"Maureen? Is that you?" Roger's voice startled me, and I awoke completely disoriented, sitting up immediately. The sun was up, it was daytime, but I was outdoors. Then I remembered the events of the previous night and sighed.

"Yeah. It's me alright." He extended an arm to help me up from the ground.

"What are you doing over here? Are you okay?" I nodded. "We were looking for you everywhere."

"I'm sorry…it's just…my whole world keeps falling apart. And…now that…I just…how can he be gone, Roger? How? It's not fair!" God, again with the waterworks! "I'm sorry Rog…"

"Shh. It's okay. I know how you feel." Is it possible that he really knows how I feel? He's been through so much too…I guess so.

"Am I ever going to be okay again? Everything's so wrong…" He held me, and we stood there between Angel and Collins, just mourning, really grieving. After Angel's death, nobody had truly felt it, wanting to be strong for Collins. For over a decade we had gone on like that, and he had lived an amazingly long time, but now that Collins was gone, all of this grief that I didn't even know I had been hiding was coming out in the open. I imagined that Roger felt similarly, especially given that it took him a year to get over losing April, and as soon as he started living again, he had lost Angel. I had been distraught when April died, she had been one of my best friends, but he had really loved her. My loss in that situation didn't compare at all to his, and I wondered if now the roles were reversed, although it seemed selfish. Collins had truly been an amazing person, and he made time for all of us, almost like we were all his children, and everyone had a close bond to him, most of all Mark, Roger and myself.

"Maureen, why don't we go back to the loft and get you cleaned up." I looked down at myself, seeing that I was, obviously, covered in dirt from having been on Collins' grave for hours.

"Actually, I think I'm going to go back to my place to get cleaned up. Is Mark still at the hospital?" Roger looked at me a little skeptically.

"Yeah he is. Can I come with you?" I looked at him, puzzled, but agreed. I wasn't sure whether he didn't trust me to be on my own, or he was just lonely and hurting. I sensed that it was a combination of both, probably paired with him not trusting himself. He and Mimi had been acting a little awkward around each other at the hospital, though I could understand why…my heart truly broke for them, their inability to have a child. I knew that he and Mimi were about to break out into a fight, saying things that neither of them meant because of the heartbreak that they were enduring. They had a tendency always to grow apart when something painful happened before realizing how much more they loved each other. Their form of communication had completely baffled me until I realized that Joanne and I do the same thing.

"You know, Roger, we don't ever get to talk anymore."

"I know. I miss that. I miss the way things used to be…before April. Those were good times." I looked at Roger, his green eyes piercing my own, our eyes perfectly mirroring each other, the pain, grief, sadness, longing, nostalgia, regret…it was a very pregnant moment. He put his arm around my shoulders, and I laced mine around his waist, and we walked together like the two fantastic friends that we used to be…only Mark isn't here with his camera…we had so many great times together, just the three of us. Especially before Mark and I started dating…maybe that was really what changed everything…if Roger hadn't felt so alone, so much like a third wheel…I mean, Benny was already pulling away from us by then, Collins off at MIT or wherever…running through the Parthenon naked…studying philosophy…whatever his desire was at the moment. Roger might not have run to April…but even so, things were bound to change, weren't they? I mean, even if I didn't break Mark's heart, something else would've happened…and if Roger didn't have AIDS, he and Mimi would be less compatible…but what if everything worked out for the better? Forget regret…forget regret…forget regret…When we arrived at my apartment, I stared at the door blankly for a minute, forgetting why I was there.

"You okay?" I blinked, then turned to face Roger, having forgotten that he was with me, why I had started on my whole little guilt trip. I flashed a smile, which I realized was entirely too fake to have been believable.

"I'm fine." Instead of contending with his skeptical eyes, I unlocked the door hastily and held it open for him.

"This place is…nice." I smiled, feeling somehow proud. I had never been able to show off my apartment…well, Joanne's apartment, technically…before, in all of the eleven years I had been living here. It surprised me that we had never had them over. I was kind of glad for that though…when I had moved in, it had been very drab…boring. Mostly beige and other uninteresting colors…too sophisticated for my taste. Now, there was a lot more color, and it was a little less conservative, but I was careful to make it classy—so it suited both of us. Mostly I chose colors and we collaborated on designs and furniture. And of course it was clean…I mean, I did after all live with a control freak, and I even loved her for the quirk.

"Thanks, Rog. It's definitely a step or two up from the loft—no offense. I love the loft."

"Must be nice to have heat…money…" I sighed heavily, feeling guilty, remembering why people hadn't been over to our apartment before, then turned to him seriously.

"You know…if you ever need…"

"I know. It's okay. Now, go get this dirt off of you! You look like one of those chimney sweeps from Mary Poppins." I smiled at the reference. We—Roger, Mark, Collins and I—had once had an in-depth conversation about the film—the music, philosophies, symbols, implications—anything you could possibly think of. We had been, of course, incredibly drunk off our asses, but even drunk Mark was always behind that fucking camera.

"Okay." I rubbed his arm reassuringly before bouncing off to the bathroom, feeling somehow incredibly light and happy. I didn't want to look at myself in the mirror, but I caught my reflection as I closed the mirrored cabinet after retrieving my razor. Roger was right—my face was smudged with the dark soil that I had been sleeping in, especially in the already largely visible hollows formed by my cheekbone and jaw. I looked almost as though I were dead…my skin was very pale, more so than usual, my lips blue from having spent slept on a grave in mid-October without a coat, smudged with dirt…I look like a zombie…like I'm already dead…I wonder how much it would hurt…I gasped as I looked down and saw that I had cracked the plastic around the blade, and now had the blade positioned over my wrist, not having realized what I was doing, and flung the razorblade and the plastic handle across the room, which then stuck the metal garbage can with a loud, resounding noise.

"Maureen, you okay in there?"

"Yeah I'm fine. I just dropped something." I turned the shower on and undressed. As I was waiting for the water to heat, I couldn't shake my depression, thoughts of suicide, or sheer terror at the fact that I had come so close without even intending to. I stepped into the hot shower, pleased that the temperature was too hot to handle because it made me feel something, and sort of snapped me out of the daze that I had been in, though I was still shaky and uncertain. I was doing so well for a while…I didn't think like this…I thought I was going to be okay, that I was done with this depression. Why can't my mind just leave me alone! I watched the darkened water collecting around my feet and imagined myself drowning in it…

When I got out of the shower, I started absently scratching my wrist, realizing for the first time that I had actually nicked it. The cut was relatively deep, and bleeding quite a bit. The fact that I hadn't felt it at all caused me to shudder at the thought. I found some gauze in the medicine cabinet and wrapped it around my wrist, putting a leather cuff over it, silently cursing myself for my stupidity. I also picked my razor and the blade from the floor and went to throw them out, but I didn't want Roger to see the blade, so I threw the plastic handle in the trash and kept the tiny blade in my hand, mentally noting to throw the blade away when there wasn't a chance of him finding it, like the ladies' room at the hospital. I put on a little makeup, trying to make myself at least look alive again, and slid into the bedroom to find some fresh clothes. I quickly pulled on black denim pants (slipping the blade in the pocket) and a gray off-the-shoulder sweatshirt, both of which I had seemingly owned forever. I need to buy new clothes…that aren't maternity clothes. It was quite disturbing that only a few weeks after I gave birth I could fit more or less into my clothes from over a decade ago. Geez…how much weight did I lose? I must really have a problem…clothes that I got when living as a starving artist were too big for me ten years later when I was living in the lap of luxury? (Well, compared to the loft, anyway.) Something is very wrong about that.

When I walked out of my bedroom, I found Roger fast asleep on my couch. He probably hasn't slept in over twenty-four hours, poor guy. I decided that I should call Joanne's cell phone to let her know that I was okay.

"Hi baby!" I greeted cheerfully, not intending for my voice to come out that way.

"Maureen! Honey! Are you okay?" Goddamn, I really have to stop scaring people.

"Yeah. I sort of…fell asleep in the cemetery…on Collins' grave."

"WHAT? Oh baby…are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah. Roger found me this morning…he walked me home and we had a little talk…he wanted to make sure I was okay, but honestly I'm a little worried about him. He's sleeping on our couch right now, poor guy. I am glad to be connecting with him again though…it had been such a long time."

"Yeah…he and Mimi really went at it last night, so I'm not surprised. Their words were vicious, but something that they weren't saying was somehow louder…though I'm still not sure what it was."

"What're you doing, Pookie? Are you still at the hospital?"

"Yeah. I'm here with Marcie. I was in there with Mark for a bit, and then I walked Marcie around for a while to get her to settle down. I finally got her to sleep about an hour ago. Honey? Are you crying?" I sniffled in response.

"I'm sorry…I just…I'm so glad that you are being so amazing for Marcie…I am such a failure as a mother…I just…can't keep my brain in the same place for long enough to remember anything…remember that time I forgot that I had turned the stove on and lit the kitchen on fire? Hell, I can't even remember to eat, let alone feed someone else! What was I thinking? I can't do this."

"Honey…sweetie, you just have a lot on your mind right now. It's okay. We'll be okay. And you will get the hang of being a mother. You'll see—it will all be okay."

"Oh…Jo…what would I do without you?" I'd die…


Author's note: I was somewhat disappointed with the amount of comments on the last chapter...but I love this story too much to just stop writing...let's try to do better this time? (If we do, I promise I will write more of Mark and Maureen with the baby...or whatever you want, but you have to first tell me what you want!)