I wake up early in the morning and rub my eyes sleepily before turning over in bed, delighted to find Roger asleep next to me, one arm draped across my waist. It's been eight weeks since we started dating and things have been going great.

            I spend most of my time either hanging out over here with Roger and his friends, or going out to clubs and partying with him at night. I try not to do too much of that though, because Mark gets pissed every time we come home late and he discovers that Roger's wasted or stoned again.

            It's not nearly as crowded here as it used to be. Maureen moved back into Mark's room, though they get into fights every other day and one of them usually ends up sleeping on the couch.

            Collins, the friend who has AIDS, moved out last week when he got a job teaching computer age philosophy at MIT. Benny still lives here, though he sleeps through most of the day and has taken up permanent residence on the couch. That is, if Mark and Maureen are speaking that day and aren't hogging the couch for themselves. Roger invited me to move in, with all the "extra space," as he put it, and I was hesitant at first but eventually agreed after getting the ok by Mark, Maureen, and Benny.

            It's great. It's like I'm finally part of a real family for once, I finally have the one thing I always wanted as a child. The one thing that none of my father's money could ever buy.

            I feel Roger's warm breath on my neck and I snuggle up to his side, breathing out a sigh of happiness as he tightens his hold on me and pulls me closer.

            Suddenly there's a knock on the door and I pull the sheets up over my chest as Mark walks in.

            "Oh, sorry…I didn't know you were awake…"

I smile a little. "Then why did you come in?"

            He returns the smile. "I didn't know you were still here. It's almost 1:00 and I was going to wake up Sleeping Beauty here," he says, motioning to Roger's motionless form.

            "Oh, okay. Do you want me to leave?" I ask, thinking that he might need to talk to Roger in private.

            "No, that's okay. I just wanted to remind him that he has rehearsal at 1:30 and that he better get up now if he wants to make it in time."

"Oh, alright." I shake the man next to me, ignoring his little grunts and murmurs, and finally he sits up next to me, his eyes half open.

            " 'Morning Sleeyhead," I say and shove him a little more to get him fully awake.

            "Hmm…"  He cracks an eyelid open a little more. "What time is it?"

"Mark said it's almost 1:00."

            "1:00? Oh shit, I have rehearsal in a half hour!"

            He jumps out of bed and throws on some clothes before racing out the door and grabbing a bagel from the bag left out on the counter.

            I smile to myself as I get dressed slowly and then join Roger's side in the kitchen as he gulps down a cup of coffee in between rapid bites of his bagel.

            I pour myself a bowl of cereal and begin to eat as Roger gives me a quick kiss on the cheek and then races out the door.

            Just as I finish the last bite of my Captain Crunch I hear Mark approach as he sighs and slumps down in the chair next to me.

            I take in his frown and wrinkled eyebrow and ask, "Is something wrong?"

He looks up suddenly, like I startled him. "Oh…uh, it's nothing really. Um…Roger said he was going to rehearsal, right?"

            I nod.

            His face sinks. "Are you sure?"

I nod again. "Yeah. He said he was meeting the guys at 1:30. Why?"

            "Well he forgot one important accessory behind," he says and points to Roger's guitar in the corner.

            I frown, unsure of why this would upset him so much. "He probably just forgot it. I'm sure he'll be back in a few minutes." I try to give him a reassuring smile, though I'm not sure why I need to reassure him in the first place.

            He nods. "Yeah, you're probably right."

            But his expression doesn't change, nor does the frown leave his face.

            A half hour passes, an hour, two, and Roger still doesn't come back. Mark is getting increasingly worried by the minute and after about a half hour of watching him pace around the room I decide to ask the question that's been on my mind since breakfast.

            "Mark?"

He looks up quickly and then down again when he realizes it's only me. "Hm?"

"Why are you so worried? I'm sure he's just using on of his friends' guitar or something…"

            He nods hesitantly. "Yeah, maybe."

            "Maybe? What's wrong, Mark? What do you think he's doing?"

He sighs and then flops down on the couch, giving an over-exaggerated sigh.

            "I don't know. And that's what scares me so much."

            I look at him curiously. "What do you mean?"

            "I just…I mean, well you wouldn't know because you didn't know him before…"

"Before what?"

            "He never used to be like this. Well, he was, but never this much."

            "Like what??"

            He sighs again. "Getting drunk, high, partying, staying out 'til 3:00, 4:00 in the morning…"

            I shift uncomfortably, not wanting to say what's on my mind. Roger's said it before. Maureen's said it, even Collins, who's usually the rational one of the group. Mark is like Roger's mother. Constantly worrying for no reason, over-protective… Maureen said it's because they're so close and Mark's just very protective of him. But… I mean, I see their point.

It isn't unusual for someone to stay out late, get drunk or smoke a joint once in a while… And from what I've seen, Roger doesn't do these things excessively. I mean, sure, I've woken up a bunch of times to the sound of him throwing up in the bathroom, but those times aren't often. And everyone has hangovers now and then. Roger probably just has a low tolerance.

            I open my mouth to say something but as I do, Roger walks in the door and Mark jumps up, startling me a little.

            "Roger, where the fuck have you been?"

            He retreats just a little, a scared expression on his face. "I told you, I was at rehearsal."

            "Without your guitar?" He points to the guitar, still in its case in the corner.

            A look of guilt flashes across Roger's face and I look at him curiously, wondering what this is all about.

"I forgot it and by the time I realized I didn't have it I was halfway there so I just used one of Mike's. It's no big deal, Mark, Jeez…"

            I look from Mark to Roger, and back again, and from the expression on both of their faces, I can tell that this is not going to be pretty. So I quietly back away towards the safety of Roger's room again, cringing when I close the door and still hear them yelling and screaming at each other, accusing the other of anything that comes to mind.

            I sink down on Roger's bed and then feel a spark of pain shoot through me when something sharp and pointy pierces through my skin.

            I get up quickly, rubbing the aching area, and rummage around Roger's side of the bed until I find it. A needle.

            I sink down again on the bed, this time in shock, as I look at it again, praying that it isn't what I think. I quickly start digging through his things: under the mattress, under the pillow, through his drawers, until I find what I had been looking for. And hoping I wouldn't find. A small bag of white powder.

            Suddenly I hear the door bang open and I shove the small bag in my pocket. I plaster a smile on my face but it quickly disappears when I take in Roger's attitude and expression. His hands are shaking. I've never noticed that before, I don't know why. Maybe because I had no reason to even look up until now, or maybe because I just didn't want to.

            "Roger?" I ask tentatively. "Are you okay?"

"Fucking asshole thinks he's my mother… I don't need a babysitter anymore, dammit!"  He's talking mostly to himself, as if I'm not even here.

            He opens the drawer by his bed and starts shuffling through it, obviously looking for the stash that is no longer in there. After a few minutes of rummaging he gets fed up and throws his arms in the air angrily before slamming the drawer closed.

            "Looking for this?" I say, taking the bag out of my pocket and holding it up in front of him.

            His face turns about two shades paler as he says, "How…Where did you find that?"

            "Your drawer."

            We don't say anything for a few seconds, both of us digesting everything that has just happened. I think about how my boyfriend has been using heroin all this time and I had no idea about it, and I'm sure he's thinking that he's been found out, and that I will stop him and tell Mark.

             "Roger…heroin??" I say after awhile.

            He shakes his head and looks down at the floor, obviously still in disbelief that I found out about his secret.

            "I just do it once in a while. I just…sometimes it's just the only thing that works, ya know?"

I shake my head and give him a stern look. "No, I don't know."

            He sighs. "You know that feeling, like the whole world has suddenly turned its back on you? Like there's no one out there to help or even listen? That you're alone? This," he says, taking the bag from my hands, "takes it all away. It makes you feel so… I can't even describe it, it's just the most incredible feeling ever. It's like, you finally have something that'll make you happy no matter what. No matter what shit happened to you, this stuff will always take it away…make you forget about everything."

            I look at the white powder in the bag and then back at the needle that still lays exposed on his bed, and I have to admit that I'm more than a little curious. I've used drugs before: pot, ecstasy, even speed a couple of times. But never heroin.

            "How do you do it?" I ask before my rational side convinces me that it's a bad idea.

            He looks at me and smiles. "Want me to show you?"

I nod hesitantly, interested in the white powder and all it has to offer. I watch as he slaps his arm for a vein and simultaneously melts the powder in a spoon with his lighter. He then finds a vein and shows me how to inject the poison just right, so it hits you in just the right way.

            The peaceful expression on his face is indescribable. He looks totally at ease, like nothing and no one can affect him. I'm definitely interested now.

            I take the needle and bag from him and begin to search my own arm for a vein. Eventually, Roger snaps back to reality somewhat and helps me with the process. It takes a while, since I've never done it before, but eventually the needle is filled with the now smooth liquid and my hand is hovering unsteadily over a vein.

            I take one look at the happy, at-ease expression on his face and it is all the encouragement I need. I close my eyes and plunge the needle into my flesh, wincing slightly as I feel the sharp point pierce my skin.

            I can feel the heroin coursing through my veins. It's a wonderful feeling, knowing that the liquid is spreading to all parts of my body and will soon take over and take me away from the hell that constantly surrounds me.

            Roger looks at me and grins. "Well?"

            I put my head back and laugh, the sound of the high trill making me laugh even more.

            He smiles smugly. "I take it you're enjoying yourself."

            I nod vigorously and laugh again. I never want this to wear off, this is the best feeling in the world. I definitely can't blame Roger for wanting to do this.

            I open my mouth, about to say something about some squirrels I saw in the park earlier today, but as I do a sickening wave of nausea washes through my stomach and I stand up and race to the bathroom, barely making it in time as I vomit into the toilet.

            Roger joins my side, rubbing my back, and I remain in the bathroom for the next hour, feeling like I'm throwing up all of my insides. Eventually the sickening feeling stops and I unsteadily stand up once again, only to collapse again as the queasy feeling returns and I lean over the toilet.

            "It's like that the first few times," he explains. "It'll go away though."

            I nod, too weak to even really talk right now. I think that's the sickest I've ever felt in my life. I can't for the life of me imagine how Roger got through it and then went back for more.

But you know, now that I think about it, I think it's worth it. The feeling of happiness and peace I experienced before is worth a little sickness that will eventually wear off anyway. For once in my life I felt good. Like really good. I didn't even know such feelings were possible.

            I lean against Roger as he helps me back into his room and lays me down on his bed. I spot the needle next to me and I pick it up and twirl it around in my fingers for a second.

            I pout when I notice the empty bag on his nightstand.

"What's wrong, Baby?" he asks through the haze of his own pleasure.

"Where can we get more of this stuff?" I ask weakly, and he smiles.

            "Don't worry. I know where we can get lots more." He says and smiles, wrapping his arms around me as we cuddle together and eventually nod off to sleep.