Your days: you say they're way too long, and your nights you can't sleep at all
And you're not sure what you're looking for, but you don't want to no more
And you're not sure what you're waiting for, but you don't want to no more
But we all bleed the same way as you do, and we all have the same things to go through.
"Hold On" Good Charlotte

Like that, Roger's world froze.

In one corner: Joanne and Maureen, lovers and fighters. Roger figured that Maureen had come onto Joanne, because he knew for a fact that Joanne respected Mark and would never kiss Maureen while he was dating her. Maureen, who was never faithful to anyone—it was just a given—had just crushed Mark for the second time, and Roger was going to have to do something about that.

In another section of the room was Christian and Sophie, talking like old friends. A pair of people who were simply better off buddies. There stood two of Roger's closest friends; his own brother, and his old grade school peer counseling partner.

Behind him was Collins sitting next to Mark on the couch. Mark, his best friend on the face of the planet, had just fallen quite a fair distance and landed flat on his back. They hadn't called the paramedics in fear of unnecessary pay—something Mark and Roger had decided upon moving into the loft. Collins, another great friend, always caring, always helping...

He thought of himself. Who was he out of all of these people? The bringer-downer? The emo kid who always gave everyone a reality check?

It then struck him that he was just sitting there, doing absolutely nothing, and the world hadn't, in fact, frozen. Getting Collins' attention, the two men moved Mark into his bedroom, reheating the pillow and placing that beneath him again. When the returned to the room, Roger made a beeline toward Maureen and grabbed her roughly by the shoulders.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he asked, shaking her shoulders.

She laughed and made a face, motioning to his arms on her shoulders. "What the fuck is wrong with me?"

Just like that, Roger took his hands away from her shoulders, and he scoffed. "Who the fuck are you anymore, Maureen? Are you just oblivious to other's people's feelings? Do you know what you just fucking did to Mark? No, no, no—do you know what you did to him last time? Do you know how much you fucking tore him apart? How many nights I had to feed him? How many nights I had to beg him not to fucking kill himself?"

Maureen's eyes softened a bit. "I can't help how I feel."

"But you can help how you make other people feel!" he shouted back.

There was a period of silence, a period in which Maureen sat down on the couch. Nobody was quite aware of what she was doing until she emitted a loud sob.

Not one person moved. Drama queen, Roger spat in his mind, and continued to tap his foot impatiently.

"I'm sorry!" she cried, covering her face with her hands. Her body was shaking, her shoulders heaving. "It's just... I... I forgot! I didn't... the night..." she was shaking her head, trying to force words out that wouldn't come.

"Mo?" Collins asked, sitting next to her and placing a hand on her knee. He looked like he understood what she was saying. "Mo, you gotta talk."

She gulped for air for a few more minutes, and then began to talk. "I..." she shuddered. "The night Roger went missing," she started. "M-Mark went to bed with me. I left the house, and I'm almost positive he didn't notice. I... I got drunk," she admitted tearily. "I was worried as hell. It's no excuse but... yeah." She exhaled and cast a quick look to Roger. "So... I woke up in this guy's bed. I went to his bathroom and found... AZT."

Roger's breath caught in his throat, and suddenly there was a droning buzz in his ears.

"I... have no idea if we used protection or not, I don't know if anything happened. Hell, I don't even remember where he lived, I just left his apartment and ran. I got back to the loft and... Mark wanted sex."

That was about where Roger tuned out and felt his world collapse around him. Fuck. If Mark and Maureen had AIDS, he didn't know what he'd do. And now, with Mark's camera gone, everything seemed to be breaking.

When he opened his eyes back up to the world around him, Collins was pressing Maureen into his shoulder, calming her shaking body. "It's okay, it's okay," he soothed her, but with his eyes he was saying so many different things. "Did... did you go down to the free clinic yet? Did you do anything? Try to figure out where he lived?"

Instead of verbally responding, she choked back on more tears and shook her head. "H-He has my phone number, if he's any humane man he'll c-call me and t-tell me what h-happened..." her voice fell into sobs again and she collapsed against Collins' body once more.

At that point, Roger was done with being near her, so he turned on his heel and stalked into his bedroom. Slamming the door behind him, he fell face first into his comforter, inhaling the mixed scent of April and Mimi that still lingered between the stitches.

As far as he was concerned, it was Maureen's own damn fault. Of course he felt compassion for her—right now he was vividly reliving his first few days of being an official HIV positive individual—but if she hadn't gone and screwed some guy after getting drunk, she wouldn't be in this position. And how was she going to break it to Mark?

Without noticing it, Roger dozed off into a dreamless sleep, the one state that seemed easier to deal with than any others at this point.

A/N: Alrighty. Lately I've been getting flamed about my inability to produce something creative, so right here I'm gonna say that THIS IS ORIGINAL, eat it, bitches.

:) Haha, okay, review.

-Steph.