Mark POV:
I sigh as I stand outside the Life Café with Collins and look at my watch. 12:52 and 14 seconds…10 seconds later than the last time I checked. Roger was supposed to meet us here at 12:30 and he's still not here.
I'm starting to get a little worried about him. For the past few weeks he's been…well, just not himself. He's been pretty depressed ever since his band broke up, which isn't unusual for Roger, but he usually pulls out of it pretty quickly. It usually doesn't last for more than about two weeks but it's been over a month now and it seems like he's only gotten worse.
He's always so withdrawn, I can never get him out of the loft anymore, and I'm pretty sure that he didn't just "forget" about meeting me and Collins today for lunch. And the only reason we're meeting in the first place is for him, to get him out of the house.
I sigh again and wait another five minutes before going inside with Collins and ordering a tofu dog. When our food comes, I pick at it and think about Roger, not really having much of an appetite.
"Mark!"
I look up to find Collins waving a hand in front of my face.
"Are you okay? You're really quiet today…"
I shrug. "Yeah, I'm alright. I'm just worried about Roger."
"Why? What's wrong?"
"I don't know…he's just not himself. He's depressed and withdrawn, he never leaves the house anymore… You haven't noticed?"
He shakes his head. "No, but I haven't been seeing too much of him lately."
"That's exactly my point. Neither have I. He's always locked up in his room, he's so distant, and he never talks to me anymore. He never talks to anyone anymore. I don't even think he goes out to see Mimi."
"Um, they broke up… Didn't he tell you?"
I look at him in shock. "No, I had no idea… When did they break up?"
"I don't know, but Mimi told me about three weeks ago. Maybe that's what's bothering him?"
"Maybe. I can't believe he didn't tell me…"
"I don't know. If you're that worried, maybe you should talk to him."
I nod, even though I really don't think that's the best idea. If he knew I was worried and suspicious I know he'd distance himself even more and that's the last thing that I want to happen. So for right now, I'll just keep a close eye on him and try to get him to open up to me without confronting him. Because I know a confrontation would only make things worse.
Roger POV:
I sit in the corner of my room, watching the tainted blood spill out of my wounds and trail down my arm, dripping shaky beads of crimson on my quickly staining clothes and on the floor next to me.
After a while, the blood flow stops and I come out of my daze, surprised at the amount of blood I see pooled around me.
"Shit," I whisper to myself and get up quickly to clean myself up before Mark gets home.
I did it again…I can't believe I did it again. I've been doing this for over a month now, and at first it was great. I wasn't depressed and angry all the time and I had an outlet for all the pain I'd been holding in for weeks. It was like I could control all my hurt and pain and anger with my razor and blood…but now it seems to be controlling me.
In the beginning it was only one cut, maybe two, a day, and only when I really really needed it…when nothing else seemed to work. But lately I need it more and more often and need to cut deeper to achieve the same "high" that I used to get from just a few scratches. And that scares me because it reminds me so much of heroin and is just as addictive…and it's pulling me in just as quickly.
As I wipe up the hardening crimson stains on my floor I can't help but stare at the scars on my arms and wince. Some of them are pretty bad, and I know a lot of them won't ever heal completely. I didn't mean to cut that deep, I just wasn't thinking and let the razor take control.
I can't let that happen again, I have to cut back. I don't want to stop completely, but I can't continue with the way things are going. And summer's coming anyway and I know everyone will get suspicious if I'm wearing long sleeves all the time. So for now – at least until summer's over – I'll try to cut down to a minimal cut or two a week…as opposed to the eight or nine a day that I'm doing now. And I'll only do it when I absolutely need it, even though the need is coming more and more often and getting worse every time.
I really don't want this to become an addiction like heroin was. It would be so embarrassing if everyone found out that I'm slicing up my arms for pleasure…I can only imagine what they'd think of me then.
Just as I wipe the last crimson stain from the floor I hear Mark enter the loft and his immediate footsteps to my door.
I quickly throw on a long-sleeved sweatshirt and hide my cleaning rag under my bed just as he opens the door and walks in.
I silently
breathe out a quick sigh of relief and glare at him. "Ever heard of knocking?"
"You would have pretended to
be asleep."
I glare at him again but don't say anything because I know he's right.
"Why didn't you meet me and Collins for lunch today? We waited for you for a half hour Roger, what happened?"
I didn't want to go out and I didn't want you prying into my life like you always do…
"Sorry, I fell asleep and I just woke up a few minutes ago."
He nods but I can tell from the expression on his face that he doesn't believe me.
"Okay then…how about tomorrow? Meet us at the Life tomorrow at 12:00, I'll wake you up this time."
"Wait Mark, I-"
But he's already out the door, my protests unheard.
I sigh. Great, now I'll have to sit through lunch tomorrow with Mark and Collins and pretend to be happy and normal and cheerful.
I begin to feel a familiar feeling rise up inside of me and I grab for my razor, disregarding my vow to stop for the summer, and drag the cool piece of metal across my skin, sighing in relief as the anger and frustration and hurt spill out of my body with the blood that is now streaming steadily down my arm in little rivers.
Okay, so maybe I won't stop today… Tomorrow, definitely tomorrow.
