I need a fake girlfriend," I mumbled to myself as I sat up. "A real one would be excellent," I added on, slightly laughing at how ridiculous I sounded. A fake girlfriend, almost like a blow up doll or a My Size Barbie.