This is for challenge 2 at challenge central.

CHALLENGE 2: Does not have to be slash. Has to center around Mark or Roger. The other one has to at LEAST be mentioned, or he can be heavily involved, you choose. The requirement for this fic is DARK. Whether you take this to mean angsty, morbid, scary, sinister, or just plain dark, we do not care. Interpret it as you will. Characters still have to be in character for the most part, although we will allow them to act somewhat OOC if they're under the influence of something, if you find it necessary, and that thing doesn't necessarily have to be a narcotic. We love fics that shock the hell out of us, TRIPLE POINTS to the person who can shock us the most.

'Mark hides in his work.'

I really don't care if Roger says that. True, it stings, but it's true. I do hide behind my camera, but that's because I don't know anything other than it.

I wasn't always so secretive. I didn't always hide. At one time you could read my emotions just by looking at my face. I was so open and innocent. I felt life and I was in love with it.

I don't know what happened. Well, not at first thought at least.

I just wanted to be different. I didn't want to be just a face in the crowd. I wanted to stand out and just be crazy. But individuality had a price. A high, dangerous price that you can't get out of once you commit.

It all started off really well actually. I was walking on clouds. Sure, I knew people talked about me when they thought I was out of earshot, but I didn't mind. I was always the center of attention with my crazy notions and interesting opinions and tacky jokes. I was soaring and I never wanted this high to end.

I don't know when it all started. Well, I should say when it all ended. I shut out emotion. Why? Because I didn't need it. I didn't need tears, or rage or anything. I no longer felt. I was completely numb, but no one knew it. I was strong- stronger than everyone else. Whenever I saw someone crying I snickered to myself. They were weak and I was not. I was so wrong.

Somehow this numbness weighed me down so I sunk into the sea of depression. I couldn't understand the feeling. What happened to the carefree, fun-loving me I'd been just a month ago? It didn't help that I had no idea what was wrong and my friends didn't believe me.

You wouldn't believe how many times I thought about taking a knife, a razor, anything, and just dragging it across my flesh, just to feel something. But I couldn't do that. Not to myself and not to any of my family and friends. It would make me a coward. So instead I resorted to digging my fingernails into my skin, making little marks all over my fingers and neck. My friends hated that. They were always telling me to stop, and I did for about all of three minutes before resuming.

And to be honest, the fact that they noted that made things worse. I realized I liked pity attention much better than weird attention. It made me feel special and wanted in the cruel world. So I purposely 'abused' myself around my friends, just so I could talk and be noticed. But I always chickened out when asked if I was okay. I just couldn't handle it.

No, I could handle it. But having hid my emotions for so long I couldn't figure out how to share them. I was a prisoner of my own doing.

And as I look back on it I chuckle. Individuality isn't a gift- it's a curse. It's an addiction and no one is there to help me quit.

Mark hides in his work.

Because he can't escape.