A/N: Okay, so I haven't been on task. But here it is. Session Eight. And Session Nine is in the works.
Session Eight
Well, here I am. Back in this office. Three more sessions to go and I can call this quits. Dr. Lopez isn't here yet, so I pace for a little, as usual. I have no idea what she's going to want to talk about today, if we have anymore mystery guests, what's ahead for me. I still haven't seen Emma. I still don't know why she hasn't come to see me. Possibly because I haven't made any advance to see her, either. And it's my own fault in that aspect. Right?
The door swings open and in she strides, seemingly confident and perfectly business like. I quickly sit, like the kindergartener that noticed his teacher coming in the room while he was fooling around.
"Hi, Mark..." She smiles at me. I tip my head at her overt friendliness.
"Uh...hi." I mutter back suspiciously. She plops into her chair and flips through her notebook, turning to a fresh page. I smirk at this and she looks up at me over those glasses.
"How've you been?"
"What do you mean?" I ask. She's never so vague. There had to be a catch.
"In general. How've you been getting along?"
"Fine, I guess. I haven't really talked to Emma yet, and Roger's been pretty absent around the house. He's been playing a lot of shows..." I nod silently and Dr. Lopez mimics my action.
"Have you been out and about?"
"What, out of the loft? I go grocery shopping...out to do laundry..."
"What about fun?"
"What about it?" I raise an eyebrow at her again.
"Well, you've told me all about what makes you miserable. What do you do for fun? Anything?"
I blink at her again, suspicious. "Uhh...well...I...film stuff." Five bucks says she asks me what kind of stuff.
"What kind of stuff?"
I sigh. "People, places...friends. Oh, last week I was out filming and I got this great shot of this guy at the park with his daughter. He was standing at just the right angle and I caught the sun in the background. Pink colors, I wanted to edit it last...oh my God. I just heard what I sound like. No wonder I can't get dates..."
Dr. Lopez laughs at this and it seems like for once this might go without incident. That is, until the door flies open and in barges Emma. I blink. Dr. Lopez looks puzzled.
"Hi!" She spits, stalking over to me and extending her hand. "I'm Emma, remember me?"
"I tried to stop her!" The receptionist shouts from her desk. I can only look up at her, completely baffled.
"Uh...hi. Wh--what are you doing?" She stares at me in a fluster and tosses her hands up.
"Well, I thought that since you haven't so much as spoken to me in two weeks I should track you down!" She stutters out. I lean back and hold my head.
"Emma, you stormed out of here like you never wanted to speak to me again!" I remind her. Leave it to her to be the big drama queen.
"That's when you CALL ME!" She bellows. I wince. "Don't you know anything about girls?"
I scoff. "Have I nod made it abundantly clear that I know little to nothing when it comes to girls?"
"Well why don't you go ask Roger!?"
"Roger?" Dr. Lopez echoes.
"Oh, you haven't heard about Prince Roger?" Dr. Lopez has heard about him, but she's just listening now, listening to Emma start her long tirade. "The sun rises and sets around him according to Mark! Nothing can be done unless Roger is taken care of first, nothing at all. Gotta make sure Roger is accommodated before we can even breathe! Gotta let Roger live vicariously through me cause he can't do things on his own..."
"Emma, enough!" I sigh, sitting up. She quiets herself and stares at me.
"Do you see that, Doc? The second I'm right he doesn't want to hear it."
"No, Emma, I'm just sick of you yelling. I'm right here, we don't need to shout...six inch voices." I taunt bitterly.
"Fuck off..." Emma snaps.
"Okay, okay..." Dr. Lopez interrupts. "Mark, why don't you talk about Roger a little more...you've been very vague about him..."
"Roger isn't my problem." I insist. Dr. Lopez seems intrigued and she leans forward, folding her hands.
"Well why don't you tell me what is your problem so we can work on fixing it?"
"Because...it's not one isolated thing, is it? It's not all just Emma, or all just Roger or..."
"Wait, wait, wait, I'm your problem?" Emma shouts. I sigh.
"Emma, maybe you should wait outside, okay?" Dr. Lopez asks. Hazel eyes glare at the doctor and Emma storms out in a flurry of red hair and hand motions. The door swings shut and clicks. I blink up at Dr. Lopez and tip my head.
"Well. That was...odd..." I sigh a little and lean forward again.
"Is she always like that?" She asks me, a little laugh on her lips.
"What, a hysterical mess? Yeah, she's usually worse." I advise.
"So talk to me, Mark. About Roger. Why did Emma say that..."
Up to this moment, I have successfully avoided talking about Roger. It's something I'm quite proud of. But now, here it is, right in front of my face.
"Roger isn't my problem..."
"Roger's the reason you came here. You put your arm through that window because you were angry at him..." She looks at me as if to ask if she's right. I know she is, but there's no way I'm going to tell her.
"I did that for a lot of reasons."
"Like?"
"Like the fact that Collins was sick and I was selfish. Of course Roger was a part of it, but he's not my only problem. I'm far more screwed up than that."
She shakes her head. "Tell me about him. How did you meet, what's your friendship like? I want a summary..." She picks up her pen and starts to scribble.
"We met in high school...uh, he was one of those problem kids, and I was his mortal enemy, a geek. But he never really bothered me. We met in the office one day, I was turning in papers for some teacher, Roger was sitting against the wall. He started mumbling about some class, and I ended up talking to him. Kinda weird way to start off a friendship. Pretty soon, Roger was in a way, protecting me, and I was helping him graduate. He went off to start a band, I went off to college. I dropped out of college. His band failed. So one day, he calls me up and asks me if I'd consider moving in with him and some friends. Figuring I have nothing to lose, that's what I did. And I met a whole bunch of people in that loft, roommates constantly moving in and out. The only people that ever stayed there were Collins, Roger and I. And April before she died."
"Who's April?" Dr. Lopez asks, a new name for her to jot down.
"Roger's ex. She killed herself." My words are very sharp. I've never recounted April's story to anyone. I inhale, and attempt to continue. "She...Roger..." Attempt one is a failure. "She used heroin. A lot. More than Roger did. That's how he met her, through his dealer. Roger was a heavy user, don't get me wrong. But April...April was insane. She could never get enough, she never got high enough. And she bought...well, at least, Roger told me she bought from less than stellar dealers. So she got less than stellar drugs at a decent price. She and Roger shared needles. Little did Roger know that April was sharing with a friend too. So...April got AIDS and gave it to Roger without either of them knowing. That was until April went for a checkup. I had been out all day with Maureen and some people, and Roger went to some audition with his band. She was in the bathtub. I just thought she was passed out. And then I saw her wrists. She wrote on the mirror in lipstick. So...Roger was sick. He vowed to quit drugs, so that was six months of hell. He was the sickest I've ever seen anyone during those months. So I took care of him...I guess that's where Emma gets that from. I've spent my life taking care of Roger. Making sure he passed classes, making sure he didn't die, making sure he ate, slept, breathed. And I still watch out for him, but...not as much as I have. Is that so bad? To want to make sure your best friend is alright?"
Dr. Lopez lets a silence hang after my diatribe. I tap my fingers. I listen to the low hum of traffic below me. Leaning forward, she shrugs her shoulders.
"Have you been basing your life on his concerns?" She asks me this quite clearly and quite tangibly. Her question is crisp and cut and very impersonal. It chills me.
"I don't know if I've been basing my life on it...but he does worry me. He's one of my concerns. He always will be."
"And why is that?"
"Because he's one of the closest people to me. I mean...he's my best friend, and I'm his, so he's one of my worries."
"Have you ever considered that maybe this is why you don't have luck with other people? The fact that you're so obsessed with helping him, saving him..."
"What, you're saying that I can't get dates because I'm too busy with Roger?" I pin her question, cut away the ambiguity of it and face it head on.
"In a roundabout way, yes. Is that what the problem has become?"
"No."
"What makes you so sure?"
"Because...I...I'm not obsessed with Roger! I mean, how completely screwed up would I have to be to..." I don't finish that sentence. I know that I probably have the potential to be completely moronic and messed up and negligent of people because of my need to play the role of Roger's mother/doctor/best friend/therapist/cheerleading team. I know I worry too much about him, I smother him...it's a fact of life. It's something I've accepted.
"Mark, I'd like Roger to come in with you next week."
"Are you out of your mind? He doesn't go to his own therapist never mind mine. He's stubborn, way too stubborn to help you or me, or...all we'll do is argue, this isn't a good idea." I'm rambling in protest. She shakes her head.
"Just talk to him. Ask him to come with you. I want to talk to both of you."
"Do you really think this is going to help anything? That talking to Roger is going to get you anything? Cause it's not. Getting stuff out of Roger is harder than getting me to talk, I promise you."
She smiles at me and tips her head in that typical fashion, brown curls loose today and bouncing to the side a little. "Well, I'll see what I can do. Please. Do what you can to get him to come. If you have a problem, let me know and I'll call him. If I don't hear from you, I'll assume he's coming with you next session."
Damn her and her tricks. I nod and stand to leave. I swing open the door and notice that Emma has already left.
