A.N: Hey everyone! How's it going? I'm back after seeing RENT in the movie theatres for the sixth time. Cried AGAIN! Kinda pathetic. Anyway, some quick shout-outs to my reviewers before Chapter 3 commences:
Kerry: Thank you so much for your review! And don't worry, I don't plan on abandoning this fic anytime soon. It's just that finals were coming up and I had to study, so I had no real time to work on it much, curse it! I hope you enjoy chapter 3!
Angel of Ave. B: Agh! So sorry to make you cry! Or should I say, glad? I don't know. But I certainly hope you keep reading! Thanks. And I hope you see a little bit more of Blake's character in this chapter. Let me know what you think of him after! ;-)
Jacquelyn: I'm happy you liked the Collins and Mark scene. That was one of my favorite to write so far. That whole speech Collins gave him hit me one night right before I went to bed. Divine intervention, you may say? I don't know... but it was certainly a fun, if sad, scene!
The Weather Gal: Awesome that it seems that I was able to pull off some complexity! I was worried I might make them too two-dimensional. Let me know how I did in this one!
To everyone else: Thanks so much for all the great reviews! More feedback is always welcome! It definitely inspires me to write more, and if I have reviewers bugging me to do it, it gets out faster. So definitely keep the reviews coming!
And now, CHAPTER THREE!
5 days earlier:
Mark gripped the arm rests of the seat tightly as the plane began to take off. The large whooshing sound and the slight rattling was making him nervous. Not to mention the fact that they were beginning to tilt up at an angle that was much sharper than he would have preferred it. What had he expected anyway? He'd never flown before.
As the plane leveled out and the rattling stopped, Mark began to calm down. The 'fasten seatbelts' light went out, and he quickly unbuckled the constricting thing. He looked out the window and was fascinated to see a cloud floating just past the wing. He wished he could get his camera out of the cubby above where they stored the carry-ons. But to do that, he'd have to wedge his way past the portly woman with a chronic wheeze sitting next to him. Not a comfortable situation.
He leaned back into the plush seat with a sigh. He still couldn't believe he was doing this! He hadn't felt this anxious, alone and excited all at once since he'd left for Brown years ago. That time had been a little different though. He'd had hardly any of the emotional baggage he lugged around now, and him and his roommate had hit it off right away. A pang of regret hit him as he remembered how Benny had been when he'd first met him. Time changed a lot of things.
It was kind of odd to think that he had Benny himself to thank for the fact that he wouldn't be faced with the daunting prospect of weeks of travel by bus. Mark had wanted to throttle Maureen when she'd admitted to telling their ex-friend of Mark's plans. But it had turned out for the better, hadn't it?
3 weeks earlier:
Mark stared across the table at Benny, wondering for the thousandth time that night why he had agreed to this. When he'd gotten the message on his machine asking him to meet Benny at the Life Café he'd been shocked, but had promptly called back and agreed to it anyway. So here he was, an uncomfortable silence stretching between them after they'd placed their drink orders, Mark achingly aware of the differences between them.
Benny sat stiffly in his custom-tailored suit, the cuff rising back to show an expensive looking watch when he reached for his water-glass. Somehow, even after everything that had happened, Benny had wheedled his way back into Muffy's good graces. They'd been separated for a little over a month, but never filed for divorce. Benny's Cyber Studio was up and running, had been for nearly two years, and Mark was sickeningly aware of the fact that it was probably going to make him millions.
Mark slouched back into his chair, his arms crossing over his chest, the scratchy sweater rubbing into his skin. Mark wasn't as destitute as he used to be, but he still was nowhere near Benny's caliber. Today 4 U: Proof Positive had made him a little money when it won awards at a few local independent film festivals, and since then his more recent films had had a slightly wider audience. None of his films had gotten any real widespread syndication, but he almost liked it better that way. Today 4 U had even had a few hundred copies printed and sold courtesy of the marginal success it'd had at the film festivals. That had given him enough to live for the past few years, and recently he'd gone back to working for Buzzline. However, all the money he made from that horrible travesty of a job went to saving up for his eventual move.
Joanne had helped him out in making sure all his affairs were in order, so he'd saved money on having to pay for a lawyer. All in all, he had roughly over ten thousand dollars for him to start over with. He knew how fast that money would be used up, however, so he had to make sure he spent sparingly. It also meant finding a job as quickly as possible after the move. And since he was starting over completely, that meant new apartment and new furniture, not to mention electric, plumbing and A.C./heating bills.
Their drink orders came after a couple minutes. Mark sipped at his tea, peering at Benny over the rim of the mug. Aw, to hell with it. Better to get this over with.
"So, why exactly did you want to see me?" he asked, trying to keep the accusatory tone out of his voice. "Maureen fessed up that she told you I was leaving, but that hardly gives you much reason to call me after nearly a year of hearing jack-shit from you. And don't give me the whole 'for old time's sake' routine. Neither of us is that sentimental." Benny looked up with a nervous laugh.
"Right to the point as always," he said quietly. "I forget sometimes that bureaucracy, politics and financial agendas don't matter to everyone." Mark let that one slide instead of making some obvious comments. He didn't come here to pick a fight.
"Sometimes I really regret it, you know?" Benny said to him, glancing away, his face softening. "Believe it or not, there are times I really miss you guys. It may sound fake and sentimental, and I know you probably couldn't give a rat's ass, but I miss how we used to be, before all this…" He trailed off, looking up guiltily. Mark saw an almost imperceptible wince, almost as if Benny was expecting condemnation.
"I do too, sometimes," Mark admitted. "But we can't go back."
"I know," Benny said, his expression almost sorrowful. "After Mimi and Collins went, that really just drove that fact home to me. We can't go back. And the reason I asked you here is to let you know before you left, too. Maybe it's my way of exorcising old ghosts, but I want to tell you what I never had the courage to tell them." Mark raised an eyebrow, lowering his arms from across his chest.
"And what's that?" Benny almost looked like he might bolt for a second, but then took a deep breath, looked straight into Mark's eyes.
"I'm sorry." Mark couldn't help it. He broke into a real grin.
"You? Sorry, Benny?" he said kindly with a laugh. "What happened to your whole capitalist-punk-bad-ass attitude?" And for the first time in a long time, Mark heard Benny laugh, too.
"Let's just say I'm putting it on hold for a little while. Enough time to say goodbye to an old friend." Mark's face went sober again.
"About that, Benny…" Benny lifted his hand in a placating gesture, cutting Mark off.
"I don't need any explanations, Mark," he said. "I'm perfectly aware of the fact that I'll probably never see you again. I just wanted you to know that I wish you luck." With that, he reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope, tossing it into the film-maker's lap. Mark's eyes widened when he opened it.
"Benny, I can't take this," he said, handing the envelope full of hundreds back over the table. Benny didn't take it.
"Use it to buy a plane ticket, or something," he stated, taking a drink of his Coke. "I got the feeling you're gonna be going a hell of a ways far from here, and I'm sure it wouldn't be the most pleasant thing in the world to take a bus. Even if you can afford it, which I'm sure you could, consider it a sort of parting gift; the only kind a punk-ass capitalist like me understands." Mark smiled and pocketed the cash.
"Well, I guess… thanks, Benny."
"Don't mention it. And trust me, Mark, you're going to do fine. You're better than this God-forsaken city anyway. I've always believed that."
Back on the plane:
Mark sighed again. That certainly had been one of the strangest encounters ever. But it proved that Benny still had some of his old self left, and that, if anything, gave Mark a little hope.
The rattling of the trolley being pushed down the isles jolted Mark out of his thoughts. He promptly ordered the strongest thing they had on the beverage cart, reaching into his pocket for cash, then swallowing his drink in one large gulp. It was nice of Benny to pay for the ticket and all, but he decided he'd never fly again. It just didn't seem natural to be this high up in the air when he didn't have wings. But it's good to experience new things, right?
You're better than this God-forsaken city anyway.
Benny's words came back to him. He wondered what exactly he'd meant by that. Mark was pretty damn sure he wasn't better than much of anything. Oh, well. No need to spend hours wondering about it, right? Mark groaned. He wasn't going to be able to get the thoughts from roiling around in his head for days.
He tried to distract himself. Almost immediately, his thoughts turned to Roger. Like that was any better. He was worried how he was going to take his leaving. He hoped Roger would be alright with it, hoped he wouldn't get too upset. There was even that illogical hope mixed with fear that Roger wouldn't be affected at all, that he'd barely even notice.
Stop it! he yelled at himself. Forget regret, right? You need to stop living in the past. You need to move on. For all of them.
He still remembered what Collins had told him. And he meant to keep his promise. He couldn't keep detaching like he had been, burying himself in his work. He needed to open up again. He needed to try and give all that Collins had been so sure that he could. And in order to do that, he had to give everything else up, start over. There was too much old pain left in New York for him to do what Collins, what he himself, wanted to do. But there was still that doubt in the back of his mind that said he was running away, not starting over.
He nodded off into a light doze, finally waking up when the announcement came over the intercom that they were approaching the runway. The 'fasten seatbelts' sign came back on.
Mark looked out in anticipation upon the twinkling lights of his new home. He was ready for this. He had to keep telling himself that.
It's time to start living again.
3 months later:
Roger sat in a corner booth glaring across the bar at nothing in particular. The fake tree that rose over the booth from behind blocked him mostly from the view of the other patrons, shadows obscuring his figure, but he could still see them. He liked it that way. He looked down at his glass and swirled the melting ice around in his Jack and Coke. What a great fucking night.
He wondered, probably for the millionth time since Mark left, how things had come to this. Why was it, really, that Mark had left in the first place? For all that Joanne had tried to explain it to him, he still wasn't really sure. Maureen seemed to understand more on the emotional level as to Mark's reasoning, but every time he tried to talk to her, they ended up screaming at each other. He guessed it was probably because they both blamed themselves the most for what had happened, and both of them weren't particularly good at dealing with guilt. What a fucked up family they were.
Roger looked over to where Maureen and Joanne were sitting at the main bar. They'd left about a half hour ago, uncomfortable with his silence and brooding glares. When they'd asked if he wanted to go with them, he'd waved them away. They should feel surprised he'd even come out at all. He couldn't get over it as quickly as they had, or put on a front and act like everything was fine, back to normal since Roger was back in town. He suspected Maureen was putting on an act. He glimpsed small flashes of pain cross her face now and again, a sad smile she'd adopt when she thought no one was looking. Maureen was good at hiding that sort of thing, though. Roger wasn't.
Roger had tried to blame Mark, to be angry at Mark, he really had. It had worked for the first week or so. His anger had allowed him to distance himself from it, like it had in April's case. But, like it had before, once the anger, the hatred, the indignant feeling of rejection was used up, all that was left was an emptiness and a stinging, aching pain.
When he'd tried to hold on to that anger, he found he couldn't. Memories would surface at the worst times, right when he had almost worked himself into an acceptable rage. Mark smiling that lopsided grin when first introducing himself to Roger. Mark laughing and patting him on the back after a good show, before his drug addiction. Mark holding his sobbing, shaking frame, calmly calling the paramedics when they'd found April in the bath-tub. Mark wiping down his sweating face with a cool washcloth on one of the bad nights after he'd gotten back from rehab, holding his hand, a source of strength during the last stages of his withdrawal. Mark gently coaxing him out of the walls he'd built around himself afterwards, inviting him out even though he knew the answer was no, reminding him to take his pills when he would have rather just let his tired body rot, helping him to forget, even for a few moments, the disease slowly festering in his body, waiting to claim his life. Mark quietly encouraging him to follow his dreams when Mimi had died, and never really saying it, but just looking at Roger in a way that made Roger know he was fit to burst with pride in his friend.
And then he'd had to deal with the fact that Mark, the one who'd always been there, was gone.
Roger watched as Blake sidled up to Joanne, his flirting obvious even all the way over here. Maureen sent him a withering glare which he ignored, and it even seemed that Joanne was flirting back. Maybe it was her form of revenge for all the guys and girls Maureen still sent swooning. Either that, or she'd had more than her share to drink tonight. Probably a combination of both. Roger wondered how the diva was dealing with being on the outside looking in. From the look on her face, it didn't seem like she enjoyed it all that much. Maybe she'd keep that in mind the next time she came across a woman in rubber.
He'd tried to find Mark when the anger had disappeared and the pain set in. He realized now that Mark hadn't really gone to Santa Fe at all, but had more likely used that explanation in his letter so that Roger could maybe understand why he'd done what he'd done. When Roger had run away to Santa Fe, he'd needed time. He'd needed distance to sort himself out, sort his feelings out. The big difference was that Mark had planned more than he ever had, and Mark had prepared. It seemed that Mark meant to be gone for good.
Roger slammed the rest of his drink back, trying to douse the burning feeling of panic in his gut. He'd spent a couple weeks trying to track down where Mark had gone, much to the objection of Joanne and the grudging disapproval of Maureen. Mark didn't want to be found, they said. He could do more damage than good trying to find him. Roger had done what he'd always done when it came to them. He didn't listen.
He remembered talking to every random acquaintance of Mark's he could find, even going so far as to go down to see Alexi Darling at Buzzline. He'd done everything short of printing up fliers. He couldn't even file a missing persons report, because Mark technically wasn't really missing. It was perfectly legal for an adult to pack up and leave under their own decision, even if they left people who loved them, who they loved, behind. And Roger hadn't been able to find where Mark had gone. Either no one knew, or no one was talking. Mark had hidden his trail well.
Back across the bar, Maureen had finally wedged herself in between Blake and Joanne to form some kind of shield. Roger was almost amused at how possessive 'honey-bear' could get. Jeff was talking with some blonde chick on the other side of them, probably bragging about the Well Hungarians and the important role the drummer played. Seemed as if he was doing pretty well tonight; his brown eyes sparkled as the girl laughed at a joke he'd made. Roger wondered if this was how Mark felt behind his camera, observing his friends, but not really interacting with them.
Finally, in desperation, Roger had given in and called Mark's parents in Scarsdale. What a mistake that had been. Apparently, his parents had been frantically trying to reach Mark for the past month; they hadn't even known he'd left town. Roger had spent two hours trying to calm down a screeching Mrs. Cohen before finally giving up and letting her wail into the phone after setting the receiver down on the coffee table and going to strum at his guitar for a while. He checked periodically every ten to fifteen minutes to see if she was done. After she'd tapered off, he'd explained everything that he knew, trying to assure her that Mark was probably fine. It felt odd. It was almost as if he was trying to assure himself at the same time.
And why was he so worried, so upset about it? Mark was a grown man, he had the right to make his own decisions. Mark could take care of himself, hell, he'd taken care of Roger better than Roger ever could have. Mark was his best friend, his brother. Shouldn't he be happy for Mark; happy that he was finally trying to forget the shitty life they'd had here, trying to help himself instead of everyone else for once? And even though he knew he should be, he couldn't help the bile rising in his throat, the sick feeling of guilt, the pang of loss almost as profound as when he'd finally lost Mimi.
Roger knew that he'd been neglecting Mark. That he'd been wrapped up in his own life, the success of the band, blind to the pain Mark must have been going through. Thinking back, he could remember how Mark's smiles had seemed more fake, his laughs more forced in the last few months. But at the time, he hadn't wanted to see that. Everything had been going so well for him, he wanted to believe it was going well for Mark too.
A part of him realized that he'd not been ignoring Mark so much as trying to show Mark. Show Mark that he was okay, that he didn't have to worry about him, that Mark , Mimi and the others had saved him, had made it so he could live what was left of his life without regrets. And he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that he didn't want to be a burden anymore, to anyone, but especially not to Mark. He was living for them, he was living because he wanted to try and give back some of that love that they'd given him.
But he'd royally fucked that up, hadn't he? Mark had taken it as rejection, Mark had thought that Roger didn't want Mark in his life anymore, was too busy for Mark. Didn't Mark see that there was no one more important than him left in Roger's life? Didn't he see, as selfish as it was, that Roger needed him? Would always need him?
Blake looked up from his escapades at the bar and glanced over at Roger. Roger glared back at him, and a frown marred his friend's brow. He turned a smile on Joanne and Maureen and excused himself, picked up a couple drinks, then started sauntering over to Roger's side of the bar. Well, shit.
"And what the hell is keeping you lurking in the shadows like a God damn vampire?" Blake asked as he slid into the booth next to Roger, ignoring him when he grunted noncommittally, obviously wanting to be left alone. He stared at the lead singer in silence for a few moments.
"What the hell do you want, Blake?" Roger finally asked in an irritated tone, staring at his empty glass.
"I want to know why the fuck one of my best bros has been so intent on brooding like a God damn Soap Opera queen for the past few months," Blake replied, stealing the glass from Roger and replacing it with a full one.
"Jesus, Blake. If you're that fucking stupid, I don't really feel like enlightening you," Roger growled out, slamming back the fresh drink.
"Shit, man. I know Mark's gone. I wouldn't be surprised if the entire fucking city knew Mark's gone with the way you've been freaking out about it. What I want to know is why you're still tripping over it, even after three months."
"Fuck you," Roger hissed. "He was my best friend, Blake. You know that. I don't think I have to bore you with a fucking sob story about all the shit I went through with him. And I wasn't there when he needed me." Roger almost jumped when he felt Blake rest a hand gently on his shoulder.
"Yes you were, man," Blake said. "I may not know Mark as well as I know you, but I think I understood him enough to know that the type of friendship he had with you wouldn't be fucked because of some God damn misunderstanding. You were tight with him, bro. Even to the end. Shit, you called him more than I call half the bitches I sleep with. Did you ever think that maybe the reason he left had nothing to do with you at all?"
"Then why didn't he tell me?" Roger asked, looking at his friend, so close to breaking it scared him. "Why did he leave?"
"I don't know, man. But I do know that he wouldn't want you to be fucking pissin' and moanin' like you have been. Mark's a good guy, Roger. He wouldn't want you to get all hung up on this like you are. I'm sure if he could see you now, he'd wanna kick your ass almost as bad as I do." Roger snorted.
"Think about it, though," Blake continued after a while. "I'm sure Mark has a lot of deep shit he has to deal with right now. Does he need to be worrying that his best friend is gonna waste away to nothing before he gets back? He's always been strong for you, Roger. I know he has. Now it's your turn to be strong for him." Roger's face softened, and he looked up to meet his friend's gaze.
"I miss him," he admitted softly, hating the fact that his eyes were burning. "He was always there, Blake, and I miss him." He fiddled with the ring on his left hand, a nervous habit he'd acquired over the years.
"Of course you miss him," Blake replied, reaching over and tapping Roger's ring for emphasis. "You always miss people who are that important to you. But Mark's gonna be back, Roger. I know he will be. Sure, he's tryin' to run away right now, but he'll figure shit out and be back. You gotta believe that." Roger froze, that small hope he'd tried to extinguish lighting in his stomach.
"And until he gets back," Blake finished with a grin, "you gotta stop bein' such a whiny bitch. I'm sure as hell not gonna put up with your shit the way Mark did. Now, get your ass over to the bar with the rest of us. I think I've actually got a chance with Joanne tonight!"
Roger couldn't help but laugh, the first laugh he'd allowed himself to have in the past few months, as Blake dragged him out of the booth and over to the bar. Maybe Blake was right. He wasn't alone. This didn't have to be so bad after all.
More to come soon! Exams are this week, then it's winter break! WOOT! Keep the reviews coming. I really appreciate them!
