AN: ok this is a little POV for Maureen on what happened in the last chapter. I wasn't planning on updating this ever, but with the reviews I got I felt I should do something. And this is what first came to me. So here it is, reviewes are loved and adored, they are Wonderful!

Also there is a companion piece will be putting up soon called Confrontations, about how the people medicating Mark found out about this whole thing. Starting with Collins. So check that out

Maureen

I can't not look, I can't not stare. It is all clear now. Mark makes since. And all it took was seeing his sister.

It took seeing Cindy to make us see Mark.

It's funny that we don't have any photos of him around the loft. He took plenty of us. And they litter the walls of all the places we live. Mine and Joanne's apartment uptown. Collins place here and at NYU. Mimi's apartment before she moved in with Roger. And of course the various posters he photographed for me and Roger and our shows. Hell even a few of the Village Voice covers he shot adorn the walls where we have stapled his work like a gallery. The Mark Cohen Wall of Fame….

And now the only shots we have ever really seen of Mark are sent flying into the air when she throws the box at him.

The only photographs of Mark and he is bound like that. It makes me sick.

Sick that we never saw it. Sick that we never understood. Oh I am sure Roger is thinking that. We never understood Mark, Roger tries to understand everyone. I can see it on his face, trying to figure out how Mark works, how this new information reshapes the Mark in his head. Like he did with Collins, why he hates Benny so, like he did with April. But this, it wasn't about understanding, we could never understand. But we could have seen. We didn't even see him, didn't see what was wrong. Didn't see anything was wrong.

And for a visual learner, you would think I would have seen something.

When I moved in I noticed that Mark would cry in his sleep on occasions when he went to bed before me. I didn't think anything of it, but to let him curl around me when I got in bed with him. I though he just wanted to be held. Kind of like he lacked human contact, a side affect of his filming I thought. And I was happy to give it to him. Happy to be the one that he wanted to touch. God I was so self-centered.

We never saw Mark, we saw a camera. We saw a doctor, we saw a mother hen. We saw a teddy bear, a punching bag. We saw a goofy guy who could only tango or dance spastically on the table. But we were so blind.

When Joanne came home to tell me about finding Mark with the kitchen knife, I saw a sleep deprived Marky that was simply tired of being alone when Roger was away with Mimi. I saw a Mark that needed me to stay over and keep him occupied and make him film me. I saw a Mark that needed to have more fun. I saw a lonely Mark, not a scared Mark. Not a hurting Mark. Saw a Mark not yet over losing April and Angel, because I saw a Mark that we never let grieve. That's not what he was grieving.

When I saw him the first time curled up on the couch as Collins gave him a cup of tea, I saw a boy that had too much on his mind taking care of our dysfunctional family. I saw a filmmaker with no purpose after Today 4U, and I saw Marky still reeling from the words Roger left him with when he ran after Angel.

In the five years after that, we still didn't see.

Didn't see him cringe every time the phone rang, increasingly with calls from his mother. Didn't see the fear when any large Jewish looking man walked down the street, didn't see him get sick at the hospital when any Dr. came near him.

I didn't see the Mark that blanched when the camera was turned on him. Didn't see his deathly fear when we tried to get us all in a photo for the wall in the Life.

We saw the camera turned on us, and laughed that he needed to be in the shot, so we could always have him with us… so he wouldn't be forgotten. We saw fear at the reminder that so many might leave him alone not the fear that there were other photos out there, holding their own eternity of him.

We didn't see that photo's reminded him of the voices, we didn't know that when we left him alone, he would hear that voice, see those pictures. We didn't see, because he never showed us.

Never showed anyone those pictures.

Never saw Mark when he was screaming at himself. Never saw the panic in his eyes when his mom called. His sneer when Cindy was mentioned. Never saw him speak of his father with a smile. Didn't see him pale when his sister showed up.

But when he screamed he had been raped, when she threw the pictures, we saw. We all saw.

We saw Mark broken. We saw Mark crying, really crying. We saw Mark emotional, we saw Mark, the Mark that needed us to stay together because without us there was only the pictures. We saw that without us, the only Mark left was in those pictures.

We saw that Mark was not as invisible as he would like to have been.

And we saw why Mark wished he was.

We saw the real reason Mark feared photographs, and the real reason we needed to work so hard to get him in some.

We saw the Mark that needed to know he wasn't just that photograph.

We didn't see Mark, until we saw Cindy, because even though I think shes a bitch, she opens eyes, even if they aren't her own.