Yes, the long-awaited (heh) sixth chapter has now been posted. :-) No, Roger's not dead... there wouldn't be much story left if he was, would there? But I've still got quite a few chapters to go here, so he's not leaving any time soon! Anyway, read/review, please. I'm not as happy with this chapter as I am with the others, so I'd like to know what you guys think of it. Oh well. Enjoy!
Note: Just thought I'd add this, after one of the reviews I got (I love you Sandy!). I know the hospital wouldn't let Roger out so quickly, but, well, this is fantasyland, not real life. And I have no clue how something like this would be dealt with by a hospital staff, so I just wanted to get the boy out of there ASAP, so the plot can progress and all. Cute M/R can't happen if Roger's stuck in the psych ward, after all! ^_^
Disclaimer: They're mine, all mine, bwahahaha! Nah, just kidding.

Through My Blood

By Alison

Chapter Six: But I Only Said Goodnight

The darkness was enveloping. I tried to open my eyes but they refused to obey me. Where am I? A distant voice, tense with worry, pierced through the thick haze of unconsciousness to reach my ears.

“When can I take him home?” Mark. My body felt as though it had been filled with very heavy metal, making it impossible to move or give some sign that I was here, I was alive.

“He should be okay to leave when he wakes up. Luckily he was too weak to do much damage with that knife. Just make sure he stays under supervision and gets plenty of rest.”

“I will.” Mark intertwined his fingers with mine. “Please wake up, Roge.” His hand felt so warm, so caring…

Finally I managed to crack my eyelids open. “M... Ma—“

The filmmaker jumped at the sound of my voice. “Oh... oh God... don't talk if you don't have the energy,” he murmured.

The more he spoke, the less leaden my body became. “Where are we?” I mumbled.

He swallowed hard and offered a tentative smile. “The hospital. But we'll be home soon. Just relax for now, okay?”

I nodded slowly. Then there was someone else, another hand on my shoulder.

“You're very lucky Mark found you,” said the nurse. “You could easily have died if he hadn't gotten you here in time. Heroin and alcohol can be lethal together, besides the fact that—“

“Maybe that was my intention,” I snapped, cutting her short. Mark's fingers tightened around mine.

“Calm down,” he whispered. “She's just trying to help.”

Unfazed, the nurse continued, “I would suggest rehab, but Mark swore this was the first time you've used in years, and he wants to take care of you himself. Promise me, though,” she said, turning to my filmmaker, “you'll enroll him if it gets any worse and you can't control him.”

“I promise.”

They conversed in hushed tones for a few more minutes, then she returned her attention to me. “Take care of yourself, Mr. Davis.” With a final smile, she left me alone with Mark.

The air in the room was thick with silence and tension; now that he knew I was awake and alive, he had dropped my hand and taken to staring at the floor. I wanted to speak but had no idea where to begin.

“I'm sorry.”

His statement caught me off-guard. “What?” Why was he apologizing?

“For kicking you out. I'm sorry. I was just angry, I wasn't thinking—“

“It's okay.” I shrugged. “I can't really blame you.”

He smiled meekly. “Ready to go home?”

“The sooner, the better.”

Neither of us said a word the entire taxi ride home. He helped me silently up the stairs to our loft, tucked me into bed, then left my room promising to bring me some tea.

When Mark returned, he curled up beside me and lifted the tea cup to my lips. I rolled my eyes but took a sip. “I'm not three,” I complained after swallowing.

He rolled his eyes back. “Doesn't mean you don't need to be taken care of sometimes.”

I carefully sipped more of the hot liquid. “Hey... I'm sorry, too.”

No explanation was necessary; Mark simply nodded. “It's okay.” The silence resumed, until: “Why?”

“I thought you hated me, you never wanted to see me again.” I coughed, a little embarrassed. “And I... well, I didn't want to live like that.”

Mark laughed, a choked defense to keep himself from crying more than anything else. “You're a moron, Roger. I would never just throw you out of my life. I couldn't.”

He draped an arm over my chest, shifting so that he was laying on his stomach looking up at me. His beautiful crystal blue eyes searched mine. “But why'd you do the drugs?” he asked, barely audible.

Why? If only I could tell you, Mark. He looked so sad, so vulnerable, so -- so beautiful...

If I couldn't tell him, at least maybe I could show him. I tilted my head forward slightly and closed my eyes, too afraid to even breathe as our lips touched.

To my surprise, he resisted for only a second, then pressed in to meet my kiss. His lips were thin, dry, not at all like kissing Mimi. He tasted so good, like tea and orange juice and Chapstick and--

He was pulling away. Oh God, please don't let him hate me...

Mark's lips tilted gently upward at the corners, but his smile couldn't mask the slight hint of sadness in his face. “You should go to sleep, Roge.”

I nodded mutely. Was he going to say nothing, to ignore what had happened? Had I just dreamt it all up?

“G'night.” Before I could respond, he turned the lights out and left my room.

A million worries invented themselves in my head – what if he hated me? Why did he leave? What did that smile mean? And why did he kiss me back?

That's when it hit me. Are you a fucking moron, Roger? You have a girlfriend! It's one thing to have thoughts about someone else, but it's quite another to actually follow through on them...

Great. Not only was I a shitty best friend, I was now an unfaithful boyfriend as well. And infidelity is not the most attractive trait in a person -- there was no way Mark would want to be with someone who couldn't even keep his lips off people he wasn't dating.

Is that all you care about, ruining your chances with Mark? What about Mimi, the girl you claim to be in love with?

What about her? Was I in love with her anymore? You can't be in love with two people at once, can you? And if I was so certain that I loved Mark...

“Fuck this,” I mumbled aloud. The only conclusion I could reach was that I was far too exhausted -- not to mention the fact that my mind was still, no doubt, being affected by all the chemicals I'd forced into my system that day -- to figure anything out. Maybe the morning would bring a sober mind and some sort of understanding. Until then, all I could do was fall into a nervous, fitful sleep.