Disclaimer: I do not own Mark and Roger... I just make them play whatever sick games I have in my mind. I wish I DID own Mark and Roger. evil grin
Roger calls me late at night. Mimi is fast asleep, as usual so high on something that she wouldn't wake up if her ass were on fire. He speaks quietly. Low gravel sound as if the world is dragging him through the streets of New York by his voice box.
He talks about nothing, and everything. About nights when we first were in New York. About long cold nights before April, after April, before Mimi, with Mimi.
His voice is extra gravelly. And there's something else there that I read as sadness, but maybe it's just remembering. He talks about Angel. And the past. His past, our past. He talks himself almost to sleep. "Roger, please," I say, quietly, "come visit." He laughs, and then stops. "Give me twenty," he says.
I hear a sound in the background. Her voice. "Who are you talking to," I hear her say, and the phone goes dead.
I wait until sunrise, but he doesn't show. And I know she's won again.