Always So Certain2

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this part gets a tad angstier. just telling you.

PART 2: ...FOOLS AND FANATICS...

I woke up relatively early the next morning. Say, a little before ten o'clock. Mark, who is marginally more of a morning person than I am, had already gotten out of bed. I could hear his voice faintly in the kitchen, occasionally joined by Roger's....

Roger! Dammit, what was he doing here? I thought he was going to spend the night with that chick from the bar! That was the whole point, wasn't it?

My body was up and functioning a few minutes before my brain. For several fruitless moments, I searched for the bar girl's name in my memory. Some kind of month, wasn't it? May? No, not May, she hadn't looked like a May....

April. Right.

Once my sluggish mind chose to make that information available to me, I was ready to confront Roger. Throwing on something resembling clothes, I burst out of the bedroom.

Roger saw me coming before Mark even noticed the door slamming open. I made a mental note to myself about Mark's need of heightened awareness of his girlfriend. My other roommate opened a mouth to speak, but I cut him off.

Roger, what the hell are you doing here?

He blinked, mildly thrown off. Um, I do kinda live here, Maureen. Mark, who had finally decided to notice me, favored me by rolling his eyes. I'll get you later, buddy.

That's not what I mean! You were s'posed to go home with that April chick!

Roger smirked. I walked her home, yes. But damn, I don't generally go to bed with a date the first night I meet them!

This threw me off a little. Why the hell not? I asked.

Marky glared at me. he warned.

Roger's grin widened. It looked weird, at first -- until I realized how long it had been since I'd seen Roger genuinely smile. I was going to say thank you, he interjected. I gaped. No, really. For once, you were right about someone. I think I really like this girl. Even if -- his grin reached Cheshire Cat proportions -- I didn't immediately jump into bed with her.

I said, mollified. Realizing that my Pookie was still glaring at me, I hustled over to kiss him. Really, Mark, I scolded. Like you've never gone to bed on a first date.

He twisted his mouth in something that might have resembled a smile. It would have to do, for now. I turned my attention back to Roger.

So? When are you gonna see her again? I demanded.

Roger rolled his eyes. Soon, all right? Christ, Maureen, it's really none of your business, you know.

None of my business! Who set you two up, huh?

You. I said thanks, didn't I? I shrugged, unwilling to give up yet. Roger can be such a clunkhead. If I let him, he would screw this one up, like he had with Andrea. He just doesn't know how to treat a girl. After a moment of silence, he spoke again. D'you think I should meet her after work today?

I considered this for about half a second. Roger, since when do you go to work?

He sighed. After she gets off work, I meant. She works at that deli, a few blocks from here.

There were maybe, oh, a thousand or so delis that fit the description of being a few blocks from here,' but I let it slide. Of course you should meet her! I exclaimed.

It's just that she doesn't know I'm planning to... he muttered.

Even better! Don't you know that girls love surprises like that? I checked myself. Well, usually, anyway. I could think of a few times when I had been less than pleased to find Mark waiting for me -- especially when it meant catching me, um, in the, uh, company of certain, ah, friends, doing certain -- oh, never mind. Besides, that was me. Not April. I plowed on ahead. You have to meet her today, and be extra sweet, and if you insist on coming home tonight -- bring her with you, dammit!

Roger nodded gravely, but the corners of his mouth were twitching rebelliously. He excused himself from the kitchen hurriedly.

I shook my head, exasperated. That boy just doesn't know what's good for him, I complained.

Mark agreed. He looked like he was trying to pacify me. I briefly contemplated smacking him, but realized it wouldn't do much good. he continued, somewhat cautiously, just how many guys have you slept with on a first date?

Now I really wanted to smack him. So much for any notions of pacifying. I sighed. Resigned, I began the tedious process of soothing my boyfriend's jealousy issues.

Roger came home alone that night, but it wasn't worth the effort to yell at him. He was in high spirits, but acting a little looped out. Drunk and happy, I diagnosed mentally, repressing the urge to lecture him on girlfriends. Besides, I don't see Roger drunk too often. He gets kinda weird, acts like he's lightheaded or something. Since I assume he was in a good mood as he got himself this wasted, tonight's form of drunkenness was pretty funny. Irrepressibly good humored. Very un-Roger.

He only spent a few minutes with the rest of us in the living room, and he wasn't talking much, mainly staring into space with a goofy smile on his face. This made me feel better about the lack of April's presence -- clearly, the boy was in love.

Mark was sort of giving Roger the cold shoulder -- strange. He looked upset about something -- probably calculating how many drinks his best friend had had. Pointless. It's not like my Pookie abstains from alcohol, right? And anyway, Roger was too loopy to notice Marky's thinly veiled disgust.

You know what's weird? Roger burst out suddenly, slurring his words slightly. April is friends with Greg. Isn't that funny? He giggled a little.

Collins and Mark both suddenly jerked their heads to look at Roger. Behind his glasses, Mark's eyes took on the oh-crap look normally reserved for his discovery of my little infidelities. Collins seemed to be seeing Roger for the first time that night, widening slightly as the blond man's somewhat drunken state sunk in. Collins glanced over at Mark, and the two of them shared a Look.

Benny glanced between the two of them, baffled at their odd reaction. He caught my eye, and I shrugged. I was mildly pissed at being left out of the loop, too. Who the hell was Greg?

I stood, and took Roger's arm. C'mon, Roger, I said. Bedtime. You are gonna have a hell of a hangover in the morning. Benny got up and supported Roger's other arm, complacently.

Mark and Collins shared another meaningful glance, irritating me further. I didn't see what all the fuss was about. So Roger had a little too much to drink. So what? Frankly, I think it's perfectly natural for a guy to get drunk with his girlfriend. Sheesh.

Roger was lucky. He claimed not to have a hangover the next morning, although he looked a little pale. Nobody mentioned the incident at all. Damn -- so much for me finding out what was going on.

The next night, Roger didn't come back to the loft. I privately rejoiced.

Still, it was a whole month before April moved in with us. That was very interesting -- forming a makeshift wall/divider in the bigger bedroom, so that April and Roger could have their own room. Somehow it worked, between Benny's logical mind and Collins's knack for improvisation. The end result was highly satisfactory, for all parties.

Well, for the most part. Collins and Mark obviously had their doubts about the new living arrangements. Not the bedroom fiasco, just the fact that April had joined us, period.

I don't know if this is such a good idea, Mark muttered on evening, after she had been with us for about a week.

I asked. Having her here? We've got room. And jesus, you should've seen the hellhole she was living in before.

That they're still dating, I guess. I don't know. I mean, they seem happy, but she's -- I just don't know.

What's wrong with her? I demanded. She's nice enough. Good sense of humor. Pretty. And she's faithful to him, which can be hard to find. Someone that loyal. What's the problem?

Mark shrugged, evasively. We barely know this girl. I mean, she could be -- never mind.

No, I'm minding, I said. Don't you approve of her friends, or something? Oh yeah -- George or Greg or someone.

Mark verified automatically, then winced. He hadn't wanted to discuss this. Too bad.

Yeah, Greg. So who is he, and why don't we like him?

My boyfriend fiddled with his glasses. He's kind of a neighborhood guy. A lot of people around here know him, you could say. He's -- he tends to be bad news.

A good partier? I asked, contemplatively. I needed a little excitement.

Mark said flatly. For a price. Abruptly, he changed the subject. You said April's faithful -- which can be hard to find.' Care to enlighten me? He wasn't glaring at me. Not really.

Just in general -- you know, I hedged.

He folded his arms. Okay, now he was kinda glaring.

Oh, for chrissakes, Mark...!I spluttered.

So what's up with you and April's other friend? Chino? Is that his name?

He was helping me move her out of her old apartment! I insisted, not quite blushing.

Wow, talk about helpful! I mean, you two kept going back to pick up her things even when everything was already here!

My temper flared. He was not supposed to have noticed that. Well, excuse me for looking for a little excitement for one lousy evening!

So, what, I'm boring?! Mark yelled.

That's the sign I've gone too far. C'mon, Pookie, I cajoled.

Don't pout at me like that! Dammit, Maureen, if you like thrills so much, why the hell don't you just leave me and be done with it?

I snapped. I had a right to be angry at him, too, didn't I? Fine, I will! That's it, Mark Cohen! I stomped out of the loft, slamming the door so hard it shook.

After about twenty minutes, I knew that he'd come back to me -- or I'd go back to him -- but I spent the rest of the night and the next morning with Chino, anyway. Just to teach that damn filmmaker a lesson. In the afternoon, I went back to the loft, claiming to be just picking up my stuff. Then I allowed Mark to me to stay with him, and settled back into the usual routine.

It was a hell of a way to make me forget about Greg. But it worked.

Mark and I started fighting more often after that. Not that we'd had the ideal relationship before, but it was definitely deteriorating now. I cheated every few weeks, or month, and didn't feel too bad about cheating. It wasn't the most pleasant of times.

In contrast, Roger and April were happier and happier. After a while I gave up keeping tabs on them completely. Clearly, they were handling this just fine on their own. Besides, we rarely saw them any more -- they were out, or if they were home, they were in their bedroom. Just as well. Mark and Collins had kept up their unreasonable disliking of April. Benny and I remained moderately friendly, but I guess the happy couple decided it was safer for them to isolate themselves than deal with us.

I couldn't really take the time to deal with Roger and April's little problems. I had enough issues of my own. Besides, I was starting to almost resent their continuous bliss, as my relationship continued fracturing.

Things between Mark and I reached boiling point on what should have been a great night. Months had passed since April's arrival. It was early April, actually. Weird. Who would name their kid after a month? But I digress.

Benny was dragging us all to some new club he'd discovered (except Collins, who had other plans). He kept chattering on about one of the dancers there. I was mildly suspicious -- he was already well into a relationship with some rich white girl whose name I could never remember. Met her once -- kinda snobbish. Whatever. So we were walking too quickly down the street. Mark and I were in a period of truce, and behaving almost like a proper couple. In other words, completely ignoring Benny's incessant talking.

Hey, Benny, April called out. She and her boyfriend were lagging behind us. You wanna slow down a bit? This is ridiculous.

Roger piped up. And I thought you were seeing that Alison chick, anyway. It took me a second to remember that Alison was the snob Benny was dating, and another second was lost contemplating Roger's reasoning in making this particular comment. Oh yeah, Benny had been talking about the dancer.

Well, I am, Benny hedged. Maybe not totally exclusively yet. I raised my eyebrow at him -- not that he noticed. Besides, I'm not doing anything with this dancer, I don't even know her name. I just, uh, like watching her. Wow. An excuse almost worthy of me. I almost said that aloud, then remember who was holding my hand. My boyfriend. Right. Not a good time to mention excuses.

Benny stopped walking abruptly. Mark and I practically ran over him. I shot my roommate a look. Couldn't he have warned us he was gonna stop, or something?

What now? I demanded, vaguely annoyed.

We're here, Benny replied excitedly, and stepped into the building, and we followed. I glanced around, not impressed. The Cat Scratch Club was not my kind of choice for a night life. Too small, for one. Also, the employment of dancers left less space for the rest of us to enjoy ourselves, especially while waiting for these exotic dancers to emerge.

April had already found something resembling a dance floor, and was dancing -- in her own, special way. I shook my head, and joined her. The girl needed a better teacher. I demonstrated how to dance properly -- by grabbing the nearest guy and pressing myself as close to him as possible. The lighting wasn't great, so I just prayed the boy I was clutching was decent looking, and kept right on dancing. Mark hates these kinds of places, I thought. Oh, well. His loss.

Suddenly, I heard whistles and catcalls coming from another part of the club -- the part set aside for the hired dancers. Hey, guys! I heard Benny yelling, then couldn't hear whatever he might have said afterwards. The guy I was dancing with pulled away -- too bad. Now that I got a look at him, he was reasonably hot. Whatever. I followed the other girls in the club over to a small stage. Three scantily-dressed guys had emerged, and were dancing far more interestingly than my former dance partner. Better looking, too. I forgot about him immediately.

I spared about five seconds to glance over to the other side of the club. The female dancers were just as good, and wearing about the same amount of clothing. I quickly figured out which one was Benny's favorite -- she had the best figure -- and thought bemusedly that she looked kinda like April. Except that April would probably never wear black leather and lace.

Then my attention turned back to the trio of guys dancing so seductively in front of me. And for someone whose attention span is as short as mine, I watched them for a remarkably long time.

Then I captured the notice of my favorite one for a little while.

Needless to say, it was rather early the next morning before I got back to the loft. Unfortunately, it wasn't quite early enough.

The others were all in bed. Mark was not. He was sitting on the sofa. Just sitting. Not reading, not dozing, not writing, not watching TV. Just -- sitting.

He didn't move when I entered. He kept his back to me, rigidly. This didn't exactly put me at ease. I was already feeling kinda guilty about abandoning Mark, earlier. Normally, I don't completely forget about his existence. That night, I had. For some reason, I feel better about cheating on him deliberately then about cheating on him, oddly, by accident. I honestly didn't know what I had been thinking.

Somehow, I didn't think these arguments would work in my favor.

I'm sorry, I said, breaking the silence that hung between us. I...lost track of the time. He still didn't acknowledge me. It was a mistake. I made a mistake. I'm sorry. I'm admitting I was wrong here. But I'm here. I came back. You knew I would come back.

he said, still not turning around. I didn't.

That hurt more than the silence. As if I would really leave him after a one-night stand! Infuriating as he could be, I loved him. Didn't I? I whispered, pleadingly.

Don't call me he said harshly.

I made my way around the couch, so that I was directly in front of him. He refused to meet my eyes. I wanted to cry -- or yell at him. I came back, I repeated, not knowing what else to say. Leaning in, I kissed him gently.

He didn't respond at all, for a second. Then, gently but firmly, he placed his hands on my shoulders and shoved me away. I think you should leave now, he told me.

I slapped him across the face.

I instantly regretted this, but it was too late. Mark didn't do anything, just let it be, but my hasty action built a wall between us.

Screw dignity. I was sobbing openly as I left. From the street, I glanced up at the large window of the loft, and watched as Mark's silhouette put his head in his hands and cried.

I had to go back to the loft a few days later, to get my stuff. I still couldn't believe it was actually over. I wasn't ready for our relationship to end yet. And I knew that he wasn't, either. I guess that should've clued me in -- we weren't through yet.

When I returned to the loft, Mark was alone there. I tried to stay aloof from him, and I began packing my things, but it was hard. I don't think he even realized that he kept shooting me mournful puppydog looks that, under any other circumstances, I would have found unbearably adorable. Today, each one was like the stab of a knife.

He stayed out of my way, mostly. Then I tried to pick up a pile of clothes that was about large enough to qualify as a foothill of the Himalayas. His instincts won out, and he leaped up to help me. Taking the other side of The Mound, his hands cupped themselves under mine. We lowered The Mound into a large suitcase.

He didn't let go of my hands.

We stood for a very long moment. I stared at his large, familiar hands, folding over mine like they used to. Mark stared at my face.

He suddenly realized that he was still holding my hands, and blushed brilliantly. But instead of letting go hastily, like I expected, he clutched them tighter. he said quietly, the first time he'd spoken a word to me since that disastrous night -- er, morning. Maureen, I'm so sorry.

Hearing his voice completely undid me. I threw my arms around him and cried, choking out my own apologies. He stroked my hair gently, and maybe he even shed a tear or two, himself. When I stopped sniffling, I tilted my head up to his and kissed him.

This time, he kissed me back.

Eventually, we got around to unpacking my bags again. I can't say our relationship was perfect after that. Not even close. But at least we realized how much we still needed each other. I had started to realize that our breakup was inevitable. We just weren't ready for it yet. But it would come. And that in itself cast a dim pallor over our time together. I kept wondering how long it all would last.

But then April and Roger suddenly stepped into the forefront of the loft soap opera.

I hadn't been paying much attention to them at all for a while. I realized, after Mark and I almost broke up, but didn't, that there was something wrong with them. I wasn't quite sure what. April had been acting a little weird lately, but I couldn't quite pinpoint it.

One boring afternoon, I sifted through a pile of photographs that had been sitting on my desk for months. I found a picture taken back in August. It was a great shot of April and Roger in Washington Square Park. Roger's arm was around her and they were grinning at the camera. I stared at the photo for a second, then searched frantically for the most recent one I had of them. It had been taken only a week or so previously. They were in the same park, more or less the same pose, but their grins seemed a little hazier, and their eyes weren't quite focused on the camera.

I compared the two photos, side by side. Holy crap.

Somehow, very gradually, over the past eight-odd months, April and Roger had become shadows. It was the only way to describe it. And it was very unsettling.

Why hadn't I noticed?

I showed the pictures to Mark that evening. I know, he said, almost harshly. She's slowly killing him.

Or he's slowly killing her, I replied softly, but he ignored me.

A couple of days later -- April 30th, I remember -- we were all hanging around the loft, except for April. Roger wasn't sure where she was, and Mark seemed to think she had a doctor's appointment of some sort. I didn't really think of it. We were in a good mood, thanks to Benny. His engagement to this Alison person seemed imminent, and he was regaling us with hypothetical futures, in which all our creative dreams were realized. It was a great picker-upper. Roger was even getting involved in the conversation, which temporarily dispelled my fears about him.

The phone rang. We all dove for it. Mark got it first, and bowed. CyberArts Studio, how can I help you? he said cheerfully. We all laughed. Collins cheered.

Mark listened to the person for a second, then mouthed April' to us. Hey, hold on, he said. I'll get Roger-- Roger reached for the phone, but Mark suddenly stopped, and shook his head at his friend. He listened for a moment, little worry lines starting to play across his forehead. April, what's wrong? he asked, in a concerned tone. I was mildly surprised. Ever since I had gotten home the previous evening, I realized that Mark was very suddenly becoming friendly with April. It was weird. It made no sense. It was a relief.

Mark was silent for a moment. All right, he said finally, sounding a little doubtful. See you. He almost hung up, then caught himself as April said something more. He knows, Mark told her softly. Take care of yourself, April. Then he blinked, confused, and replaced the phone in its cradle. I guess she hung up. Mark noticed us all staring at him, and shrugged. She says that something came up, and she can't come to the bar with us tonight, he explained. She thinks she'll be home before us, though. He glanced over at Roger. She says to tell you she loves you, he told the guitarist softly.

Roger smiled slowly. I know, he said. The issue of April was dropped. I didn't think much of it.

That night, we got home at about one AM. Well, not Benny -- he had decided to spend the night with Alison, and we weren't about to argue with him. When we entered the loft, it was dark -- understandably. April was probably asleep already.

Collins flipped on the lights, and Roger went to the sink to get himself a glass of water. Mark and I headed toward the back of the loft -- me to the bedroom, him to the bathroom.

I saw the yellow post-it note on the closed bathroom door, but before I could read it, Mark pushed the door open and took one step in, flicking on the light. And froze.

Roger started walking towards us. Hey, you gonna block the door all night, or can I get through? he calls, still a few yards away.

Mark whirled to me, wild-eyed. Don't let Roger come here! Don't let him see her! Oh my God....

Collins heard Mark and jogged over. Hey, what's going on? Mark? Maureen? Is everything --

Don't let Roger come here! Mark repeats, crying out. Shit, shit, shit....

Several things happen at once. Collins sees the post-it and snatches it off the door, glances at it, and jumps to the phone. I hear him demand, not quite panicking. Roger pushes his way into the bathroom and lets out a sharp cry. Mark tries to pull Roger back away, still babbling.

And I peer into the bathroom, where April is lying in the empty bathtub. Fully clothed. Arms stained bright red.

Dead.

Oh, shit.

END OF PART 2
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okay, that took me a while, but here tis. um....yeah, this definitely exists in the same pre-rent universe as april showers, but again, you don't need to have read that. please review! one more part left....