Distorted. Why was everything so fucking distorted? Everything was a giant blur and he couldn't make out the separate noises that were colliding into one echoing roar and Mark winced, the noise impossibly making his head hurt worse than it already did.
"Shit," he grumbled, tightly closing his eyes as he waited for the throbbing pain to hopefully subside. After a few moments he slowly creaked one eye open and realized he was on the floor, and everything above eye level was a blur. Noise pounded into his head and he groaned as he tried to push himself up.
"Where the hell are my glasses," he mumbled under his breath, carefully backing against the wall for support as he squinted, searching around the floor blindly with his hands. He sighed inwardly in defeat when he couldn't find them. Sight would have to wait until he could move more. He ran a hand through his hair and froze when his fingers touched something warm and sticky near his hairline. He brought his hand closely to his face, narrowing his eyes to see, but already knowing what it was.
Blood.
"FUCK!" Mark screamed, suddenly remembering why he was on the floor in the first place. Roger. Roger had angrily shoved him against the wall in his attempt to escape. Mark panicked when he realized he could no longer hear that painful noise. He must have gotten out if the apartment was this quiet. Shit.
"Roger?" He called out but knowing that Roger was already racing to the shadowed alleyway where his dealer would be waiting.
"Hey, you okay?" Mark looked up when a blurred figure came into view before him.
"… Collins! Where's Roger?"
"He's taking a time out."
"Wait – You caught him? When did you get here?"
"About three seconds before he smashed you into the wall," Collins said, knocking on the wall behind Mark's head for emphasis. Mark groaned, his head falling down to his chest. He remembered now. Roger had come out of his room silently while he was fiddling with his camera on the couch, only realizing the attempted escape of his roommate when he glanced up to check the time.
"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" Mark asked, setting aside his camera and running at Roger as fast as he could. Roger's eyes widened for a second before he quickly dashed to the door.
"GET OFF ME MARK!" Roger screamed as Mark pulled on his arm. Where the hell was Collins? He should be here by now! He was the only one who could stop the pissed off addict being denied the one thing he needed most: his drugs. Roger easily shook Mark off for he was intent on reaching his doorway to freedom.
"Roger! No, you've lasted this long! Don't do this!" Mark angrily shouted, knowing Roger was bigger and stronger but he tried his damndest to hold him back anyways.
"You can't do what April did! If you do this you're killing yourself! Just like her!" Roger stopped dead in his tracks and spun around for Mark to see a vicious hatred consuming Roger's eyes.
"… Fuck… You."
"No – Roger I didn't-"
"I need to get the FUCK out of here!"
"Roger please…"
"I need-"
"Come on, it's me! It's Mark… Listen to me!" Roger's eyes softened slightly and Mark took a deep breath before the hatred washed over him again.
"Fuck YOU - I need a fucking hit. I need it. NOW!" He snapped and Mark swore he saw a pleading cry for help in those eyes. Too late. The next instant he felt Roger grab his arms and swung him as hard as he possibly could into the nearby wall.
Collins carefully kicked his shoe against Mark's to get his attention. Mark looked up, rubbing his hand over his eyes, blinking when he saw something thrust before his face.
"Here, thought you might need these." His glasses.
"Thanks," he sighed, putting them on and looking up at his friend. Normally a grin plastered onto his face, Collins looked at the bleeding cut on Mark's forehead.
"That hurt?" He nodded with his chin and Mark frowned with a slight shrug. He knew Roger didn't mean it. That wasn't his friend who pushed him; it was the drugs, or lack of. Collins stood up straight and headed to the kitchen and Mark could hear water running in the sink.
"Please Collins! I need it!" Mark flinched at the sound of Roger's cry and he turned his head to see the door to Roger's room closed, locked from the outside. The doorknob was rattling.
"Please! Please… Mark? … MARK! Please Mark! Please…," Roger sobbed, banging on the door to be let free.
"Mark is the LAST fucking person to help you out of there after what you did to him you asshole!" Collins shouted and the banging instantly stopped. Silence filled the apartment for a few moments before Roger's hiccupping cries could be heard.
"I'm so sorry Mark… Please… I'm sorry," Roger begged, his voice softer, more vulnerable. Mark wasn't sure if he was honestly sorry for hurting him or just trying a new way to get out of the apartment. Two weeks of this shit was finally starting to get to him. They thought Roger would be getting better throughout his withdrawal, not worse. Collins came back and put the towel on Mark's head, covering his wound, carefully patting and wiping away the blood that he could. Mark winced once or twice, faintly hearing Roger whispering "sorry" behind the closed door.
"There. Good as new… Well, almost," Collins smiled, ruffling the smaller boy's hair lightly and reaching out his hand. Mark slowly took it and allowed Collins to pull him to his feet, eliciting a chuckle from his friend.
"What."
"No wonder it was so easy for him to toss you around," Collins laughed, and Mark frowned, straightening his glasses and looking back at Roger's door. It was silent as both men wondered what he would do when it opened. Collins nodded at Mark and walked to the doorway, crossing his arms over his chest, and leaning against the frame, watching carefully as Mark approached Roger's door. His hand hesitated over the doorknob and images of Roger's past escape attempts replayed in his mind. Always the filmmaker. Even unconsciously when he didn't want to replay the pain and suffering. He took a deep breath and opened the door.
He wasn't expecting the crushing embrace as Roger threw his arms around his best friend and pulled him tightly against him. Staggering backwards to regain his balance, Mark shot a questioning look at Collins and Collins slowly grinned, a newly lit cigarette bobbing up and down through his lips as he nodded, slowly sliding the heavy metal door open.
"I'm sorry I'm so so so… SO sorry," Roger cried, his body racking with sobs as Mark hesitantly rubbed Roger's back, letting him cry out his frustrations and suffering. Deep down, even during the worst when he would likely kill for just one hit, Roger knew it was for the best. Mark knew he didn't want to end up like April because that was his worst nightmare.
Roger pulled back and noticed Mark's cut and Mark for the first time saw that he had stopped shaking. The first time in two weeks. Maybe he was finally getting better. Finally. Mark had enough bruises to show for it but this time was the worst. He just hoped this was the worst it was going to get. Roger glanced at Collins and shamefully looked down at his feet.
"If you want… Door's open," Collins stated, gesturing to the doorway. Mark's eyebrows raised and he looked at Roger, searching his face for the twinge of need. Roger stared at the chance of getting high, filling that need for just one hit, putting all this suffering behind him. He looked at Collins questionably.
"I won't stop you. I swear." Roger considered taking a step forward to test them. After all, this is what he wanted for two weeks, this is what his body was screaming for. Mark drew in a shaky breath and Roger's attention turned back to his best friend who had been through everything with him. Held him on the nights he was so sick he couldn't move, comforted him days he just sat and cried all day, helped him when his body was rebelling against the loss of heroin.
"No… No I won't run out."
"… You shitting us?"
"No. I won't run out," Roger said more sure this time of the words that were coming out of his mouth. Collins slowly smiled, sauntering over to his friends, throwing an arm around each shoulder.
"Good. I didn't want to have to kick your fucking ass." Mark smiled softly. Roger finally wanted to fight this. He needed to want to get through this withdrawl or else it was hopeless. Finally.
"I'm sorry," he sighed, hanging his head. He knew all the times there were roommate scuffles, Mark got hurt. Mark was never able to physically hold him back, that was up to Collins. Mark mostly got the blunt of the drug-needing rages.
"Hey," Mark whispered, waiting for Roger to look up at him. He saw hurt and fear in the same eyes that had once burned with hatred. But he also saw something he hadn't seen in who knew how long. He saw his best friend. Roger.
"Welcome back."