Chapter 21

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A/N: Once again, I thank Mari for reviewing and actually enjoying this story! And just a question: Is anybody else actually reading this story…?

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Maureen watched Mark's chest rise and fall steadily as he slept obliviously beside her. He didn't put up much of a fight the night before about her sleeping in his bed, and she figured it was just how passive he was. He'd do almost anything to avoid conflict.

She didn't want Mark to be mad at her. She kept telling herself that she didn't love Mark, that she wanted to be with Joanne. But if she wanted to be with Joanne, why wasn't she with her yesterday? Instead, she went bar hopping and clubbing and met several very nice people, and had several flings. But Maureen didn't want Mark to be mad at her. She didn't know why, but she didn't want him to think anything negatively of her. She cared about his opinion of her, and she usually didn't care what people thought.

She slid out of the bed carefully so as not to wake Mark and walked into the loft, shutting the door behind her. She saw Benny gathering his things together in the living room as she wandered into the kitchen.

"Morning," she greeting him, searching for a mug.

"Hey. How are you?"

"Okay, I guess."

Benny grunted in response.

"See you tonight? We should all go and do something. I haven't done anything in a while and since tomorrow's the weekend, the world is my oyster."

"Loser," Maureen laughed. "Is it Friday?"

"Yeah," Benny replied, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Maybe we should go to a bar? I don't know."

"Me and Mark are going to Scarsdale. Sorry," she shrugged.

"Oh. Fine!" He pretended to be mad and swung the door open. "See you later," he grinned, shutting it behind him.

Maureen sat down at the island and crossed her ankles over each other. If today was Friday, that meant it was also their anniversary. And if they were going to visit Mark's parents today, they shouldn't be fighting. Maureen took a sip from her coffee and decided that she needed to reconcile her relationship with Mark, at least for the time being. She could make breakfast for Mark as a peace offering and to act as a makeshift anniversary gift. That's what she'd do. She placed her mug on the island and got up from her seat. She dug through the refrigerator to find something she could use.

After several minutes of struggling with food, Maureen decided that she would never be a chef and that this meal would be fine. She found a tray in the cupboard below the sink and placed everything on it, along with a small piece of paper that read 'Sorry.'

Maureen took the tray back into the bedroom and placed it next to Mark on the bed. She shook him gently and patted his cheek.

"Mark, get up."

Mark grimaced and looked up at Maureen, who was biting her lip.

"Morning," she smiled weakly. "Happy anniversary."

Mark looked over at the breakfast set out beside him and back to Maureen.

"Happy anniversary."

"Sorry about before," she shrugged meaningfully. "Forgive me?"

Mark took another look at the tray, then at Maureen, and nodded. "Yeah," he smiled. "Forget about it." He kissed her, but pulled away quickly, moving across the bed to the dresser. He dug through the top drawer and pulled out the video he had made earlier.

"This is for you." He handed her the tape and smiled. "It's not much, but…" he trailed off.

Maureen snatched it out of his hands, and her face lit up immediately. "Thank you. It's wonderful."

"You don't even know what it is," Mark laughed.

"I know. But I love it."

Mark picked up a piece of toast, looked down at it, and tossed it at Maureen, laughing.

We're fine.

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Roger stared down at the plastic bag he had been staring at for the last several days. It killed him inside to know that he hadn't used it yet. It was physically and emotionally painful for him. He was always uncomfortable, sweating, freezing, shivering, and boiling hot. He kept to himself, spending most of his time in his bedroom. The only times he had gone out into the loft were to shower, use the washroom, and even eat with the group once or twice. He knew that he had a lot to think about. He knew that both his mother and his wife wanted him to attend rehab to get better, but he also knew that he needed to do it himself. He was strong enough to do it alone. He wanted to show everybody that he didn't need them and that he could get by on his own. He was independent.

Roger dropped the object in his hand on to the mattress and got up off his bed. He pulled the piece of cardboard covering his window back and looked down out onto the street. It was cold and grey out, and even just by standing at the window, Roger felt chills. He reached over and picked up the needle and drugs from the bed and clutching them tightly in his hand, turned back to the window. He wanted to do this, didn't he?

He opened the makeshift window wider and peered out. Shuffling his feet on the ground, he shut his eyes tightly and flung the objects out the window.

There, he did it. It was done. There was nothing more like that in his possession and he was free to move on. He knew he had another hurdle to pass, but once he did that April would be back and everything would be normal again.

Though he would never admit it to anybody for fear of severe mocking, he missed April with all his heart. He knew that they hadn't been together for very long, but he knew that this was it. He knew she felt the same way, too. At least, he hoped she still did. He acted irrationally sometimes, but he couldn't help it. He did things without thinking, and usually ended up regretting his decisions later. He regretted most of the decisions he had made in the past, except for one. Marrying April. It was the one thing in his life that honestly felt right. It didn't feel forced by anybody or like he was the token failure out of his friends. He finally had something to be proud of and something that he could call his own, and the only way to keep calling it his own would be to give up drugs.

Roger ran his fingers through his hair, which was slightly longer than it had been for a while, and rubbed his clammy hands on his plaid flannel clad legs. The sudden rush of pain that he had become accustomed to filled him again and he flopped backwards onto his bed, bracing himself for the uncomfortable feelings yet to come.

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"Okay, so let's go over the rules again."

Maureen sighed. "I won't talk about politics, not being Jewish, or the weather."

"Good," Mark told her as they walked hand-in-hand up the pathway to the Cohen house. "And?"

"I didn't even bring leather pants, I swear."

"Good," he laughed. "Ready?" he asked, rapping on the door. Maureen raised her eyebrows and she unconsciously clutched Mark's hand tighter. They were greeted quickly when the door slowly opened to reveal Mr. Cohen.

"Hey dad," Mark greeted.

"Mark," he replied. "And you are Maureen, I presume?"

"Yeah," she smiled, a hint of nervousness hiding behind it.

"Oh, Dad, Maureen. Maureen, Dad."

"It's a pleasure," Mr. Cohen laughed, opening the door wider so the two could easily enter. "You guys are here late. Your mother's asleep."

"Yeah, well…" Mark shrugged, taking Maureen's coat from her.

"Would you two like anything to eat or drink before bed?"

Maureen giggled and shook her head.

"No thanks," Mark replied, picking up his duffel bag and Maureen's backpack from the ground. "Maybe we'll just hit the sack."

"I think I'll do the same," Mr. Cohen nodded.

"Night, dad."

"Night, sir."

"Please, call me Jacob," he laughed.

"Night Jacob," Maureen giggled as Mark led her down the hallway and up the stairs.

"He's nice," Maureen whispered.

Mark smiled. "I guess so. That was really not like you. You seemed kind of shy." Maureen shrugged.

Things had been a bit awkward between them since their fight the night before. Even though they had made up, Maureen didn't want to do anything to get Mark mad, and Mark didn't want to do anything that would put Maureen in the position to feel bad. They had spent the afternoon in the park, laughing and joking about very light-hearted topics, both of them shifting away from anything deeper than that. They had even felt too uncomfortable watching the video Mark made for Maureen.

They entered his dark bedroom, and Mark shut the door before flipping the lights on. Maureen laughed quietly and flopped down onto his bed.

"You're such a geek!" she whispered.

"Am not," Mark replied.

"You're so… tidy," she giggled. She turned over onto her stomach and studied the bookshelves by the wall across from the bed.

"You're just a slob. I'll take the floor if you want," Mark suggested, unrolling the sleeping bag he assumed his mother put in there.

"Doesn't matter. The floor is supposed to be better for your back," she persuaded. "And besides, I call the bed. Stamped it, no erasies."

"No erasies, eh?" he laughed, raising an eyebrow. He tossed Maureen's bag at her. "Go get changed. The bathroom's two doors down."

She stuck her tongue out at him. "Okay." Mark watched her get up off the bed and leave the room. He felt like he had been painted into a corner with his relationship with Maureen. They had been doing fine for such a long time, but she had become increasingly distant. Whenever he thought about it, though, almost as if on cue, their relationship would get back on track and be fine. But when Mark ignored the nagging voice in the back of his head reminding him of the tension that once existed, they would have a fight and they'd be back at the beginning of the vicious cycle.

Maureen crept back though the door in her pyjamas, her hair swept up into a messy bun. She dropped her bag by the dresser and hopped on the bed.

"You gonna go to sleep?" Mark asked. She nodded and crawled under the covers. "Me too. Night." He flicked off the light switch.

"Sweet dreams," she whispered. She lay awake for the next several minutes, not being able to fall asleep. She heard Jacob wander up the stairs and into his bedroom, and the general creaks of the old house. She heard Mark sniff from his spot on the foot of the bed, and she pushed herself up a bit on her elbows.

"Mark? You awake?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"Oh," she replied, falling silent again. "I'm sorry about last night."

"I know."

"I really am."

"Okay."

"Don't get like that. I just lost track of the time."

"I know, it's okay. It is," Mark replied. He wanted to believe her so badly.

"You promise?"

"Yeah. Don't worry about it." More silence.

"Come here," Maureen told him, moving over in the small bed.

"Huh?" he replied groggily.

"Come on. The floor's probably not that comfortable anyway."

Mark grunted and stood up, making his way over to the bed. He got under the covers and pulled Maureen close so that they both had enough room on the bed. She snuggled in closer to him and rested her head on his shoulder.

"That's better, right?" she asked, smiling.

"Yeah, it is. Love you."

Maureen looked up at Mark, still smiling, and kissed him.