Sorry writing this took so long and sorry it kind of sucks.
It's also much shorter then I wanted.
My drunken Roger isn't really convincing.
I'm not proud of this piece at all.
I have yet to find a beta reader so deal with my mistakes.
Please review
Roger
I push the wonderful mean our fabulous cook, Wendy, made around the plate with my fork
I push the wonderful mean our fabulous cook, Wendy, made around the plate with my fork. It smells wonderful. It looks wonderful. I almost feel as if I tried to eat it I could swallow it with out being too disgusted with the little cherub mooing everyone who dares eat off of it. My mother has horrible taste in plates.
I refuse to see that cherub's a and more importantly I refuse to let my parent see me eat. It's a small game I'm playing at. For three weeks I have not ate or drank in there presence. And have they noticed? Nope. When I started this game I bet it would take a week for them to play the part of a concerned parent but I'm pretty sure they don't know there lines.
"Roger, that fine man coach Miles called today. What's this I hear about you not getting dressed for gym?" Her high pitched voice makes me wish I was five again so I could craw under the table with no shame.
"Ask dad." Saying this makes my mother shoot a pointed look my way. I knew that would shut her up. For a while later she simply stares at my father scribbling away, writing letters and making notes. Hearing the word 'dad' should at least make him acknowledge that were talking about him. Shouldn't it? Figures, dad never tunes in on our conversations.
"Honey your foods getting cold." Her voice alone makes my head ache. My fathers head too, I'm sure. "Why don't you stop working for five minuets and talk with you son and me."
He lightly drops his pen onto the glass table top and leans back in his chair. "I'm simply trying to get the work done to pay for this house excuse me for not having time to converse." He picks up chunks of stake with his bare hands and pops them into his mouth. I watch my mother breath heavily with anger. I can tell she's fighting the need to get up and teach him how to eat like a grown man.
"You have time to converse with that sectary of yours."
"I told you nothing happened!"
"Yes, yes that's what you say but it's not what you mean."
"I mean it!"
"Sure, sure."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It doesn't mean anything. But you could have been safe. Some of my girls form the gym work there and I know everything." She says with an accomplished looking smile plastered on her lips. As if she won some great battle by proving her point.
"I'm done" He fiercely throws down his pen only adding another crack to the table and begins to get up.
"Oh are you? Where are you going off to bang that slu--?"
"You don't think I know?!" His roar was so loud now that my ears actually started to ring. "You don't think I know about you ad that 'fine man" coach Miles?! Ha! With you fucking him right under my nose?! Twenty years we've been married! Twenty fucking years and for the past five years you have been bringing man after man into this house so you can...!" His breathing was heavy and tired and I knew what he was going to do next. I closed my eyes and seriously considered crawling under the table. "Until now I have said nothing, thinking I could get past it. Thinking it was all in my head. Thinking if I stay out of the house or buried in my office it would eventually slip my mind. Thinking every time I found out what you were doing it was the last time. Thinking maybe you loved me! Well I cant! Not anymore. For the record I never cheated on you and we're over." He took his work and left the room.
I look around the room and relies Samantha and Rachel, two of our maids, have been watching the seen. Mom and I were silent for a while. We herd the door open and slam shut and the car turn on and them speed away. My mother then ran out of the dinning room, her face red as red as can be but oddly enough I think it's from embarrassment not sadness.
Samantha silently clears the table. Several times she turns to me and starts to speak but stops her self each time. She walks into the kitchen with my mothers, fathers, and my own plate. None of them finished. I sure wasn't eating but my mother and father were. They aren't done. Why would she just assume no one is eating? My father will be back and when he comes he will be hungry. And my mother? Well fuck her. That bitch is the reason he has left. Temporarily. He is coming back. No matter what he says he still loves us. And if he doesn't love her he still loves me and he will come for me. If he's leavening so am I. Even if he doesn't always notice me. I know he still loves me and he will take me away from this place. And Sam can't just take our food away without even saying a word.
I walk into the kitchen planning to tell Sam to put the food back but when I herd my own stomach growl I just headed over to our desert cake on the table and dug in.
"Now child, is that really necessary?" Wendy appears next to me.
My mouth is full of icing. My head aches even from the simple sound of her soft voice. I try to ignore her. I can't talk right now. Neither because of my mouth full of icing nor the scorching ache in my head that reacts to every sound I hear but because of the anger inside me. I'm so angry at everything and everyone. I have to get away.
"Honey, I know you're hurting-" I grab a towel and run out the door. Wiping away the cake from my hands and mouth I run down the street past the biggest houses in the neighborhood and oddly enough even with all this shit going on I can't seem to think about anything but the fact that I'm still hungry.
I run and run for at least twenty minutes until I'm out of the houses I grew up around. Until I am no longer near the snobs I grew up with. Until I'm in a town I never saw until I was sixteen, even though it's hardly a mile away. I step into a crowded club filled with druggies and alcoholics and sluts and assholes and just about everyone someone pure might be scared of. Mark would be scared. Mark would be terrified. I watch him. I see him cower when he walks between groups of kids he knows better then to stare to hard at or he might be on the ground later. Marks pure and tiny and scared.
I know Mark. I've hardly ever spoke to him but I watch him. I hear his conversations. For the most part he is smart. I can tell he's very by the book. He's always home on time. Always has his way. Rich no doubt. He treats his parents with respect and they treat him with just as much back. He is a virgin, hardly past first kiss. He's a good boy. Having his personality spread out in front of me makes m ask myself what I like about him. What interests me so much about him?
I don't need to look too hard to find April. She's on the dance floor as always. Dancing with at least five different men. I watch her. I watch her take one by the shoulder to pull him close enough to rub her knee agents the bulge in his pants and then turn around to kiss the women who was rubbing against her back. I take her arm and pull her out of the crowd.
"What the fuck, Roger?" She struggles to get back to her men and woman. I roughly collide my lips with her. I know she's only here for some ass and so am I.
She pulls away. "Roger, I can have you any night I want but tonight I don't want you. I want her." she shyly admits nodding her head to the girl waiting for her. I clench my jaw. I understand but I'm still angry we only get together on her terms. I need someone to control right now.
I distantly hear her explaining but I don't care. I need something, someone to pull this feeling away. April is my best friend and although she is nothing more then my friend she is the only girl I know who can really talk the sting of loneliness away. Any other girl could do the same with acts of seduction but they wouldn't be much of a talker when it was all over.
I practically bite off my lip to make this dissuasion but I decide to find relief in something other then women. I walk away from her making my way to the bar. I don't need ass tonight but beer would be nice. Anything to get my mind off them.
I flash my fake ID at the bar tender and he gives me a pint. I never liked the taste of beer but this is what I'm supposed to do, right? When you're sad you drink and it makes everything okay, right? Right.
I down my beer and ask for another and then I down that too and ask for more. The third is gone in no time and I can hardly feel my feet. I fall off my bar stool and put my self into hysterical laughter. Someone asks if I'm alright. I ignore them. Do I look alright? No.
I don't know how but now I'm on the dance floor and there's April and that girl practically humping each other. I make my way over to them stumbling all the way.
"Oh April, May, November!"
"Roger, are you alright?" Why is everyone obsessed with that question?
"I'm fine." I grab her arms and wrap them around my waist, ignoring her struggling and pleas for me to back the fuck off.
"What the hell it wrong with you? Let her go!" Her lady friend finally talks and I obey.
"Roger are you drunk?" April yells to me.
"Just one beer. Not even one. Like a quart." When she turns away I grab her hand. "April you love me don't you? You wouldn't leave me ever! Right?"
"Go home, Roger." April and her 'friend' walks away leaving me alone. I can dance solo. I don't need them. I jump up and down until my stomach hurts. I know I drank too much. I'm already starting to feel most of this little high turn to a small pain in my head. I don't know why I do this to myself. I should have just gotten laid or even do what Mark obviously loves.
I stop jumping and find a seat on the ground outside the club. My hand reaches for the cut on the back of my head where I had hit my head on the bathroom sink. Marks face had changed so quickly that day. He always had the same joy filled face when he was with his friends. A face I know he can only bare with his friends. In the bathroom he went from hysterical laughter to worry and guilt and disgust to a clam and relaxing face.
I don't know why I didn't confront him about what I saw in his case. Neosporin, aspirin, bandages, and blades. Even a few bloody tissues. I'm not stupid. I know what they were for. I should have said something. I should have yelled at him for being so stupid. What has he got to be sad about? That's what inertest me about him. That little part of me, a voice in the back of me head, is telling me there's more to him then I know. I don't know him, not at all but for some odd reason I want to.
How could he cut himself? I feel so angry at him and sad for him and selfish for thinking I have it bad when I'm not the one with a blade to my wrist.
For a while I thought I was sobering up but I'm not. If I was sober I wouldn't let myself think about such things. Drinking is supposed to make me feel better not worse. I'll stick to sex to cheer me up from now on.
I find myself being oddly anxious for Saturday. Anxious to see Mark. Anxious to ask him why.
