A/N: Credit to the-fraulein for two lines of "Why Does Distance Make Us Wise?" They inspired the entire story.
I see the needle and the damage done. A little part of it in everyone. Every junkie's like a setting sun. -Neil Young
"Collins and Benny are gone. You have your own room now."
His own room? Collins and Benny, gone? Roger doesn't understand what Mark means. "Collins and Benny are…gone? Like…how?" It's as if he's speaking a language he doesn't understand. It's almost as if Mark is speaking a language he'll never understand. He doesn't understand anything. Rehab changed him. He's forgotten everything.
"Collins is at MIT. He got a really good teaching job. And Benny got married."
Roger doesn't bother letting the information process any farther. He figures that he'll never understand. They only thing he can bother processing right now is how much he wants a bag of heroin. He wants nothing more than to be locked in his room with a needle, a candle, a spoon and a bag of white powder right now. He wants to feel the drug rush through his broken veins. He probably doesn't even have any veins left, but he'd find some. He'd find at least one. Mark wouldn't be bothering him. His heart wouldn't be aching for the filmmaker. His heart wouldn't be burning and needing him almost more than the drug. The intense feeling of want and need was coursing through him. It was almost hurting him.
"Roger?"
"Don't."
"I didn't."
"So don't ever."
"I wasn't."
He sighed. Roger sighed. He always seemed to be sighing. There was always something wrong. Roger didn't like it. He looked around the loft, his ice green eyes surveying and judging everything they saw. The walls were dirty. The floor was disgusting. It was cold. The hospital was more hospitable than this place was, even though he'd been longing to be back here since the day he was admitted into rehab. He had been longing for the comfort of his own bed and the satisfaction of waking up and hearing Mark and Benny fighting, and hearing Collins' big, booming laugh. He wanted the comfort of Collins' big, safe arms and the fun of pissing Benny off and the love that Mark gave him. Now, Roger felt as if he had nothing. The safety of Collins was gone. The fun of Benny was gone. And Mark didn't love him anymore.
"How does it feel?" Mark asked gently. "To, you know…be clean? It's been about a month, now. I'm really proud of you, Roger."
Roger? His name was Roger? He shrugged. "I don't know." His own voice sounded so foreign to him. He didn't like it. He wanted so badly to go back to the day he left and stop himself from leaving like Mark couldn't. "It feels like I don't know anything anymore. It's like I have to start over."
"Well, it is, Rog."
"Don't call me Rog. You know I never liked that nickname."
Mark smirks. "Same old Roger, I guess."
"I wish, Mark. I don't know anything anymore. I don't know me or you. Where is Collins, again?"
Mark crosses to the couch slowly and sits. It's almost as if he's moving slowly so he doesn't upset Roger. "I told you. Collins got a job in Massachusetts. He said he'd be back by Christmas definitely. Before then, he's not sure. He said he was going to try and visit. He has a new boyfriend, now. His name is Todd."
"That's great." Roger tries to smile but it looks more like a wince. "I'm going to go lie down."
"Okay, Roger. Just call me if you need anything. I-I'm here for you. You can trust me."
Could he? That was the first mention of that word between them in so long. Roger didn't know if he could ever trust Mark again, especially after what happened. If anyone should have trouble trusting anyone, it should probably be Mark. After all, Roger was the one that fled to New York. Roger was the one that fucked everything up.