Disclaimer and A/N: None of the characters are mine. Nope. Not even one.
I think we all know what April's hiding. My whole thing with writing this story is that it's from Mark's point of view- no one else's. He wouldn't know about April's diagnosis yet and Roger basically has a smaller part in this story. Um, what else should I note... oh yeah, I hope I'm making it obvious (agh, I'm such a bad writer) but April isn't taking her medication. =/
I have no clue what goes on in a real intervention. Most of the first part of this chapter came from www.intervention.com. I must give them (the author, at least) credit for the poetic way they describe interventions.
Chapter 5- Intervention
"Think of a family's interactions as a well choreographed dance. Everything they do and say to each other has been perfected by hours of rehearsal. Each member recognizes their cues and executes their steps without thinking - day after day after day."
"Imagine the dancers circling around one member's addiction. Everyone knows the moves by heart, even the addict. And although everyone hates the dance, no one can imagine how to stop doing what they are doing. In fact wanting to stop has become a part of the dance. Guilt and suffering are also written in. The family could go on like this forever."
"An intervention is a controlled or choreographed crisis. The dance, business-as-usual behavior of the addict and family, is stopped for a long enough time to get everyone's attention."
"One day a group of the dancers stand still when they would normally being turning somersaults. At that moment everything changes in the family."
The counselor leaned forward and set her dark brown eyes on Mark, looking at him with an intense but warm gaze.
"An intervention changes this dance, Mark. It changes everything."
Mark looked down at the camera in his hands and played with the plastic knobs and switches.
He was sitting in the quiet office of the counselor he had made an appointment with a week ago.
Actually, it was the third appointment Mark had made.
He had cancelled the previous appointments, worrying and wondering if he was doing the right thing.
For nearly two weeks, he had paced back and forth in his room, rewinding the events of the past year, playing them over and over in his mind until he thought he was going to go insane.
There were so many reasons for him to go on, move forward and help Roger.
Reason one- Roger was his friend. Bestfriend. And had been for years.
Reason two- Roger was going to kill himself if he kept on going down the path he was on.
Reason three- Roger would do the same for him, if the roles had been reversed.
Reason four- April.
But each time he made the appointment, fear and terror would wrap their tendrils around his chest and squeeze him until he reached out for the phone and cancelled the appointment.
He was afraid- of everything.
Of Roger's reaction. Of April's reaction. Of possibly ruining the lives of two of the people he cared most in the world about.
Mark swung back and forth on his decision, even when Collins told him over and over again that it was the right thing to do.
Finally on Christmas day, Mark had made the appointment and he vowed to keep it.
"In a classic intervention, everyone who is meaningful to the person is included. Likewise, anyone who is affected by the person's destructive behavior is included..."
As the counselor went on, Mark fidgeted in the large leather chair as he thought about that cold Christmas day when he had finally made up his mind.
He had gotten up, early in the morning, hungry and tired from locking himself in his room and thinking too much. Though it was Christmas, Mark felt no reason to celebrate or even acknowledge the fact. He remembered the feeling of the sharp cold air as it hit his bare legs when he walked towards the kitchen. He had heard a muffled sound and turned his head towards the livingroom to find that a small figure was curled up in the corner of the couch. Mark walked towards the figure, already knowing in his heart that it was April.
( "April?"
She didn't move and when Mark moved closer, he realized that she was asleep. Her gaunt face
was still except for her eyelids, which danced as they saw visions he could not see. Her soft,
pale lips were lightly closed and her long dark hair flowed over her shoulders like a dark brown
cape. She looked no more than twelve- she seemed so young. Mark saw that her white cheeks
had dried tear tracks.
She had fallen asleep crying.
In her arms was her book of fairytales. She clutched it to her chest like a pillow and Mark saw
that she was holding the book so tightly, her fingers had gone white with the effort. As he
watched, her lips parted and her face twisted up into a grimace as she uttered a small sob. Mark
reached out and touched her bare arm.
She was as cold as ice.
As quickly as he could, he rushed back to his bedroom and pulled his blankets off of his bed. He
hurried back outside and drew the blanket around her carefully so as not to disturb her sleep. He
touched her fingers, attempting to take her book, but her grip only tightened. She sobbed again
and after a moment's pause, Mark drew the blanket over the book too. As he took a step back,
he noticed a small red paper on the table near the couch.
Curious, he picked it up and saw that it was a Christmas card. He opened it and read,
"Dear April,
We just wanted to wish you a very merry Christmas! We haven't heard from you in awhile
and we hope that in all the fun you've been having in the "Big Apple" you haven't forgotten your
family. We love you and miss you! Do you think you could pull yourself away from there for just a
few days and spend an old fashioned Christmas day with us? Alicia misses her older sister and
Adam misses teasing you. Your father misses spoiling his little girl and I miss having our
mother/daughter talks. Call us soon and don't forget to wear a coat when you go outside- you
wouldn't want to catch a cold now, dear.
Love, Your entire family! )
Mark had set the card back down and looked at April, feeling miserable down to the very core of his being. He had shivered, not because he was cold, but because he suddenly felt the weight of his responsibility come crashing back onto his shoulders. He was ruining their lives, not by making the appointments, but by canceling them. The longer he waited to do something, the longer April had to suffer and he could not bear the thought of her spending another night crying herself to unconsciousness.
He had gone back to his room at that moment and made the call.
And now, a week later, he was sitting in front of a large oak desk, listening to how an intervention could change their lives.
"Mark?"
He jerked his head up, realizing that she had been saying his name for a few seconds.
"Mark, I realize that this is very difficult for you to do." she said gently. "That's why I recommend that a professional be with you on the day you decide to do your intervention."
He shook his head violently.
"No." he said. "No, Roger would go berserk if an outsider were there. I know he'll be pissed off just by having an intervention and I don't want to add to that."
"Well, Mark, it's just safer having a professional interventionist there." she said. "But if you don't feel comfortable having one..."
"I don't."
She nodded and leaned back. "That's okay. It'll just take a little more preparation on the part of you and your family."
Mark looked back down at his camera. "Roger doesn't really have a family." he said softly. "I mean, he does but... he's not on good terms with them. Our family... well, we're just a group of friends. And he's my bestfriend. Actually, he's more like a brother to me. A big brother."
"Can you tell me more about your relationship?"
"We met in high school." Mark said. He crossed and uncrossed his legs and then played with his hands, feeling uncomfortable talking about Roger and himself. "He used to protect me when... when I got picked on. Which was most of the time, really." He laughed nervously and picked at the ends of his scarf.
"I was sorta small and skinny. Actually, I still am." He stopped and took a deep breath.
"Go on."
"My freshman year, this group of guys decided that they wanted to use me as a punching bag. They jumped me after school one day and I was getting my ass kicked when Roger came along." Mark half smiled at the memory.
"There were four guys and he kicked their asses, one by one. Afterwards, he helped me clean myself up. I don't know why he helped me out. I was one of the dorkiest kids in high school and he was... he wasn't. He looked out for me. Even after high school when I went to Brown and he moved here to New York. When I dropped out, he let me move into the loft with him and his friends, no questions asked." Mark felt his eyes burn as tears filled them. He stopped again and closed his eyes.
"He told me that... that I was his bestfriend. That that's what friends did for each other. They took care of each other, no questions asked."
He opened his eyes and a tear slid down his cheek but he felt too tired to wipe it away.
And now here I am, Mark thought, betraying my own bestfriend. My own brother. Telling a stranger shit that she shouldn't know because I'm too fucking weak to help him myself.
My bestfriend.
My own brother.
And his girlfriend.
Mark jumped to his feet and the counselor stared at him in surprise.
"I... I can't do this." he muttered, heading to the door. "I'll just get Collins to do this because I shouldn't be the one doing this."
The counselor got to her feet and touched his arm before he had a chance to open the door.
"Mark, why do you think that shouldn't be the person to do this?" she asked. "You're his bestfriend and it's very clear to me that you care a lot about him. Why do you say that you shouldn't be the one to handle this?"
Because I'm in love with April, Roger's girlfriend, he thought, staring at the doorknob.
Because- how can I be worthy to help him when I look at April and wish that....
"Because I just know I can't." Mark said quietly. "I couldn't help him quit for good the last time so I know I can't help him quit for good now."
"You don't know that unless you try, Mark. Trying to help is the first step in changing the dance of addiction. You owe it to Roger and to yourself to at least try."
( "I'll fix things for you, April, I promise. I promise I'll make things like they were before. You'll be happy again. I promise...." )
Mark looked up at her and let his hand drop from the doorknob. She gently pulled him back towards his seat.
"Why don't I tell you more about how to plan an intervention before you decide on anything else? You don't have to do anything you don't want to, Mark. You can listen to me and then walk away for good, if you want. But the fact that you came here today tells me that you want to help your friend. I want to help you help him."
Mark nodded and allowed her to lead him back to the chair. She sat back behind the desk and smiled kindly at him.
"When did Roger first start using drugs?"
Mark sighed. He knew he had to go on.
"About a year and a half ago. At least that's when I found out about it..."
Half an hour later, Mark was walking up the old, creaky stairs that led up to the loft. In his hand, he clutched the pamphlets and papers the counselor had given him. Her parting words filled his mind.
( "It may take a day to plan it out or it may take weeks. Sometimes even months. But when you do feel prepared and confident enough to go through with it, then that's the time you should have it." )
Mark paused in front of the door when he heard the faint sound of Roger's guitar drifting through the plaster and wood.
For a moment, he was transported back in time- months ago when Roger was still clean. On the rare days that Roger didn't have practice, Mark would come home to find them sitting on the couch, laughing and talking. The guitar would be in Roger's hands and April would have a smile as bright as the summer sun while he played his latest song for her. Mark would slink into the kitchen, feeling like an intruder as they looked adoringly at each other. During those moments, Mark would wish that things were different.
And now things were different.
And now Mark hated himself.
He pushed open the door and glanced around the loft. The door to Roger's room was wide open and he walked quietly towards it.
"Hello?" he said softly. He heard voices and stopped at the edge of the doorframe.
The music had stopped.
"That was beautiful, Roger." April's voice sounded tired and weak.
"Shit, I still can't figure out what to do about that last chord."
Strumming.
"Well, I'd better have it straight by tonight or Nick's gonna shit bricks. I told him I'd get this song figured out by today."
"Roger, about tonight..."
"The club's gonna be packed! And Mike's bringing all the good stuff this time- pure, you know? Not like that asshole last time who mixed it in with some..."
"I can't go tonight, Roger. I feel a little... I'm just not feeling too good."
"Fuck, April, this is the third night you've bailed out on me!"
"I know, Roger. I'm sorry. I'm just a little sick right now and..."
"Maybe you should start taking those pills you've been dragging around with you. Christ, April, how long does the fucking flu last anyway?"
Mark heard April sigh.
"I'm sorry, Roger."
"I'm sorry, Roger." Roger mimicked her voice cruelly. "I'm sorry I can't make your gig again but I have a cold and even though I know it's important for you to have me there tonight, I think I'm going to stay home and sleep."
Silence.
And then shuffling.
"God, you're such a baby, April. It's just the flu."
Silence again.
Then April's exhausted voice floated softly in the air.
"I'll just get some rest and... and then I'll come to your gig. I just need to take a quick nap but I'll come tonight."
"You promise?"
"Of course, Roger. It's at the Glass Kat, right?"
"Yeah, we play at ten, after that punk band goes on."
"I'll be there. I promise."
"Good! Great! I told you you were being a baby. You'll get over it."
"I love you, Roger."
Her voice sounded thick and shaky. Filled with emotion.
"Love you too, babe."
He said it in a rush, like an afterthought.
Mark heard shuffling and then loud footsteps approaching him. He took a step back, ready to run into his room but Roger didn't notice him as he stomped out of his bedroom holding his guitar case in one hand. His greasy hair looked as if it hadn't been washed in days and Mark could see the dark shadow that the stubble made on Roger's face. He looked haggard but a strange intense energy seemed to radiate from his body. The air around him seemed to jump with electricity and Mark knew instinctively that Roger was still amped on something. He stood quietly as he watched Roger fly out the door and exhaled the breath that he had been holding when the door slammed shut.
Mark stood there, frozen, at the edge of the door when he heard a loud beeping sound from within Roger's room.
It sounded like a pager.
Frowning, he took the few steps into Roger's room and looked inside. April sat on the bed, staring down at the small black object she cradled in her hands. She looked transfixed as it beeped and Mark wondered when and where she had gotten a pager from.
And why?
Mark took a step forward and as he did, his camera bumped against the edge of the door. April's head jerked up at the sound and Mark looked in amazement as she threw the pager underneath a pillow and stood up.
"God, Mark, you almost gave me a heart attack! Don't you know how to knock?" she cried out. Mark looked down and felt a hot blush rise to his cheeks.
"I'm sorry. I just..."
"How long have you been home?" she asked, crossing her arms.
"A few minutes." he said. He raised his eyes. "I saw Roger walk out of here."
"Oh." April looked relieved. She uncrossed her arms and sat back down on the edge of the bed. "He has a gig tonight."
"So I heard."
April lifted her legs up on the bed and looked away. "Of course, I would ask you to come but you never do."
He ignored the sarcasm in her voice and walked towards the bed. He sat down next to her.
"I went to see a counselor today, April." he said quietly.
She looked at him and he knew that she was trying her hardest to keep her expression still.
"Oh yeah?" April said, keeping her voice emotionless. She looked down and played with her fingers.
"Yeah."
"That's good."
"We talked about Roger and his... his problem."
April nodded without looking up. She spread her fingers out on the blanket in front of her and Mark saw that her hands were shaking slightly. With his heart pounding in his chest, he placed his hand on top of hers lightly.
"He'll be okay, April." Mark said. "I'll make sure of it."
April lifted her eyes and looked at him with her dark, tired eyes. There was a weariness in her gaze, so deep that Mark suddenly felt as if she were hiding something else from him. As if behind her eyes was a weight so heavy nothing he could do would make it lighter for her to carry.
"I believe you, Mark." she said softly.
"I.. I'll take care of you too." he said. He made a face at the awkward sound of his voice; at the awkward words he had uttered. "I mean, you'll be okay too, April."
Her lips twisted up into a grim caricature of a smile and she drew her hand from underneath his.
"No, I won't, Mark." she said. She drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. "But I know you'll take care of Roger. I'm counting on it. I have faith in you, Mark. I'm sticking around until I'm sure he's okay."
Mark frowned and stared at her. "Sticking around until you're sure he's okay? April, what are you talking about..."
April touched her forehead and shook her head.
"God, I'm so tired, Mark." she said, forcing an artificial laugh that Mark could see through.
"I don't know what I'm talking about anymore. I'm babbling nonsense. I just really need to sleep. I've been up since six this morning and I just... I just need to lay down."
Mark wanted to ask her more questions, wanted to sit there and wait until she was forced to talk to him but he knew it would do no good- it would be like torturing her in the exhausted state she was in.
"Okay." Mark said, sighing heavily. He stood up and April looked up at him gratefully.
"Thank you, Mark." she said, leaning back against Roger's pillows.
"For what?"
"Everything." she said.
She stretched out her legs and twisted over on her side. She closed her eyes and Mark stood next to the bed, staring down at her. His eyes traveled from her face to her hands, which were tucked underneath her cheek... before finally settling down on the small black object peeking out from underneath the pillow where she had thrown it.
Why would April have a pager?
"April?" Mark said, wanting to ask.
April's face remained still.
"April?" he said again. When she didn't answer, he took a step forward and bent down to pick it up.
He stopped.
It was none of his business and if April didn't want to tell him, then he had no right to even ask, much less look at it. Mark drew his hand back when April's eyes fluttered open. Mark's mind raced. He tried to think of some excuse, anything, to explain why he was reaching for her pager.
But instead of getting angry, she reached up and pushed her pager deeper underneath the pillow. Her large brown eyes met his gaze and she looked at him solemnly.
"I love you, Mark." she said quietly.
But he could read the other words she didn't say- in her gaze, in her expression.
Don't ask questions you don't really want to know the answers to, Mark.
Do you really want to know?
Mark looked down, surprised, and shuffled his feet, trying his best to ignore the heat that burned his ears.
"I love you too, April."
She closed her eyes again and when Mark saw that she was finally asleep, he walked out quietly, closing the door behind him.
A week later, Mark stared at his bedroom calendar.
January 28th.
He was ready.
They all were.
At least, Mark hoped so.
He sat down at the edge of his bed and stared at his hands.
"I'd better be ready." he said out loud, staring at the cracked, dry skin on the edge of his raw, jagged fingernails. He had started biting his nails again lately- a habit he thought he had kicked back in high school. "Because if I'm not and I go through with this, I'll fuck up not only my relationship with him but his entire life."
"And maybe hers too."
He moaned and rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses.
"God, now I'm talking to myself and my camera isn't even on..."
"Mark?"
He looked up sharply and his glasses clattered to the floor. He got down on his knees and began to pat the floor in search of them. He heard footsteps and then saw a blurry figure crouch down next to him.
"Here, Mark." April's voice said. He turned his head towards her voice. "Lift up your head a little..."
He felt warm fingers brush past his cheeks, the cool metal of his glasses against his ears and then the world grew clear again.
April smiled at him and Mark blushed, pushing his glasses up on his nose with one finger.
"Thanks." he said, standing up. She followed him and shrugged, still smiling slightly.
"No prob." she said. Her smile grew smaller as she looked up at his calendar.
"So today's the day." she said quietly.
He nodded and looked down at his scarf.
"Is he in his room?" he asked.
"Yeah." she said. "He's working on a song right now."
"Maureen and Collins are coming over in a few minutes." Mark said, looking up. "April, are you ready for this? I mean, do you feel...."
She moved past him and sat down on the edge of his bed. Mark sat down next to her and she looked at him earnestly.
"Mark, we've been practicing for a week now." she said. "I'm ready. Are you?"
"Yeah, I think so." Mark said softly.
She seemed relieved and looked down at her fingers, like the way he had been doing before she walked in. He peeked at her face from the corner of his eye.
She seemed happier in the past few days, more so than she had been in the past few months. She even walked differently, with her head held a little higher and the small, secretive smile she wore now had been lingering on her lips lately. Mark had the sinking feeling that she had put all her faith and trust and hope in his ability to help and he did not want to disappoint her.
"Are you ever scared, April?" he asked, after awhile. "That things might not..."
"No." she said quickly. She looked up at him and shook her head. "Things have to work out, Mark. They have to."
"What happens after?" Mark asked suddenly. "When Roger goes to rehab? What are you going to do then? When he comes out? Will you stay or...or...."
April looked down again and the smile disappeared altogether.
"Mark, just worry about Roger." she said softly. She closed one hand over her other wrist and stared at it. "Roger getting off drugs is the most important thing right now. Worry about after- afterwards."
"I just... I just want to make sure you'll be okay." Mark said softly. The next thing he said cut him deeply but he had to make sure she heard what he had to say.
"I know you love him, April, and I know that Roger getting better is all you want right now. But you do have a life outside of him, outside of us here. You deserve so much better than this and I would understand it if... if you decide to go."
Mark looked down and took a deep breath, exhaling it slowly.
"Actually, I think you should go. Back to your family. Or at least far away from us. Before we can wreck your life even more."
"You're not wrecking my life, Mark." April said. She placed her hand over his and he looked up in surprise. It was the first time in a long time that she had reached out to touch him. Her face was serious as she spoke. "And I won't leave. I can't. My life is intertwined with Roger's life now. And it always will be, whether I want it to or not."
Mark didn't understand what she meant but he forced himself to smile at her.
"Since when did you get so poetic?" he asked. "I mean, you said 'intertwined'- isn't that an SAT word or something?"
She flashed one of her rare, beautiful, wide grins and squeezed his hand.
"You don't even want to know what I got on my SAT's." she said.
He opened his mouth to say something when he heard someone knocking on the front door outside. He looked back at April and they looked at each other in silence.
Maureen and Collins had arrived..
Roger's dance was about come to a stop.
"You'd better open the door." April said. "I'll go get Roger."
Mark felt his mouth and throat become dry and parched and he licked his lips and nodded.
"Yeah, you're right." he muttered.
They stood up but as Mark walked towards the door, April grabbed his hand. He looked back.
Her eyes had filled with silent tears and she reached for him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders in a tight, almost desperate embrace. Mark slid his arms around her waist and held her carefully, trying to keep his pounding heart in check.
"I lied, Mark. I am scared." she whispered in his ear. She drew in a shaky breath. "I am so scared."
Mark said nothing but he tightened his grasp on her until he was no longer sure who was holding who. They seemed to be holding each other up, holding each other for support. Time seemed to stop as he held her, simultaneously pushing and pulling her against him.
The knocking outside grew insistent but Mark wanted to ignore it. He wanted this moment to last forever. He wanted to keep inhaling the sweet scent of her shampoo, to keep feeling the warmth that her body radiated, to keep feeling her soft hair against his cheek...
But then she was pulling away from him, staring up at him with her teary doe-like eyes. She sniffed and then wiped her eyes with her hands.
"Things will work out, April." Mark said weakly. "You'll see. Don't be afraid."
She nodded and walked outside, leaving Mark to trail behind her. She threw him one last look, one last glance before she disappeared behind the door of Roger's bedroom.
Mark walked to the front door and opened it.
"Hey guys." he said in a low voice.
"Markie, babe, you don't look so well." Maureen said as Collins and her walked in. She pressed her lips against his cheek and he could smell the faint scent of her lip gloss. It made him feel nauseous.
"I'm fine, Maureen." he said. He stepped away from her, closed the door, and then turned to face them. "You guys know what to do... what to say?"
Collins nodded and leaned against the table.
"Mark, you did a good job pulling this together." he said. His face was more serious than Mark had ever seen it to be and it made Mark feel even more nervous and afraid. It was as if Collins were already practicing the grim expression he would wear when Roger exploded.
"Well, what the fuck is going on here?" Roger's angry voice burst through the quiet like a lightning bolt and the hair on back of Mark's neck bristled in shock.
Roger walked out of his room, scratching his dirty blonde hair. He needed to shave- badly- and his clothes seemed to hang on his body as if he were a human clothes hook. He was wearing a sleeveless t-shirt and his arms, which had been once tanned and muscled, were now only slightly larger variations of April's. His skin was littered with old and new track marks.
He looked horrible.
"What is this?" Roger asked, looking around. "The Brady Bunch reunion?"
He turned around to face April, who had just walked out of his bedroom. She closed the door behind her and looked back at him quietly.
"What the fuck is going on, April?" Roger asked in a soft, dangerous voice. He took a step towards her and Mark saw a brief flicker of fear run through her eyes. She looked at the rest of the group.
"Roger, we have something to tell you." Collins broke in and glanced at Mark and Maureen. Roger looked up at the sound of his voice and a huge grin broke on his thin face.
"Oh shit, Collins!" he said. He moved across the room and threw his arms around the other man, pulling him into a tight hug.
Mark shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He was beginning to panic- things were going completely opposite to what he had intended.
Collins hugged him back and smiled slightly. Roger pulled away and laughed.
"I haven't seen you in... almost a year, right?" he said. He grabbed his friend's arms and squeezed them. The words rushed out of his mouth. "Man, we have to talk! We have to catch up! Have you met my girlfriend April? Oh shit, you've been gone too long, old man!"
Collins smiled again and nodded. "Yes, it has been too long, Roger." he said smoothly. "We can catch up later. There's plenty of time to talk, Roger. Later. Right now, Mark and all of us have something to tell you."
He glanced up at Mark and tilted his head slightly. Roger released his grip on Collins and looked over at Mark. Anger and annoyance clouded his dark blue eyes and he clenched his jaw.
"Goddammit, Mark." Roger said. His voice had lowered considerably. It was strange to watch him change like this- hopping around from one manic emotion to the other. Mark suddenly felt as if the Roger he once knew was long gone and that nothing he could ever do or say could bring him back.
He had the sinking feeling that this was a mistake.
"What the fuck did you tell Collins, Mark?" Roger asked. His head jerked over to where Maureen stood. "And why the fuck is the drama queen here?"
Instead of losing her temper, Maureen only looked at him with a mixture of concern and sadness.
"Roger, I know we never got along." she said, standing up but still keeping her distance. "But that doesn't mean I don't care about you. And you have to see that Mark wants to help you- that he does not want to lose you to this addiction. All of us, me, Mark, Collins and April care for you. That's why we're here."
Roger stared at her in confusion.
Mark took a step towards him despite the fear he felt coursing through his veins.
"Roger, we're here to tell you that you have a problem." he said, marveling at how strangely calm his voice sounded. "You're addicted to heroin. You need help. We want to help you because we all love you and we don't want you to die. And you will die if you keep going down this road."
Roger's jaw dropped and he stared at Mark, more in shock than in anger.
"What the fuck..."
"Roger, Mark is right." Collins said smoothly. He took a step towards Roger. "You have a problem, an addiction. We love you, Roger, and that's why we came here today..."
"No, all of you have the problem, not me!" Roger said. He turned around and stomped towards the his bedroom door but April blocked his entrance.
"Get out of my way, April." he said, glaring at her. Mark moved forward, afraid of what Roger might do.
"No." she said quietly. Her face was still and intense. "They're right, Roger. You have a problem. You need help."
A loud, frustrated howl flew out of Roger's mouth and he reached up and clutched his hair as if he were in pain.
And he probably is in pain, Mark thought. I wonder when his last fix was?
"Jesus Christ, you people are killing me!" Roger screamed. He stomped towards the front door but Mark stepped in front of him.
"Get out of my way, Mark." Roger cried out. "Just stay out of my fucking life!"
"No, Roger." Mark said. He fought to keep his voice steady and controlled. "I won't stay out of your life because you're my bestfriend. At least you were before the drugs took over."
Mark's voice began to waver and grow thick.
"Remember when I turned sixteen? We cut school, you bought me beer with your fake id and we sat on the pier, getting drunk. Remember what we talked about Roger? You told me you wanted to make music.. write songs that everyone would remember long after you were gone. You told me you wanted your life to mean more. More than just the shitty town we lived in. More than what your father told you you'd amount to be. More than all of that. And you told me that no matter what....."
"I'd take care of you." Roger finished for him quietly. His red rimmed eyes looked at Mark dully before Mark realized that they had filled with tears. Mark took a step forward and smiled slightly through his own tears.
"Because you said we were brothers." Mark said. "But you forgot that, sometimes, I'd have to take care of you too. Roger, I love you. You have to trust me now. Please, just trust that everything I'm doing now is to make sure that you do write songs that last forever. Trust that I want to help you make your life mean more. If you keep doing drugs, if you don't get help, then your life would have meant no..."
"Okay." Roger's shoulders drooped and he looked drained. But his eyes remained focused on Mark's. "Okay, Mark."
Mark almost laughed at the relief he felt. His body heaved with the release of the exhaustion he had been feeling.
"We'll pay for rehab, Roger." Collins said. "We'll take care of you in every way you need help."
Roger looked at him gratefully and nodded. He turned around to look at April and the expression on her face was... indescribable.
Extreme, unbridled happiness.
And something else... ?
Mark watched her as she ran towards Roger and threw her arms around his shoulders. Mark thought he saw a hint of another emotion touch her features- sadness. Regret? It seemed out of place next to her smile but once Mark saw it, he couldn't un-see it.
April pulled away from Roger and looked up at his face.
"You promise, Roger?" she asked. She looked eager. Hopeful. "You promise you'll go to rehab? You promise?"
"Yes." Roger said.
She uttered a sound of joy and hugged him again, squeezing her eyes tightly as she did. Tears seemed to flow down her face in a waterfall and she tucked her face against the collar of Roger's t-shirt.
Collins looked over at Mark and smiled and Maureen walked over to where Mark stood and slid her arm around his waist. She leaned her head against shoulder and all three of them watched as Roger and April held each other.
"I'll call a cab." Collins said softly to Mark and Mark nodded without looking at him. "We'll get Roger over there soon."
Mark watched April as she finally pulled away from Roger. She beamed at the others as she wiped her face. She turned around and walked towards the kitchen but Mark knew she wasn't looking where she was going.
"April, watch out!" Mark cried out. April looked up at him and as she did, her hip collided with the kitchen table. Mark's camera, which he had placed on the edge of the table earlier, teetered over the edge and Mark saw it go over.
April gasped and grabbed a corner of it with one hand and miraculously that was enough for her to stop it from crashing down to the floor. Mark pulled away from Maureen and sprinted towards April.
"Oh my God, April, you should have just let it fall!" Mark exclaimed. April looked at him, wincing in pain as she put his camera back on the table. Her palm had been sliced across and her thick, red blood dripped down her arm and onto the floor. He reached for her hand to examine it but to his dismay, she recoiled from him and screamed.
"No, get away from me, Mark! Don't touch me!"
She pressed her wounded hand against her stomach and stared at him with wide, frightened eyes. Her face seemed to grow white.
Mark froze. "A-April, your hand." he stuttered. "I-I just wanted t-to..."
"No!" she cried out again and she took another step back, away from him. "Don't touch me and don't touch your camera! Don't touch my blood!"
Roger walked towards her, confused.
"God, April, you're bleeding pretty bad." he said. Her eyes, which seemed to Mark to be perfectly round, looked at Roger and she shook her head. She took a deep breath to calm herself down.
"It's just a small cut." she muttered. She walked away from both men and grabbed a towel next to the kitchen sink. She pressed it against her hand and shook her head.
"I just... I just don't like the sight of blood, that's all." she said, as if they had asked for an explanation. She walked quickly inbetween Mark and his camera and stared at him.
"Don't touch your camera, Mark. Let me clean it up, okay?" she said firmly. Mark took a step back and nodded.
"Okay, April." Mark said quietly. She looked as if she might burst into tears again if he had said no.
Maureen and Collins walked towards them.
"Honey, that's a pretty bad cut." Maureen said. "Why don't I get you a bandage wrap and let's see if we can stop the bleeding okay?"
April nodded and then shook her head. "But you can't touch me." she said.
Maureen stared at her strangely. "Okay sweetie, if that's what you want. I'll just get the wrap and you can put it on yourself, okay?"
April nodded again and Maureen walked to the bathroom.
"April, it's okay." Collins said soothingly. He seemed to study her face and Mark wondered what Collins was thinking. "Just press the towel against the cut hard. That'll help stop the bleeding while Maureen gets the wrap."
She nodded again.
"Shit, there's nothing in the bathroom." Maureen said, walking back. She looked at Mark and then at Collins. "Why don't we buy some down the street at the corner store? And some disinfectant soap too. I have no idea how you boys manage to live in this place."
"That's a good idea." Collins said. "I can call a cab while you're at it."
Maureen reached out and touched the top of April's arm.
"Come on, come with us." she said kindly. "You look like you're going to pass out if you don't get away from this mess. You need some fresh air."
April moved silently as Maureen pulled her gently away from the small pool of blood on the floor. Then April jerked her arm back and walked quickly towards the kitchen. She picked up another towel, a larger one, and walked back towards the table.
She dropped it over the mess and looked relieved.
"Don't touch it." she said. She looked at Roger and then at Mark. "Let me clean it up when I get back."
"Okay, April." Mark said and Roger shrugged and then nodded.
Maureen took her arm again and this time she walked with her, as compliant as a lamb. Collins glanced back at Mark and Roger before he walked out of the loft.
"Maybe you should help Roger pack some of his stuff?" Collins said. He smiled. "And don't forget his guitar, Mark."
Mark smiled back but only with his lips. He was worried about April, especially about her reaction.
Why had she gotten so upset?
Mark's eyes trailed back to the towel which was slowly soaking up her blood.
He almost turned around to pick it up, to clean it up but couldn't bring himself to move. She had looked so upset, so adamant about no one touching the mess that Mark knew she would have a fit if she came back and saw that it had been cleaned up.
"Good-bye." Collins called out.
Mark watched as he walked through the doorframe.
Collins closed the door behind him.
Roger and Mark were alone.
I think we all know what April's hiding. My whole thing with writing this story is that it's from Mark's point of view- no one else's. He wouldn't know about April's diagnosis yet and Roger basically has a smaller part in this story. Um, what else should I note... oh yeah, I hope I'm making it obvious (agh, I'm such a bad writer) but April isn't taking her medication. =/
I have no clue what goes on in a real intervention. Most of the first part of this chapter came from www.intervention.com. I must give them (the author, at least) credit for the poetic way they describe interventions.
Chapter 5- Intervention
"Think of a family's interactions as a well choreographed dance. Everything they do and say to each other has been perfected by hours of rehearsal. Each member recognizes their cues and executes their steps without thinking - day after day after day."
"Imagine the dancers circling around one member's addiction. Everyone knows the moves by heart, even the addict. And although everyone hates the dance, no one can imagine how to stop doing what they are doing. In fact wanting to stop has become a part of the dance. Guilt and suffering are also written in. The family could go on like this forever."
"An intervention is a controlled or choreographed crisis. The dance, business-as-usual behavior of the addict and family, is stopped for a long enough time to get everyone's attention."
"One day a group of the dancers stand still when they would normally being turning somersaults. At that moment everything changes in the family."
The counselor leaned forward and set her dark brown eyes on Mark, looking at him with an intense but warm gaze.
"An intervention changes this dance, Mark. It changes everything."
Mark looked down at the camera in his hands and played with the plastic knobs and switches.
He was sitting in the quiet office of the counselor he had made an appointment with a week ago.
Actually, it was the third appointment Mark had made.
He had cancelled the previous appointments, worrying and wondering if he was doing the right thing.
For nearly two weeks, he had paced back and forth in his room, rewinding the events of the past year, playing them over and over in his mind until he thought he was going to go insane.
There were so many reasons for him to go on, move forward and help Roger.
Reason one- Roger was his friend. Bestfriend. And had been for years.
Reason two- Roger was going to kill himself if he kept on going down the path he was on.
Reason three- Roger would do the same for him, if the roles had been reversed.
Reason four- April.
But each time he made the appointment, fear and terror would wrap their tendrils around his chest and squeeze him until he reached out for the phone and cancelled the appointment.
He was afraid- of everything.
Of Roger's reaction. Of April's reaction. Of possibly ruining the lives of two of the people he cared most in the world about.
Mark swung back and forth on his decision, even when Collins told him over and over again that it was the right thing to do.
Finally on Christmas day, Mark had made the appointment and he vowed to keep it.
"In a classic intervention, everyone who is meaningful to the person is included. Likewise, anyone who is affected by the person's destructive behavior is included..."
As the counselor went on, Mark fidgeted in the large leather chair as he thought about that cold Christmas day when he had finally made up his mind.
He had gotten up, early in the morning, hungry and tired from locking himself in his room and thinking too much. Though it was Christmas, Mark felt no reason to celebrate or even acknowledge the fact. He remembered the feeling of the sharp cold air as it hit his bare legs when he walked towards the kitchen. He had heard a muffled sound and turned his head towards the livingroom to find that a small figure was curled up in the corner of the couch. Mark walked towards the figure, already knowing in his heart that it was April.
( "April?"
She didn't move and when Mark moved closer, he realized that she was asleep. Her gaunt face
was still except for her eyelids, which danced as they saw visions he could not see. Her soft,
pale lips were lightly closed and her long dark hair flowed over her shoulders like a dark brown
cape. She looked no more than twelve- she seemed so young. Mark saw that her white cheeks
had dried tear tracks.
She had fallen asleep crying.
In her arms was her book of fairytales. She clutched it to her chest like a pillow and Mark saw
that she was holding the book so tightly, her fingers had gone white with the effort. As he
watched, her lips parted and her face twisted up into a grimace as she uttered a small sob. Mark
reached out and touched her bare arm.
She was as cold as ice.
As quickly as he could, he rushed back to his bedroom and pulled his blankets off of his bed. He
hurried back outside and drew the blanket around her carefully so as not to disturb her sleep. He
touched her fingers, attempting to take her book, but her grip only tightened. She sobbed again
and after a moment's pause, Mark drew the blanket over the book too. As he took a step back,
he noticed a small red paper on the table near the couch.
Curious, he picked it up and saw that it was a Christmas card. He opened it and read,
"Dear April,
We just wanted to wish you a very merry Christmas! We haven't heard from you in awhile
and we hope that in all the fun you've been having in the "Big Apple" you haven't forgotten your
family. We love you and miss you! Do you think you could pull yourself away from there for just a
few days and spend an old fashioned Christmas day with us? Alicia misses her older sister and
Adam misses teasing you. Your father misses spoiling his little girl and I miss having our
mother/daughter talks. Call us soon and don't forget to wear a coat when you go outside- you
wouldn't want to catch a cold now, dear.
Love, Your entire family! )
Mark had set the card back down and looked at April, feeling miserable down to the very core of his being. He had shivered, not because he was cold, but because he suddenly felt the weight of his responsibility come crashing back onto his shoulders. He was ruining their lives, not by making the appointments, but by canceling them. The longer he waited to do something, the longer April had to suffer and he could not bear the thought of her spending another night crying herself to unconsciousness.
He had gone back to his room at that moment and made the call.
And now, a week later, he was sitting in front of a large oak desk, listening to how an intervention could change their lives.
"Mark?"
He jerked his head up, realizing that she had been saying his name for a few seconds.
"Mark, I realize that this is very difficult for you to do." she said gently. "That's why I recommend that a professional be with you on the day you decide to do your intervention."
He shook his head violently.
"No." he said. "No, Roger would go berserk if an outsider were there. I know he'll be pissed off just by having an intervention and I don't want to add to that."
"Well, Mark, it's just safer having a professional interventionist there." she said. "But if you don't feel comfortable having one..."
"I don't."
She nodded and leaned back. "That's okay. It'll just take a little more preparation on the part of you and your family."
Mark looked back down at his camera. "Roger doesn't really have a family." he said softly. "I mean, he does but... he's not on good terms with them. Our family... well, we're just a group of friends. And he's my bestfriend. Actually, he's more like a brother to me. A big brother."
"Can you tell me more about your relationship?"
"We met in high school." Mark said. He crossed and uncrossed his legs and then played with his hands, feeling uncomfortable talking about Roger and himself. "He used to protect me when... when I got picked on. Which was most of the time, really." He laughed nervously and picked at the ends of his scarf.
"I was sorta small and skinny. Actually, I still am." He stopped and took a deep breath.
"Go on."
"My freshman year, this group of guys decided that they wanted to use me as a punching bag. They jumped me after school one day and I was getting my ass kicked when Roger came along." Mark half smiled at the memory.
"There were four guys and he kicked their asses, one by one. Afterwards, he helped me clean myself up. I don't know why he helped me out. I was one of the dorkiest kids in high school and he was... he wasn't. He looked out for me. Even after high school when I went to Brown and he moved here to New York. When I dropped out, he let me move into the loft with him and his friends, no questions asked." Mark felt his eyes burn as tears filled them. He stopped again and closed his eyes.
"He told me that... that I was his bestfriend. That that's what friends did for each other. They took care of each other, no questions asked."
He opened his eyes and a tear slid down his cheek but he felt too tired to wipe it away.
And now here I am, Mark thought, betraying my own bestfriend. My own brother. Telling a stranger shit that she shouldn't know because I'm too fucking weak to help him myself.
My bestfriend.
My own brother.
And his girlfriend.
Mark jumped to his feet and the counselor stared at him in surprise.
"I... I can't do this." he muttered, heading to the door. "I'll just get Collins to do this because I shouldn't be the one doing this."
The counselor got to her feet and touched his arm before he had a chance to open the door.
"Mark, why do you think that shouldn't be the person to do this?" she asked. "You're his bestfriend and it's very clear to me that you care a lot about him. Why do you say that you shouldn't be the one to handle this?"
Because I'm in love with April, Roger's girlfriend, he thought, staring at the doorknob.
Because- how can I be worthy to help him when I look at April and wish that....
"Because I just know I can't." Mark said quietly. "I couldn't help him quit for good the last time so I know I can't help him quit for good now."
"You don't know that unless you try, Mark. Trying to help is the first step in changing the dance of addiction. You owe it to Roger and to yourself to at least try."
( "I'll fix things for you, April, I promise. I promise I'll make things like they were before. You'll be happy again. I promise...." )
Mark looked up at her and let his hand drop from the doorknob. She gently pulled him back towards his seat.
"Why don't I tell you more about how to plan an intervention before you decide on anything else? You don't have to do anything you don't want to, Mark. You can listen to me and then walk away for good, if you want. But the fact that you came here today tells me that you want to help your friend. I want to help you help him."
Mark nodded and allowed her to lead him back to the chair. She sat back behind the desk and smiled kindly at him.
"When did Roger first start using drugs?"
Mark sighed. He knew he had to go on.
"About a year and a half ago. At least that's when I found out about it..."
Half an hour later, Mark was walking up the old, creaky stairs that led up to the loft. In his hand, he clutched the pamphlets and papers the counselor had given him. Her parting words filled his mind.
( "It may take a day to plan it out or it may take weeks. Sometimes even months. But when you do feel prepared and confident enough to go through with it, then that's the time you should have it." )
Mark paused in front of the door when he heard the faint sound of Roger's guitar drifting through the plaster and wood.
For a moment, he was transported back in time- months ago when Roger was still clean. On the rare days that Roger didn't have practice, Mark would come home to find them sitting on the couch, laughing and talking. The guitar would be in Roger's hands and April would have a smile as bright as the summer sun while he played his latest song for her. Mark would slink into the kitchen, feeling like an intruder as they looked adoringly at each other. During those moments, Mark would wish that things were different.
And now things were different.
And now Mark hated himself.
He pushed open the door and glanced around the loft. The door to Roger's room was wide open and he walked quietly towards it.
"Hello?" he said softly. He heard voices and stopped at the edge of the doorframe.
The music had stopped.
"That was beautiful, Roger." April's voice sounded tired and weak.
"Shit, I still can't figure out what to do about that last chord."
Strumming.
"Well, I'd better have it straight by tonight or Nick's gonna shit bricks. I told him I'd get this song figured out by today."
"Roger, about tonight..."
"The club's gonna be packed! And Mike's bringing all the good stuff this time- pure, you know? Not like that asshole last time who mixed it in with some..."
"I can't go tonight, Roger. I feel a little... I'm just not feeling too good."
"Fuck, April, this is the third night you've bailed out on me!"
"I know, Roger. I'm sorry. I'm just a little sick right now and..."
"Maybe you should start taking those pills you've been dragging around with you. Christ, April, how long does the fucking flu last anyway?"
Mark heard April sigh.
"I'm sorry, Roger."
"I'm sorry, Roger." Roger mimicked her voice cruelly. "I'm sorry I can't make your gig again but I have a cold and even though I know it's important for you to have me there tonight, I think I'm going to stay home and sleep."
Silence.
And then shuffling.
"God, you're such a baby, April. It's just the flu."
Silence again.
Then April's exhausted voice floated softly in the air.
"I'll just get some rest and... and then I'll come to your gig. I just need to take a quick nap but I'll come tonight."
"You promise?"
"Of course, Roger. It's at the Glass Kat, right?"
"Yeah, we play at ten, after that punk band goes on."
"I'll be there. I promise."
"Good! Great! I told you you were being a baby. You'll get over it."
"I love you, Roger."
Her voice sounded thick and shaky. Filled with emotion.
"Love you too, babe."
He said it in a rush, like an afterthought.
Mark heard shuffling and then loud footsteps approaching him. He took a step back, ready to run into his room but Roger didn't notice him as he stomped out of his bedroom holding his guitar case in one hand. His greasy hair looked as if it hadn't been washed in days and Mark could see the dark shadow that the stubble made on Roger's face. He looked haggard but a strange intense energy seemed to radiate from his body. The air around him seemed to jump with electricity and Mark knew instinctively that Roger was still amped on something. He stood quietly as he watched Roger fly out the door and exhaled the breath that he had been holding when the door slammed shut.
Mark stood there, frozen, at the edge of the door when he heard a loud beeping sound from within Roger's room.
It sounded like a pager.
Frowning, he took the few steps into Roger's room and looked inside. April sat on the bed, staring down at the small black object she cradled in her hands. She looked transfixed as it beeped and Mark wondered when and where she had gotten a pager from.
And why?
Mark took a step forward and as he did, his camera bumped against the edge of the door. April's head jerked up at the sound and Mark looked in amazement as she threw the pager underneath a pillow and stood up.
"God, Mark, you almost gave me a heart attack! Don't you know how to knock?" she cried out. Mark looked down and felt a hot blush rise to his cheeks.
"I'm sorry. I just..."
"How long have you been home?" she asked, crossing her arms.
"A few minutes." he said. He raised his eyes. "I saw Roger walk out of here."
"Oh." April looked relieved. She uncrossed her arms and sat back down on the edge of the bed. "He has a gig tonight."
"So I heard."
April lifted her legs up on the bed and looked away. "Of course, I would ask you to come but you never do."
He ignored the sarcasm in her voice and walked towards the bed. He sat down next to her.
"I went to see a counselor today, April." he said quietly.
She looked at him and he knew that she was trying her hardest to keep her expression still.
"Oh yeah?" April said, keeping her voice emotionless. She looked down and played with her fingers.
"Yeah."
"That's good."
"We talked about Roger and his... his problem."
April nodded without looking up. She spread her fingers out on the blanket in front of her and Mark saw that her hands were shaking slightly. With his heart pounding in his chest, he placed his hand on top of hers lightly.
"He'll be okay, April." Mark said. "I'll make sure of it."
April lifted her eyes and looked at him with her dark, tired eyes. There was a weariness in her gaze, so deep that Mark suddenly felt as if she were hiding something else from him. As if behind her eyes was a weight so heavy nothing he could do would make it lighter for her to carry.
"I believe you, Mark." she said softly.
"I.. I'll take care of you too." he said. He made a face at the awkward sound of his voice; at the awkward words he had uttered. "I mean, you'll be okay too, April."
Her lips twisted up into a grim caricature of a smile and she drew her hand from underneath his.
"No, I won't, Mark." she said. She drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. "But I know you'll take care of Roger. I'm counting on it. I have faith in you, Mark. I'm sticking around until I'm sure he's okay."
Mark frowned and stared at her. "Sticking around until you're sure he's okay? April, what are you talking about..."
April touched her forehead and shook her head.
"God, I'm so tired, Mark." she said, forcing an artificial laugh that Mark could see through.
"I don't know what I'm talking about anymore. I'm babbling nonsense. I just really need to sleep. I've been up since six this morning and I just... I just need to lay down."
Mark wanted to ask her more questions, wanted to sit there and wait until she was forced to talk to him but he knew it would do no good- it would be like torturing her in the exhausted state she was in.
"Okay." Mark said, sighing heavily. He stood up and April looked up at him gratefully.
"Thank you, Mark." she said, leaning back against Roger's pillows.
"For what?"
"Everything." she said.
She stretched out her legs and twisted over on her side. She closed her eyes and Mark stood next to the bed, staring down at her. His eyes traveled from her face to her hands, which were tucked underneath her cheek... before finally settling down on the small black object peeking out from underneath the pillow where she had thrown it.
Why would April have a pager?
"April?" Mark said, wanting to ask.
April's face remained still.
"April?" he said again. When she didn't answer, he took a step forward and bent down to pick it up.
He stopped.
It was none of his business and if April didn't want to tell him, then he had no right to even ask, much less look at it. Mark drew his hand back when April's eyes fluttered open. Mark's mind raced. He tried to think of some excuse, anything, to explain why he was reaching for her pager.
But instead of getting angry, she reached up and pushed her pager deeper underneath the pillow. Her large brown eyes met his gaze and she looked at him solemnly.
"I love you, Mark." she said quietly.
But he could read the other words she didn't say- in her gaze, in her expression.
Don't ask questions you don't really want to know the answers to, Mark.
Do you really want to know?
Mark looked down, surprised, and shuffled his feet, trying his best to ignore the heat that burned his ears.
"I love you too, April."
She closed her eyes again and when Mark saw that she was finally asleep, he walked out quietly, closing the door behind him.
A week later, Mark stared at his bedroom calendar.
January 28th.
He was ready.
They all were.
At least, Mark hoped so.
He sat down at the edge of his bed and stared at his hands.
"I'd better be ready." he said out loud, staring at the cracked, dry skin on the edge of his raw, jagged fingernails. He had started biting his nails again lately- a habit he thought he had kicked back in high school. "Because if I'm not and I go through with this, I'll fuck up not only my relationship with him but his entire life."
"And maybe hers too."
He moaned and rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses.
"God, now I'm talking to myself and my camera isn't even on..."
"Mark?"
He looked up sharply and his glasses clattered to the floor. He got down on his knees and began to pat the floor in search of them. He heard footsteps and then saw a blurry figure crouch down next to him.
"Here, Mark." April's voice said. He turned his head towards her voice. "Lift up your head a little..."
He felt warm fingers brush past his cheeks, the cool metal of his glasses against his ears and then the world grew clear again.
April smiled at him and Mark blushed, pushing his glasses up on his nose with one finger.
"Thanks." he said, standing up. She followed him and shrugged, still smiling slightly.
"No prob." she said. Her smile grew smaller as she looked up at his calendar.
"So today's the day." she said quietly.
He nodded and looked down at his scarf.
"Is he in his room?" he asked.
"Yeah." she said. "He's working on a song right now."
"Maureen and Collins are coming over in a few minutes." Mark said, looking up. "April, are you ready for this? I mean, do you feel...."
She moved past him and sat down on the edge of his bed. Mark sat down next to her and she looked at him earnestly.
"Mark, we've been practicing for a week now." she said. "I'm ready. Are you?"
"Yeah, I think so." Mark said softly.
She seemed relieved and looked down at her fingers, like the way he had been doing before she walked in. He peeked at her face from the corner of his eye.
She seemed happier in the past few days, more so than she had been in the past few months. She even walked differently, with her head held a little higher and the small, secretive smile she wore now had been lingering on her lips lately. Mark had the sinking feeling that she had put all her faith and trust and hope in his ability to help and he did not want to disappoint her.
"Are you ever scared, April?" he asked, after awhile. "That things might not..."
"No." she said quickly. She looked up at him and shook her head. "Things have to work out, Mark. They have to."
"What happens after?" Mark asked suddenly. "When Roger goes to rehab? What are you going to do then? When he comes out? Will you stay or...or...."
April looked down again and the smile disappeared altogether.
"Mark, just worry about Roger." she said softly. She closed one hand over her other wrist and stared at it. "Roger getting off drugs is the most important thing right now. Worry about after- afterwards."
"I just... I just want to make sure you'll be okay." Mark said softly. The next thing he said cut him deeply but he had to make sure she heard what he had to say.
"I know you love him, April, and I know that Roger getting better is all you want right now. But you do have a life outside of him, outside of us here. You deserve so much better than this and I would understand it if... if you decide to go."
Mark looked down and took a deep breath, exhaling it slowly.
"Actually, I think you should go. Back to your family. Or at least far away from us. Before we can wreck your life even more."
"You're not wrecking my life, Mark." April said. She placed her hand over his and he looked up in surprise. It was the first time in a long time that she had reached out to touch him. Her face was serious as she spoke. "And I won't leave. I can't. My life is intertwined with Roger's life now. And it always will be, whether I want it to or not."
Mark didn't understand what she meant but he forced himself to smile at her.
"Since when did you get so poetic?" he asked. "I mean, you said 'intertwined'- isn't that an SAT word or something?"
She flashed one of her rare, beautiful, wide grins and squeezed his hand.
"You don't even want to know what I got on my SAT's." she said.
He opened his mouth to say something when he heard someone knocking on the front door outside. He looked back at April and they looked at each other in silence.
Maureen and Collins had arrived..
Roger's dance was about come to a stop.
"You'd better open the door." April said. "I'll go get Roger."
Mark felt his mouth and throat become dry and parched and he licked his lips and nodded.
"Yeah, you're right." he muttered.
They stood up but as Mark walked towards the door, April grabbed his hand. He looked back.
Her eyes had filled with silent tears and she reached for him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders in a tight, almost desperate embrace. Mark slid his arms around her waist and held her carefully, trying to keep his pounding heart in check.
"I lied, Mark. I am scared." she whispered in his ear. She drew in a shaky breath. "I am so scared."
Mark said nothing but he tightened his grasp on her until he was no longer sure who was holding who. They seemed to be holding each other up, holding each other for support. Time seemed to stop as he held her, simultaneously pushing and pulling her against him.
The knocking outside grew insistent but Mark wanted to ignore it. He wanted this moment to last forever. He wanted to keep inhaling the sweet scent of her shampoo, to keep feeling the warmth that her body radiated, to keep feeling her soft hair against his cheek...
But then she was pulling away from him, staring up at him with her teary doe-like eyes. She sniffed and then wiped her eyes with her hands.
"Things will work out, April." Mark said weakly. "You'll see. Don't be afraid."
She nodded and walked outside, leaving Mark to trail behind her. She threw him one last look, one last glance before she disappeared behind the door of Roger's bedroom.
Mark walked to the front door and opened it.
"Hey guys." he said in a low voice.
"Markie, babe, you don't look so well." Maureen said as Collins and her walked in. She pressed her lips against his cheek and he could smell the faint scent of her lip gloss. It made him feel nauseous.
"I'm fine, Maureen." he said. He stepped away from her, closed the door, and then turned to face them. "You guys know what to do... what to say?"
Collins nodded and leaned against the table.
"Mark, you did a good job pulling this together." he said. His face was more serious than Mark had ever seen it to be and it made Mark feel even more nervous and afraid. It was as if Collins were already practicing the grim expression he would wear when Roger exploded.
"Well, what the fuck is going on here?" Roger's angry voice burst through the quiet like a lightning bolt and the hair on back of Mark's neck bristled in shock.
Roger walked out of his room, scratching his dirty blonde hair. He needed to shave- badly- and his clothes seemed to hang on his body as if he were a human clothes hook. He was wearing a sleeveless t-shirt and his arms, which had been once tanned and muscled, were now only slightly larger variations of April's. His skin was littered with old and new track marks.
He looked horrible.
"What is this?" Roger asked, looking around. "The Brady Bunch reunion?"
He turned around to face April, who had just walked out of his bedroom. She closed the door behind her and looked back at him quietly.
"What the fuck is going on, April?" Roger asked in a soft, dangerous voice. He took a step towards her and Mark saw a brief flicker of fear run through her eyes. She looked at the rest of the group.
"Roger, we have something to tell you." Collins broke in and glanced at Mark and Maureen. Roger looked up at the sound of his voice and a huge grin broke on his thin face.
"Oh shit, Collins!" he said. He moved across the room and threw his arms around the other man, pulling him into a tight hug.
Mark shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He was beginning to panic- things were going completely opposite to what he had intended.
Collins hugged him back and smiled slightly. Roger pulled away and laughed.
"I haven't seen you in... almost a year, right?" he said. He grabbed his friend's arms and squeezed them. The words rushed out of his mouth. "Man, we have to talk! We have to catch up! Have you met my girlfriend April? Oh shit, you've been gone too long, old man!"
Collins smiled again and nodded. "Yes, it has been too long, Roger." he said smoothly. "We can catch up later. There's plenty of time to talk, Roger. Later. Right now, Mark and all of us have something to tell you."
He glanced up at Mark and tilted his head slightly. Roger released his grip on Collins and looked over at Mark. Anger and annoyance clouded his dark blue eyes and he clenched his jaw.
"Goddammit, Mark." Roger said. His voice had lowered considerably. It was strange to watch him change like this- hopping around from one manic emotion to the other. Mark suddenly felt as if the Roger he once knew was long gone and that nothing he could ever do or say could bring him back.
He had the sinking feeling that this was a mistake.
"What the fuck did you tell Collins, Mark?" Roger asked. His head jerked over to where Maureen stood. "And why the fuck is the drama queen here?"
Instead of losing her temper, Maureen only looked at him with a mixture of concern and sadness.
"Roger, I know we never got along." she said, standing up but still keeping her distance. "But that doesn't mean I don't care about you. And you have to see that Mark wants to help you- that he does not want to lose you to this addiction. All of us, me, Mark, Collins and April care for you. That's why we're here."
Roger stared at her in confusion.
Mark took a step towards him despite the fear he felt coursing through his veins.
"Roger, we're here to tell you that you have a problem." he said, marveling at how strangely calm his voice sounded. "You're addicted to heroin. You need help. We want to help you because we all love you and we don't want you to die. And you will die if you keep going down this road."
Roger's jaw dropped and he stared at Mark, more in shock than in anger.
"What the fuck..."
"Roger, Mark is right." Collins said smoothly. He took a step towards Roger. "You have a problem, an addiction. We love you, Roger, and that's why we came here today..."
"No, all of you have the problem, not me!" Roger said. He turned around and stomped towards the his bedroom door but April blocked his entrance.
"Get out of my way, April." he said, glaring at her. Mark moved forward, afraid of what Roger might do.
"No." she said quietly. Her face was still and intense. "They're right, Roger. You have a problem. You need help."
A loud, frustrated howl flew out of Roger's mouth and he reached up and clutched his hair as if he were in pain.
And he probably is in pain, Mark thought. I wonder when his last fix was?
"Jesus Christ, you people are killing me!" Roger screamed. He stomped towards the front door but Mark stepped in front of him.
"Get out of my way, Mark." Roger cried out. "Just stay out of my fucking life!"
"No, Roger." Mark said. He fought to keep his voice steady and controlled. "I won't stay out of your life because you're my bestfriend. At least you were before the drugs took over."
Mark's voice began to waver and grow thick.
"Remember when I turned sixteen? We cut school, you bought me beer with your fake id and we sat on the pier, getting drunk. Remember what we talked about Roger? You told me you wanted to make music.. write songs that everyone would remember long after you were gone. You told me you wanted your life to mean more. More than just the shitty town we lived in. More than what your father told you you'd amount to be. More than all of that. And you told me that no matter what....."
"I'd take care of you." Roger finished for him quietly. His red rimmed eyes looked at Mark dully before Mark realized that they had filled with tears. Mark took a step forward and smiled slightly through his own tears.
"Because you said we were brothers." Mark said. "But you forgot that, sometimes, I'd have to take care of you too. Roger, I love you. You have to trust me now. Please, just trust that everything I'm doing now is to make sure that you do write songs that last forever. Trust that I want to help you make your life mean more. If you keep doing drugs, if you don't get help, then your life would have meant no..."
"Okay." Roger's shoulders drooped and he looked drained. But his eyes remained focused on Mark's. "Okay, Mark."
Mark almost laughed at the relief he felt. His body heaved with the release of the exhaustion he had been feeling.
"We'll pay for rehab, Roger." Collins said. "We'll take care of you in every way you need help."
Roger looked at him gratefully and nodded. He turned around to look at April and the expression on her face was... indescribable.
Extreme, unbridled happiness.
And something else... ?
Mark watched her as she ran towards Roger and threw her arms around his shoulders. Mark thought he saw a hint of another emotion touch her features- sadness. Regret? It seemed out of place next to her smile but once Mark saw it, he couldn't un-see it.
April pulled away from Roger and looked up at his face.
"You promise, Roger?" she asked. She looked eager. Hopeful. "You promise you'll go to rehab? You promise?"
"Yes." Roger said.
She uttered a sound of joy and hugged him again, squeezing her eyes tightly as she did. Tears seemed to flow down her face in a waterfall and she tucked her face against the collar of Roger's t-shirt.
Collins looked over at Mark and smiled and Maureen walked over to where Mark stood and slid her arm around his waist. She leaned her head against shoulder and all three of them watched as Roger and April held each other.
"I'll call a cab." Collins said softly to Mark and Mark nodded without looking at him. "We'll get Roger over there soon."
Mark watched April as she finally pulled away from Roger. She beamed at the others as she wiped her face. She turned around and walked towards the kitchen but Mark knew she wasn't looking where she was going.
"April, watch out!" Mark cried out. April looked up at him and as she did, her hip collided with the kitchen table. Mark's camera, which he had placed on the edge of the table earlier, teetered over the edge and Mark saw it go over.
April gasped and grabbed a corner of it with one hand and miraculously that was enough for her to stop it from crashing down to the floor. Mark pulled away from Maureen and sprinted towards April.
"Oh my God, April, you should have just let it fall!" Mark exclaimed. April looked at him, wincing in pain as she put his camera back on the table. Her palm had been sliced across and her thick, red blood dripped down her arm and onto the floor. He reached for her hand to examine it but to his dismay, she recoiled from him and screamed.
"No, get away from me, Mark! Don't touch me!"
She pressed her wounded hand against her stomach and stared at him with wide, frightened eyes. Her face seemed to grow white.
Mark froze. "A-April, your hand." he stuttered. "I-I just wanted t-to..."
"No!" she cried out again and she took another step back, away from him. "Don't touch me and don't touch your camera! Don't touch my blood!"
Roger walked towards her, confused.
"God, April, you're bleeding pretty bad." he said. Her eyes, which seemed to Mark to be perfectly round, looked at Roger and she shook her head. She took a deep breath to calm herself down.
"It's just a small cut." she muttered. She walked away from both men and grabbed a towel next to the kitchen sink. She pressed it against her hand and shook her head.
"I just... I just don't like the sight of blood, that's all." she said, as if they had asked for an explanation. She walked quickly inbetween Mark and his camera and stared at him.
"Don't touch your camera, Mark. Let me clean it up, okay?" she said firmly. Mark took a step back and nodded.
"Okay, April." Mark said quietly. She looked as if she might burst into tears again if he had said no.
Maureen and Collins walked towards them.
"Honey, that's a pretty bad cut." Maureen said. "Why don't I get you a bandage wrap and let's see if we can stop the bleeding okay?"
April nodded and then shook her head. "But you can't touch me." she said.
Maureen stared at her strangely. "Okay sweetie, if that's what you want. I'll just get the wrap and you can put it on yourself, okay?"
April nodded again and Maureen walked to the bathroom.
"April, it's okay." Collins said soothingly. He seemed to study her face and Mark wondered what Collins was thinking. "Just press the towel against the cut hard. That'll help stop the bleeding while Maureen gets the wrap."
She nodded again.
"Shit, there's nothing in the bathroom." Maureen said, walking back. She looked at Mark and then at Collins. "Why don't we buy some down the street at the corner store? And some disinfectant soap too. I have no idea how you boys manage to live in this place."
"That's a good idea." Collins said. "I can call a cab while you're at it."
Maureen reached out and touched the top of April's arm.
"Come on, come with us." she said kindly. "You look like you're going to pass out if you don't get away from this mess. You need some fresh air."
April moved silently as Maureen pulled her gently away from the small pool of blood on the floor. Then April jerked her arm back and walked quickly towards the kitchen. She picked up another towel, a larger one, and walked back towards the table.
She dropped it over the mess and looked relieved.
"Don't touch it." she said. She looked at Roger and then at Mark. "Let me clean it up when I get back."
"Okay, April." Mark said and Roger shrugged and then nodded.
Maureen took her arm again and this time she walked with her, as compliant as a lamb. Collins glanced back at Mark and Roger before he walked out of the loft.
"Maybe you should help Roger pack some of his stuff?" Collins said. He smiled. "And don't forget his guitar, Mark."
Mark smiled back but only with his lips. He was worried about April, especially about her reaction.
Why had she gotten so upset?
Mark's eyes trailed back to the towel which was slowly soaking up her blood.
He almost turned around to pick it up, to clean it up but couldn't bring himself to move. She had looked so upset, so adamant about no one touching the mess that Mark knew she would have a fit if she came back and saw that it had been cleaned up.
"Good-bye." Collins called out.
Mark watched as he walked through the doorframe.
Collins closed the door behind him.
Roger and Mark were alone.