((Alright, kiddies, this chapter's a short one but it's all my writers-block-ridden brain has been able to churn out in a long time. I've been working on more but it just isn't coming to me. :-( So I decided I'll go ahead and post this, before everyone forgets I was even writing a story! Please read/review as usual, and I apologize in advance if this chapter sucks more than usual.))

Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine. Please don't sue me, I'm sure as hell not making any money off this.


Untitled (A Sequel to Anything But Lonely)

Chapter Three: Every Time Around


That night I lay in bed unable to sleep. Through the thin wall separating my room from Mark's, I could hear him setting up his camera to record.

"February 15, 11 PM, eastern standard time," he began. "The day after Valentine's. Also the day after Roger returned from Santa Fe." I couldn't tell if this was narration for a future film, or just some sort of video journal he kept. I moved closer to the wall, not fully cognizant of the fact that I was eavesdropping. "Joanne just got promoted and took us all out to dinner. In the middle of the bathroom at Chez Rodolfo, Roger and I decided to make our relationship official. But so much is still left unanswered." He sighed contemplatively.

"Sometimes I wonder if I'm making a mistake by getting involved with him. I just -- I worry that things aren't going to change. Yeah, Roger's into it right now. But wait a week or two, and it's gonna be the same old story: Mark gives his heart and soul to Roger, Roger takes Mark for granted. I don't know if I can do that anymore. I don't know if I can go through another Maureen-type relationship." Oh God, he was comparing me to her? This could not be good.

"Maybe I should break it off before I get too attached. It would be for the best; save us both -- okay, mostly save me -- a lot of heartbreak.

"Oh, who the fuck am I kidding? I already am attached. I love him, damnit. And he loves me too, I know that. The sincerity he had when he came back last night, you just can't fake that. Especially not if you're Roger, who's generally the worst apologizer in the world even when he is being genuine." I could sense a little bit of a laugh in Mark's voice.

"I just don't know if his love is enough to destroy his old habits. I mean, he loved me before, even if it was as a friend, and that didn't keep him from ignoring me. It didn't keep him from skipping town. Why should this time be any different?" Mark sighed again, this time sounding exasperated.

"Maybe I'm analyzing things too much. I always am. I should listen to Mimi's advice and just live in the moment. Agonizing over what might happen isn't gonna make it less likely to happen, anyway." All I heard after that was the squeaking of springs. Mark must have turned off his camera and gone to bed.

My mind was dizzy with my own thoughts tumbling around amongst those I had just heard. How could I possibly convince him that I wasn't going to hurt him this time? He wouldn't fully believe me if I told him straight out. He had already learned to take everything I say with a grain of salt. "Don't listen to him, Mark," I could just imagine him thinking. "Roger starts out with good intentions but those eventually slip away." God, I wanted to take him in my arms and promise I'd always take care of him.

That was exactly my problem. I promised everything -- but how often did I actually follow through?

Suddenly it was easy to see why Mark had a hard time trusting me; I hadn't exactly given him good reason to in the past.

I got up and walked from my room to Mark's and rapped lightly on the door. "You can come in, Roge," Mark called.

He was sitting in bed reading when I entered. "How'd you know it was me?" I asked, cracking a tiny smile.

"Wild guess." He rolled his eyes. "What's up?"

I sat next to him, slipping under the covers. "Is it okay if I sleep in here tonight?"

He smiled. "Sure. Everything okay?"

No, I wanted to tell him, everything wasn't okay, I was just as confused and scared as he. My mouth wouldn't form the words.

It didn't matter, though. Mark knew. All he had to do was look at me and he knew; he always did. I slid down until my head rested in his lap, and he put his book away. My eyes closed as he ran his fingers through my hair. In that position I felt so exposed, so defenseless. . . something I had never allowed myself to feel before. Weakness was undesirable, unmasculine. If there was one thing my father taught me, it was how to be tough.

But I knew Mark would never harm me, a fact that comforted me and made the newness and unfamiliarity strangely appealing. In any other relationship I would have been pressured to be the "strong, dominant man" -- but now, I could be frail and vulnerable, and it was okay. For once in my life, it was okay to admit that I didn't have all the answers, that I wasn't as invincible and self-reliant as I tried to act.

It was okay to admit that I needed Mark as much as he needed me.