Ok, I had no idea about that HIV test, I've never gotten one so I wouldn't know. As for the plot, I know it's stupid, I'm working on it, I really am! This chapter is so stupid, I'm sorry, but I guess it'll have to do for now…
Roger POV:
Collins and Mimi have been visiting non-stop, it's almost like they live here. Maureen and Joanne come by regularly too, though not as often since they live further away. Everyone's been helping out whenever they can, doing laundry, going shopping…It scares me when I think of how many times we've done this. First with Collins, then me, and now Mark. Mimi and Angel already had the virus when we met them so there was no going through this with them…but still, I can't help but think five down, two to go.
It's been five days since Mark started speaking again. I told myself I was only going to not eat for three, just to make up for the three days Mark went without eating because of me, but today is my fifth day without food.
It's strange, I never imagined that pain ad deprivation could comfort me before, but it is. Each time my stomach lurches angrily, every time I feel light headed or get a hunger headache, I feel better, less guilty because I'm in pain and finally getting what I deserve.
It's crazy, I don't understand my own logic. It scares me a little but not as much as the fear I experience around food, whenever Mark, Collins, or Mimi try to get me to eat. Which is another thing I just can't explain. Why am I suddenly terrified of food? I don't spend too much time thinking about it though, because as long as I have this burning, empty, pain in my stomach, I don't have to fight the voice that screams at me in the back of my mind to kill myself. So I'm not complaining.
As for Mark, he's doing better I guess. He's not as depressed as he was, I think he's finally starting to accept that he has an incurable disease that will considerably shorten his life. He's also started to take Collins' advice to live each day to the fullest while he has the chance. He's still noticeably depressed, but bouncing back quicker than everyone thought. But that's Mark for you, full of surprises.
There's a knock on my door but I don't have the energy to get up so I shout, "Come in!"
Mark enters my room, looking better than he has in days. His hair looks freshly washed and combed, and for once, his normally pale face isn't flushed and tear-stained. He looks around my room, probably surprised to find it spotless instead of the junkyard it usually is, before focusing his attention on me. His expression saddens considerably.
"Rog…God, you look awful…"
I sigh and roll over on my mattress, not wanting to listen to another lecture on how disgusting and terrible I look.
"C'mon Roger, please…you have to eat something." He walks over to the other side of my bed so that I'm looking at him and offers me a breakfast tray. On it are a cup of tea and a bagel. His eyes look so sad as they plead with me to eat. Another wave of guilt washes over me, I would do anything to make those eyes sparkle again. So, with considerable effort, I sit up in bed and grab the tray from him. I sip the tea and take a tiny bite of the bagel, getting used to the feel of having food in my stomach again.
He smiles, really smiles, for the first time since he's been diagnosed, and despite my racing heart and ragged breathing, I manage a tiny smile too and return to my bagel, food filling my stomach as rapidly as the dread.
Mark watches me throughout this whole torturous process of eating breakfast. When I'm done, he asks, "Do you feel better now?"
Better? Better?? I feel like I'm about to die! But despite the panic rising in my throat I manage to nod and smile slightly.
He looks at me skeptically, like he doesn't quite believe me, but says nothing as he pats me on the back and leaves my room quietly.
Mark POV:
I'm really worried about Roger. I saw his face as he ate that bagel, every bite was like torture for him. I'm almost mad at myself for putting him through that but, geez, that was the first he's eaten in almost a week and I'm not about to let him starve himself to death.
He's been acting so strange lately. His room is getting cleaner by the day, which wouldn't be so weird except that he always teases me for being so neat and organized, while half the time you can't even see his floor, and my room now looks like a war zone compared to his.
But I don't know, maybe I'm just making too much out of this. I really hope so because I already have so much on my mind. I don't think I have the strength to take care of me and Roger right now. Although, worrying about Roger like this is taking my mind slightly off the whole HIV thing.
I notice Mimi sitting quietly on the couch by herself, biting her nails. I know she's worried about Roger too. She's been spending 90% of her time up here and I know it's not only to help out with me.
I go over to her and sit down next to her, trying to give her an encouraging smile. "Hey, guess what?"
She turns around, startled, but doesn't say anything. Her dark eyes look frightened and sad. Frightened probably because she doesn't want to lose Roger.
"Rog ate breakfast." A huge grin spreads across her face and her eyes light up again. I decided against telling her that it was more like torture than eating.
"Oh Mark, really?" I nod and she throws her arms around my neck, nearly choking me. "Thank you," she squeals and then jumps up, knocking on Roger's door.
Roger POV:
I groan and let my head fall back on my understuffed pillow. The thing I hate most about eating is how much I enjoy it. I don't deserve to enjoy anything.
I get up with renewed energy and go over to my closet, where I'm about to organize my clothes, when I hear Mimi's voice from outside my door.
"Roger?"
I let her in and she sits on my bed, her painted lips turning upwards in a smile. "Mark told me you ate breakfast."
I nod, though what I really want to do is go in the bathroom and…Whoa, where had that thought come from? I push it out of my mind quickly and sit down next to her.
"That's great, Rog. I was really starting to worry about you." She looks up at me and snakes her arm around my waist. "Hey, while you're at it, do you think you could take a shower too?" She chuckles a little. "We finally got Mark to…"
I smile at her words, I really do love her. But worry about me? How could she be worried about me with all of this stuff going on with Mark? So, despite how I want nothing more than to just organize my closet to get my anxiety out, I kiss her on the cheek and go into the bathroom, turning on the shower faucet.
As the cool water rushes down my body (Benny shut off the heat again), Mimi's words echo in my head. I was really starting to worry about you. Along with the food in my stomach, there are pangs of guilt rushing around in there at the realization that since I stopped eating, everyone has been focusing on me and my problems, when their attention and concern should really be with Mark. I know that I can't start eating normally again, this thing has almost turned into a sort of mini obsession – like my sudden fixation on keeping my room clean – but I know if I don't start eating, everyone's attention will remain on me. And I can't have that, Mark is the one who needs help right now, not me.
So, knowing what I have to do, I step out of the shower with the water still running, and kneel in front of the toilet, sticking a finger down my throat. I might as well get used to this now, I have a feeling I'm going to be doing this a lot.
Again, I am amazed to find that the burning pain in my stomach and throat comfort me and as the food rushes out of my body, so do the nagging feelings of guilt and panic…
After I'm sure that my face and eyes don't look quite so red anymore, I step out of the bathroom to find the loft empty for the first time in five days and a note scrawled in sloppy handwriting taped to the refrigerator door.
Roger-
Me, Mimi, and Collins left for a Life Support meeting. We didn't want to bother you but meet us there when you get this!
-Mark
My eyes cloud over as I read this. On one hand, I'm glad to see Mark getting out of the house again, and especially to go to Life Support, because that means he's finally starting to accept this. But on the other, I get depressed when I hear he's started going to meetings because if it weren't for me he wouldn't have to go in the first place.
Mark POV:
"Gordan."
"Liz."
"Hannah."
"Eric."
"Tom. Collins."
"Mimi."
"Hi, I'm Mark…I'm new." I smile nervously.
"I'm Paul, let's begin." He turns to me. "Hello Mark, I remember you. You came with Roger a few times didn't you?"
I nod.
"By the way, where is Roger? I haven't seen him in a while…he isn't sick is he?"
I shake my head. "No…well…no, just depressed I guess."
"Oh? Why is that?"
My eyes tear up, I hate telling this story. Roger is depressed and won't eat because he gave me AIDS.
Mimi notices my discomfort and she reaches for my hand. "Things have been kind of weird…Mark, uh, caught HIV from Roger's blood and Roger feels really bad about it."
I start crying again and Mimi squeezes my hand while Collins puts an arm around me.
"How do you feel, Mark?"
I stare at Paul. How do I feel?? "I don't know…guilty I guess. For being so upset and everything. I mean, I know it's not Roger's fault…but for the first few days after I got my results back I was really mean to him. I didn't talk to him or anything and I wouldn't even let him in the same room with me." My voice cracks and I cry harder. "I know it's not his fault, even then I knew…but he's taking this so hard and I know it's my fault for acting like I did."
"It's normal to be depressed and angry about something like this. I'd worry more if you weren't."
"I know, but I didn't have to take it out on Roger…"
A short blonde girl, Liz, I think her name is, clears her throat. "Um, that happened to me too. What's happening to Roger, I mean. Last year my boyfriend got AIDS from me, and he wouldn't talk to me for months. I was really a wreck, I think I was more depressed than he was." She smiles sadly. "I felt so guilty, just like I'm sure Roger feels now." She looks up at Eric and smiles, taking his hand. "But we made it. It took a while but we pulled through, and I'm sure you and Roger will too."
Paul nods. "But lets take Roger out of the picture for now. How do you feel?"
I don't want to answer this question, but… "I'm trying not to think about it too much. It scares me. I was always the 'healthy' one, the one that would outlive all his friends. And now it's like my whole role has changed, I don't know who I am anymore."
"Mark, having AIDS doesn't have to change your whole identity. It's just one of the many things that make up who you are. Before you had HIV, were you just the guy who would live a long life? Or were you more?"
I smile a little. "Well, I guess I was a little interesting in filming…"
Mimi and Collins laugh at this.
"Well, maybe more than a little interested…"
"How about we take a look at Roger again. You guys have known each other for a while, right?"
I nod.
"Before he had AIDS?"
I nod again. "I've known him since high school."
"What was he like before he was diagnosed?"
"Well…before he was a junkie, he was a great guy…he still is. He had his guitar with him all the time, always trying to write songs or get a band together. He was pretty young then though, the only thing he could really play well was Muesetta's Waltz."
"What about after AIDS, what was he like then? What's he like now?"
"After he was diagnosed he was a mess for a while. He was addicted to heroine so he went through withdrawal in rehab and at home. He didn't leave the house for six months. But after all that he really pulled himself together. He started playing his guitar again and wrote a bunch of really great songs, he started a band…they might be getting a record deal actually…and though he still gets depressed sometimes, for the most part, he's pretty happy with the way things are going."
"So basically what you're saying is that he's pretty much the same guy he was before he was diagnosed?"
I nod, not exactly sure where he's going with this.
"Mark, would you say that Roger's identity is his disease?"
I shake my head quickly. "No, not at all."
"Then why should it be yours?"
I open my mouth a few times to say something but close it. I know he's right…I just wish I could get myself to actually believe it.
Paul looks at his watch. "Alright guys, time to wrap things up. Great job today, and remember, no day but today." He turns towards me, smiling, and shakes my hand. "Great to have you with us, Mark. You'll be coming back for more of this, I hope?"
I nod.
"Great. There's another meeting tonight at 9:30. Try and get Roger to come along, all right?"
"I'll try, but you know Roger…he can be pretty stubborn about things."
Paul nods and smiles. "Yeah, I know. Just as long as you try."
"I will." He shakes my hand again and me, Mimi, and Collins walk back to the loft, chatting about the meeting.
When we get there I can hear Joanne's voice as I open the door.
"It's not your fault, Rog, really…I mean, how long have you two been living together? Seven, eight years? Accidents happen."
"Yeah, well most accidents don't result in the ruining of someone's life."
I close the door quietly and Roger spins around, looking embarrassed.
I'm about to say something but decide to let the comment slip as I notice the laundry basket and two shopping bags by the door. I grab the bags and start putting away various cans and boxes. "How come you didn't come to Life Support, Rog?"
He shrugs, looking away. "Just didn't feel like it I guess…"
"Oh…"
After an awkward silence, Maureen, who was sitting on the couch next to Roger, jumps up and says, "I'm starved. Do you guys want lunch?" Maureen has been doing most of the "cooking" (which usually consists of opening a box or can and pouring its contents in a bowl) these past few days so she knows how little Roger's been eating. She turns to the figure sitting motionless on the couch. "Roger?" He looks absolutely petrified…
Roger POV:
I look from Maureen's anxious face, to Collins' worried one, and then to Mark, whose expression I can't quite read. Mimi looks worried again and is biting her lower lip. I was really starting to worry about you.
I swallow the huge lump rising in my throat. "Sure."
Everyone seems to relax, especially Mark, as the battling emotions on his face seem to settle on relief. A wide grin spreads across Mimi's face as she empties a can of soup into a plastic bowl, heats it up, and sets it down in front of me. "Eat."
I pick up the spoon hesitantly, purposely spending more time than I need to blowing on the room-temperature soup. I can feel Mark's eyes on me as I lift the spoon to my mouth and sip the liquid slowly.
After that, everyone seems to be satisfied, relieved to see me finally eating again, and they all go back to what they were doing: Joanne still bickering with Maureen in between bites of their tofu dogs, and Mimi and Collins alternately eating Captain Crunch and talking about the previous Life Support meeting. The only one who remains quiet is Mark as he silently chews on his sandwich, keeping his eyes on me the entire time.
After what seems like an eternity, there is only a little bit of soup left in my bowl. I've been planning this out for the past fifteen minutes, as I slowly and hesitantly ate that poison. Everyone else finished their meals long ago, only I remain at the table. When I'm sure no one is looking, I take the little bit of soup left in my bowl and pour it all over myself. I stand up, quickly and loudly, and give an over exaggerated gasp. "Shit!"
The room turns silent, everyone staring at me and my wet, soup-stained clothes. "I spilled the fucking soup…" I get up and try to act angry that I'm all wet and sticky now, but on the inside I'm laughing, as I walk into the bathroom and turn on the shower, pretending to wash off the soup. But in reality I'm kneeling in front of the toilet for the second time that day, with my finger down my throat as the panic and fear and guilt rush out of me once again.
Mark POV:
I stare as Roger practically runs into the bathroom, wondering what the hell is going on. He didn't "spill the fucking soup," he poured the "fucking soup" all over himself.
No one else seems to notice though, and they all go back to what they were doing. I'm astonished that they don't seem to notice Roger's strange behavior. Don't they see the way he eats, that pained expression on his face after every bite? You could almost actually see the sweat beading down his forehead! Or the way his room is suddenly spotless, when for years, up until last week, you could barely even see the floor, let alone walk in without tripping on something? Something just isn't right here. This isn't just typical depressed Roger, this is something more. And it scares me to think about just what that something more might be.
Roger POV:
A half hour later I come out of the bathroom and find Mark, alone, on the couch, flipping through the fourteen channels on our non-cable tv. I plop down next to him and he turns to look at me.
"Geez, Roger…are you okay? You look sick." He presses a hand to my forehead but I pull away quickly.
"I'm fine, don't worry about me." I give him a smile to let him know I'm okay but he frowns.
"Are you sure? Maybe you should lie down for a while…"
That doesn't sound like such a bad idea. Five nights without sleep are really starting to catch up with me. I nod. "Yeah, I think I will do that." I stand up.
"There's another Life Support meeting at 9:30. I'll wake you up at 9:00."
I shake my head. "No, don't bother. I'm not going."
"Wait, Roger, why not?"
I don't answer, I just walk quickly to my room and fall asleep the second my head hits the pillow.
I don't know how much later, but it must be pretty late considering how dark it is outside, I awake to someone shaking me and calling my name. I lazily crack one eyelid open but close it again when I realize it's Maureen.
"C'mon Roger, get up."
I pull the thin blanket over my head, hoping to make her go away, but suddenly I find myself being pushed, my body falling heavily to the floor. I quickly check to make sure I'm not bleeding and haven't fallen on anything sharp, and when I'm sure I haven't, I stand up and glare at her.
"Oops…" She giggles. "Sorry, Rog."
I sigh, trying not to get angry. "Maureen, what are you doing here?"
"Mark called, Honey. He wanted me to make sure you eat dinner."
I look at my watch. It's 9:00, Mark must have already left for Life Support. "At 9:00? Don't you think that's a little late for dinner?"
"I know, I'm sorry. I was working on a new scene and I lost track of the time. But c'mon, I can make it up to you…" She drags me into the kitchen where I see a Chinese take-out bag on the table. She claps her hands. "I got your favorite!"
I rush through the food, looking at my watch every other minute. I have to finish fast so I'll have time to throw up before Mark comes home. By the time I'm done it's 9:15. I figure mark will be home around 9:45 so that still gives me a half hour.
I quickly say goodbye to Maureen and literally push her out the door and run into the bathroom, forgetting to lock the door in my hurry…
Mark POV:
I walk home from Life Support with Mimi, thinking about this and the earlier meeting I went to today. Paul really does make a lot of sense, I wish I had gone to more of these meeting with Roger before I was diagnosed.
I say goodbye to Mimi on her floor and walk the rest of the way up to the loft by myself. I open the door, expecting to see Maureen still here with Roger, but I don't see either of them. I'm about to call out for Roger but as I open my mouth I hear noises coming from the bathroom.
I get a panicky feeling in my stomach as I realize what the noises are, and as I open the bathroom door, panic turns to dread as I see Roger kneeling in front of the toilet, his finger down his throat…