Two parts left! My life is massively busy at the moment however, so I'm not going to make promises about when they'll go up. Oh yeah, I added a little to chapter six, so go look if you're interested. It doesn't really impact the rest of the story greatly though. All comments are appreciated and adored!! Especially when I'm freaking out about the three papers I have due this week. :)
Not mine, not mine, not mine...
***
"Hi Melissa," Mark said curtly as the door opened to reveal Maureen's best friend. She looked at him with surprise in her chocolate eyes as he pushed past her into her apartment. "Is Maureen here?"
Mark was certain that she was, but he was still surprised when she came out of the bedroom without any hesitation.
"I'm here," Maureen said, her voice sounding slightly tired. Her eyes met his from across the room as she leaned against the doorframe. Her face was washed, her lips wiped clean of lipstick, and her eyes were sad and full of inevitability.
Melissa quickly made her excuses, mumbling something about needing to go to the studio. She closed the door softly as she left, as though she feared that any noise would start them screaming. The two lovers never glanced at her, barely heard her words. They stood facing each other for another moment, their charged gaze almost a physical link, before he looked away. Somehow she was even more beautiful now that she had completely ripped him open without compunction. He pushed his glasses up so that he could rub his eyes, an unconscious fretful gesture.
"Why..." he finally managed. "God, Maureen..."
He groped for words, and she moved away, stung by the lost look in his eyes and the uselessness of his tongue. She dropped onto the couch, and he walked toward her, gripping the back of a chair. He had given up trying to articulate his feelings; it was unnecessary anyway; his hurt eyes reiterated every one of his halting questions.
"I don't know," she murmured, feeling strangely defensive. She knew that what she had done was wrong - she knew that while she was doing it - but she felt she had been wronged too. She was almost angry with him for looking at her like that; she understood the situation fully without the accusatory, disillusioned tears stuck in his eyes staring at her.
"What.. what do you mean you don't know?" he asked, the shards of his bitterness tearing at his throat as he spoke.
She heard it, and she was as hurt by it as he was. She looked up at him wearily, because she had already lived this confrontation in her head a million times and she knew exactly where it was going.
"What is it you want me tosay Mark?" she asked.
"I want you to say something for Christ's sake!" he replied. "I don't know, that you're sorry or that it didn't mean anything or that you... damnit, I don't know."
"See, it's not that easy is it?"
"Oh, fuck you Maureen!" he exploded, goaded past his endurance by her biting casualty. "You kissed by roommate, my best friend! I think I deserve something from you, goddamnit, something!"
She stood, the anger and hurt beginning to escape from beneath the frayed edges of her callousness. "Mark, how upset about thisare you really?"
"What does that mean?"
His insistence on continuing to deny what they both knew was there was like him salt in her fresh wounds. She lashed out at him in retaliation, calmly and quietly.
"I mean, surely you always realized that something like this would happen! Christ, Roger and I both knew, we knew the whole time."
Mark felt himself draw in, balling up like a child to protect himself from the barbs she had so skillfully shot. "Maureen..." he murmured in pain.
She watched him cringe, seeming to shrink before her eyes, and she suddenly felt a sharp pang of remorse. Poor, stupid Mark. It wasn't entirely his fault; you can't chose who you're going to love. And even if he had wounded her and her precious pride, he didn't deserve that. She sighed.
"I don't mean to be hurtful Mark," she said. He looked up at her from where he had sunk into a chair, his scathing skepticism apparent, and she conceded the point.
"Maybe I did," she amended, standing. "But I'm being honest now Mark. I don't really believe you're upset, so it's difficult for me to feel like I should be sorry. I'm not fucking stupid Mark; I know what's going on!"
When she could no longer control the shaking in her voice, she fell silent. She was standing beside him and slowly sunk to her knees in front of him, needing to be close to him and have him understand what he had been doing to her.
There were tears in her eyes when he looked up from the floor to meet her gaze. Her cold exterior had crumbled, leaving the strangely insecure girl that Maureen thought she had suppressed years ago reaching out for him.
"Did you think I wouldn't catch on? That I wouldn't see it?" she continued, whispering. "I'm not a consolation prize Mark. I know I may not seem like it, but I want someone to love me just the same as anyone else."
"I love you Maureen," he said as they both began to cry. He reached out and cupped her face in his shaking hands, laying his forehead against hers. "I love you."
Her lips met his in a sad, clingy kiss that pleaded for everything to be back the way it was when they were both blissfully ignorant. His hands wandered into her hair and over the contours of her neck and face, trying to memorize it all before it was ripped away from him. She was crying, and she finally pulled away enough to wipe the tears from her eyes.
"Maureen," he murmured, his fingers resting unsurely on her shoulders. "I love you..."
He was begging her to say she that she loved him too, to fall back into his arms and say that everything was forgotten, but her reaction was not what he had hoped for.
"Don't say that Mark," she said tersely, clamping down on her tears as she stood and backed away from him. "You don't mean it, not really."
The intoxicating, beguiling effect of her nearness and affection fell away with those words, and Mark was suddenly returned to the cold, hard present. He remembered Roger and the reason he had come here to begin with, and he was angrier for having forgotten it, for letting himself be dazzled by her again.
"You were never a consolation prize to me," hes aid with an honest, but clipped voice, retreating back into himself. "But... what was I to you?" She didn't answer, and he continued with a sigh. "There have been others haven't there Maureen?"
She couldn't look at him. "Yes."
"But why Roger? Why him?"
"What do you want me to say Mark?" she asked, turning to face him. "That your roommate is hot as hell and has very talented hands? Would that satisfy you?"
He winced and sat back down as she walked aimlessly from the bookshelf to the window, unable to keep still as always. "Why are you so determined to hurt me tonight Maureen?" he asked.
"Why are you so fucking determined to keep lying to me?"
"What are you talking about?"
She spun back on him, her eyes red from crying, her irrational anger screaming for an outlet. "Damnit Mark! Just admit that I'm not the one you're mad at; we both know it's true!"
He looked up at her with bewilderment. "What does that mean? You kissed my best friend, am I not allowed to be mad about that?"
She laughed, miserable. "Of course you are, but you're not angry that I kissed someone else. Jesus Mark, you're angry that he kissed someone else."
And it was said. The world suddenly became still for her. But Mark rocked forward as though her words had made a vacuum of the room.
"What?" he breathed into the airless space. The room had closed off, and all he could see were her eyes as she looked at him wearily.
"Mark, I know."
Not mine, not mine, not mine...
***
"Hi Melissa," Mark said curtly as the door opened to reveal Maureen's best friend. She looked at him with surprise in her chocolate eyes as he pushed past her into her apartment. "Is Maureen here?"
Mark was certain that she was, but he was still surprised when she came out of the bedroom without any hesitation.
"I'm here," Maureen said, her voice sounding slightly tired. Her eyes met his from across the room as she leaned against the doorframe. Her face was washed, her lips wiped clean of lipstick, and her eyes were sad and full of inevitability.
Melissa quickly made her excuses, mumbling something about needing to go to the studio. She closed the door softly as she left, as though she feared that any noise would start them screaming. The two lovers never glanced at her, barely heard her words. They stood facing each other for another moment, their charged gaze almost a physical link, before he looked away. Somehow she was even more beautiful now that she had completely ripped him open without compunction. He pushed his glasses up so that he could rub his eyes, an unconscious fretful gesture.
"Why..." he finally managed. "God, Maureen..."
He groped for words, and she moved away, stung by the lost look in his eyes and the uselessness of his tongue. She dropped onto the couch, and he walked toward her, gripping the back of a chair. He had given up trying to articulate his feelings; it was unnecessary anyway; his hurt eyes reiterated every one of his halting questions.
"I don't know," she murmured, feeling strangely defensive. She knew that what she had done was wrong - she knew that while she was doing it - but she felt she had been wronged too. She was almost angry with him for looking at her like that; she understood the situation fully without the accusatory, disillusioned tears stuck in his eyes staring at her.
"What.. what do you mean you don't know?" he asked, the shards of his bitterness tearing at his throat as he spoke.
She heard it, and she was as hurt by it as he was. She looked up at him wearily, because she had already lived this confrontation in her head a million times and she knew exactly where it was going.
"What is it you want me tosay Mark?" she asked.
"I want you to say something for Christ's sake!" he replied. "I don't know, that you're sorry or that it didn't mean anything or that you... damnit, I don't know."
"See, it's not that easy is it?"
"Oh, fuck you Maureen!" he exploded, goaded past his endurance by her biting casualty. "You kissed by roommate, my best friend! I think I deserve something from you, goddamnit, something!"
She stood, the anger and hurt beginning to escape from beneath the frayed edges of her callousness. "Mark, how upset about thisare you really?"
"What does that mean?"
His insistence on continuing to deny what they both knew was there was like him salt in her fresh wounds. She lashed out at him in retaliation, calmly and quietly.
"I mean, surely you always realized that something like this would happen! Christ, Roger and I both knew, we knew the whole time."
Mark felt himself draw in, balling up like a child to protect himself from the barbs she had so skillfully shot. "Maureen..." he murmured in pain.
She watched him cringe, seeming to shrink before her eyes, and she suddenly felt a sharp pang of remorse. Poor, stupid Mark. It wasn't entirely his fault; you can't chose who you're going to love. And even if he had wounded her and her precious pride, he didn't deserve that. She sighed.
"I don't mean to be hurtful Mark," she said. He looked up at her from where he had sunk into a chair, his scathing skepticism apparent, and she conceded the point.
"Maybe I did," she amended, standing. "But I'm being honest now Mark. I don't really believe you're upset, so it's difficult for me to feel like I should be sorry. I'm not fucking stupid Mark; I know what's going on!"
When she could no longer control the shaking in her voice, she fell silent. She was standing beside him and slowly sunk to her knees in front of him, needing to be close to him and have him understand what he had been doing to her.
There were tears in her eyes when he looked up from the floor to meet her gaze. Her cold exterior had crumbled, leaving the strangely insecure girl that Maureen thought she had suppressed years ago reaching out for him.
"Did you think I wouldn't catch on? That I wouldn't see it?" she continued, whispering. "I'm not a consolation prize Mark. I know I may not seem like it, but I want someone to love me just the same as anyone else."
"I love you Maureen," he said as they both began to cry. He reached out and cupped her face in his shaking hands, laying his forehead against hers. "I love you."
Her lips met his in a sad, clingy kiss that pleaded for everything to be back the way it was when they were both blissfully ignorant. His hands wandered into her hair and over the contours of her neck and face, trying to memorize it all before it was ripped away from him. She was crying, and she finally pulled away enough to wipe the tears from her eyes.
"Maureen," he murmured, his fingers resting unsurely on her shoulders. "I love you..."
He was begging her to say she that she loved him too, to fall back into his arms and say that everything was forgotten, but her reaction was not what he had hoped for.
"Don't say that Mark," she said tersely, clamping down on her tears as she stood and backed away from him. "You don't mean it, not really."
The intoxicating, beguiling effect of her nearness and affection fell away with those words, and Mark was suddenly returned to the cold, hard present. He remembered Roger and the reason he had come here to begin with, and he was angrier for having forgotten it, for letting himself be dazzled by her again.
"You were never a consolation prize to me," hes aid with an honest, but clipped voice, retreating back into himself. "But... what was I to you?" She didn't answer, and he continued with a sigh. "There have been others haven't there Maureen?"
She couldn't look at him. "Yes."
"But why Roger? Why him?"
"What do you want me to say Mark?" she asked, turning to face him. "That your roommate is hot as hell and has very talented hands? Would that satisfy you?"
He winced and sat back down as she walked aimlessly from the bookshelf to the window, unable to keep still as always. "Why are you so determined to hurt me tonight Maureen?" he asked.
"Why are you so fucking determined to keep lying to me?"
"What are you talking about?"
She spun back on him, her eyes red from crying, her irrational anger screaming for an outlet. "Damnit Mark! Just admit that I'm not the one you're mad at; we both know it's true!"
He looked up at her with bewilderment. "What does that mean? You kissed my best friend, am I not allowed to be mad about that?"
She laughed, miserable. "Of course you are, but you're not angry that I kissed someone else. Jesus Mark, you're angry that he kissed someone else."
And it was said. The world suddenly became still for her. But Mark rocked forward as though her words had made a vacuum of the room.
"What?" he breathed into the airless space. The room had closed off, and all he could see were her eyes as she looked at him wearily.
"Mark, I know."
