Authors Notes 7/21/02: Aaaaaand....let the angst begin. Huge thanks to everyone who reviewed the last two chapters.
Shout out to Lola and Dulcey for making me write this. Lola, I believe you owe me a tape now. Here is your scene. I hope you like it. :)
**
[3]
**
[Mimi]
Six months ago today, Roger left for Santa Fe.
After he left, I locked myself in my apartment for days. I didn't go to work or out to see any of my friends. The only time I went anywhere at all was to buy myself a fix and that was generally a ten-minute outing. This cycle continued for about a week, until finally there was a knock at my door. I stumbled over to answer it, one of Roger's shirts hanging down around my knees, dark circles under my eyes, with my hair falling in my face. Needless to say, I was not at my most stunning.
It was Mark. He was going to spend the day filming in the park and wanted to know if I would like to come along. I looked up at him, incredulous, through my dark brown hair. I figured people had all but forgotten about my existence. Instead, Mark showed up at my doorstep on a random Sunday morning and wanted me to spend the day with him. I tried to put him off, saying that I was too tired and had plenty to do around the apartment. He just smiled at me hopefully and held up a white paper bag.
"I have bagels," he said, waving the bag temptingly in front of my face. My stomach growled angrily at me-I hadn't eaten much in the past week-and I reluctantly gave in. It looked like it was going to be a fairly nice day anyway. Maybe getting out of the apartment would do me some good.
I quickly got dressed, locked the apartment, and met Mark outside on the sidewalk. He filmed my exit from the building and I looked over at him questioningly.
"You never know," he replied as a way of explaining absolutely nothing at all. I sighed. It was going to be a long, strange day.
We walked over to the park in silence. Occasionally he would stop, turn his camera on, and film something. I would wait for him to finish being inspired, then we would proceed on our walk. After twenty minutes or so of this pattern, we stopped and sat down under a clump of trees. I immediately pounced on the bagels, nearly wrestling the bag out of his hands. He laughed easily, smiling at my immaturity and settling back against a tree to watch me.
I looked up guiltily. "Want one?" I mumbled, my mouth full.
He shook his head. "Nope, they're all yours,"
I grinned. "Thanks."
He just smiled, turning his attention to a couple walking hand in hand down the path. I tried to ignore how happy they seemed. "Mark, I've got to ask. Why did you do this?"
He furrowed his brow, his eyes landing on mine. "Do what?"
I held up a bagel. "This. Just...being nice to me in general."
He closed his eyes, sighing deeply. "I don't know, Mimi. You needed to get out...I needed some company. It seemed like a good idea at the time."
It wasn't until that moment that it struck me just how intensely lonely Mark was. I had always assumed that he was alone by choice; that he was okay with it. But looking at his downcast eyes, his hands fidgeting nervously with the strap of his camera, I realized he was more a victim of circumstance. All of us had paired off without a second thought, not really leaving him with any other options. And as much as I was missing Roger, Mark was missing him too. While I had lost my boyfriend, he had lost his best friend and roommate. Well, I could certainly relate to that.
I looked up at him, smiling shyly. "Thank you for caring, Mark,"
From there, the day got easier. Mark and I got along surprisingly well and had more in common than I would have thought. We talked about our families and our childhood ideas of what we had wanted to be 'when we grew up'. We even talked about Roger a bit, though it was definitely a sore subject. He filmed me feeding birds bits of leftover bagel, and later I curled up next to him in the sun to take a nap.
When I woke up later that afternoon, I saw Mark stretched out on his back in the grass beside me, watching me sleep. I smiled lazily, propping myself up on an elbow. "What?"
He shook his head slightly, sitting up. "Looking at you just now...I have no idea how he could have left."
I reached for his hand, squeezing it slightly. "He left you too, you know,"
With those words, tears began to slip down his cheeks. He swiped at them furiously, and I pulled him into a hug. Before I really knew what was happening he was crushing me to his chest desperately, his body shaking with sobs. I suspected it had been a long time since anyone had truly reached out to Mark. We sat there in the park, crying and clinging to each other, for I don't know how long. Eventually we made our way back to our respective apartments. He hugged me goodbye and I kissed his cheek softly, telling him to take care of himself. He nodded, then headed back up the stairs to the loft.
The next Sunday, around 10 a.m., there was a knock on the door. I was surprised to say the least, but certainly not unhappy about it.
From then on, Mark and I spent every Sunday in the park together, talking and laughing and people watching. We became friends, I think. We certainly grew to depend on each other's companionship. Sometimes, though not often, Mark would show up at my apartment during the week or I would go up to the loft for the night. We'd sit and talk until early in the morning then fall asleep on the couch.
Roger came back from Santa Fe on a Sunday. He turned up early that morning with nothing but a sheepish expression, a thousand apologies, and his guitar; after seeing him I had immediately left my apartment. As happy as I was to see him, I was almost upset at his timing. Sundays were my time with Mark, and I'd grown to love them. I spent the day in the park, alone, hoping that Mark would show up. I desperately needed someone to talk to. But he never did. I can't say that I blame him-his best friend was suddenly home for the first time in months. Meanwhile, I panicked, I didn't go back to my apartment at all during the next week, got horribly sick from living on the street, and the rest, as they say, is history.
Now, almost two months after Roger's glorious return, I'm standing on Mark's doorstep again, not sure whether I should knock or not. I shivered, pulling my coat tighter around my body. Oh, hell. It had been a wretched night, and it certainly wasn't as if I could talk to Roger about it all.
Pushing all doubts out of my mind, I knocked. And waited. And waited.
Finally I just opened the damned door and walked on in.
**
[Mark]
"Mark?"
I spun around, almost dropping my camera in the process. I hadn't even heard the door open. "Mimi?"
She was dressed for going out-tight, glittery, sexy clubbing clothes and her ratty old coat that looked more like carpeting than clothing. I tried to come up with some legitimate reason why she'd show up on my doorstep like some stray cat. Had she and Roger fought again? Was she sick? Her eyes seemed panicked, darting around the room before meeting mine. Finally, I decided to quit staring at her and just find out why she was here.
"What's wrong, Mims?" I asked, setting my camera down on a small table next to the couch and going over to her side.
She shook her head violently, bits of glitter fluttering, shimmering in the moonlight as they drifted towards the floor. Mimi took two steps forward and into a beam of moonlight coming in through the skylight.
My fingers twitched, longing to capture the image in front of me on film. Her face turned an ethereal silver in the moonlight as she looked back at me over her shoulder with a wistful longing playing across her delicate, exotic features. The light bounced off the vinyl of her boots and her eyes glowed with a mixture of determination and fear that I recognized as wholly Mimi.
Somehow, Mimi had made her way into the spotlight without even trying.
"Mark," she began, her wide eyes silently pleading with me. "I have to tell you something."
Her jacket fell to the floor with a muffled thump, pooling around her black stiletto boots. She was left in only a tight, short red skirt and clingy, sparkly black top.
I gulped. I was frozen, feeling for all the world like a fly trapped in a spider's web. In this case, though, the spider was an unbearably sexy, 5'3" Latina stripper in stilettos. I think I'd prefer the poisonous insect, given the choice.
She took a slow, deliberate step toward me, her hips swaying sensually. "You can't say a word to Roger about this."
I nodded dumbly, for lack of anything better to do. My mouth went dry and suddenly I realized my palms were sweaty. My God. I hadn't been this intimidated by a woman since junior high. But then, this wasn't just any girl; this was Mimi. This was the girl who had given me my first lap dance a couple of years ago, before we knew each other. Thankfully, she doesn't remember that. Or, at least I don't think she does.
God, I hope she doesn't.
Suddenly, a tanned forearm interrupted my thoughts. I focused in on her arm, and stood there for a moment, completely bewildered.
Then, everything clicked.
I caressed her arm gently, my fingers trailing up from her slender wrist to the soft skin on the inside of her elbow. My fingers stopped directly beneath a fresh red wound.
A track mark. I should've known.
"God, Mimi," I sighed, my head dropping to my chest. She gathered me into a hug, whispering frantically how it would never happen again, how this was the last time, how she couldn't stand doing this to Roger.
Logically, I knew her relapse would destroy her already somewhat tenuous relationship with Roger. Once again, it seemed it was my job to pick up the pieces.
"I'll help you," I mumbled against her neck, already hating myself for this choice. "But you've got to promise you'll always tell me the truth, or else you're just as well off alone."
She nodded, her nose brushing against my chest. I could feel her hot tears soaking through my white t-shirt and instantly knew that this shirt was ruined. I don't want to be rude, but don't they make waterproof makeup? I don't know how Roger deals with the black smudges all over his shirts.
"Thank you, Mark," Mimi snuffled, attempting to dry her eyes.
I pulled out of her grasp, my hands still resting lightly on her upper arms. "Do you want to stay up here tonight?"
"Yeah, I'd better," she replied. She glanced anxiously at the door.
Roger. Fuck.
"I'll go tell him something," I offered, already heading for the door. "Is he in your apartment?"
She shook her head. "He's out with some people he knew from his band."
Great. Just fucking great. Now I was going to have two relapsed junkies to deal with.
"I'll go stick a note on your door," I decided, beginning the search for a pen and paper. "You can take my bed. I'm fine out here."
Not even waiting for her reply, I grabbed some old stationary of Collins's from his brief stint at MIT, and a pen from some random hotel, then headed out the door.
**
[Mimi]
As soon as Mark left the loft, I began to ransack the kitchen. My buzz from the club had long worn off and right now I wanted to deal with my problems like a healthy, well-adjusted 20-year-old. I was going to drink myself into oblivion. Things always looked better in the morning that way, or at least your problems seemed to pale in comparison to the massive hangover. Either way, I didn't really see how the night could get any worse.
"Aha!" I muttered to myself, spotting an old-but blessedly full-bottle of Absolut in the back of the cabinet over the refrigerator. The boys probably didn't even realize this was here. Reaching the back of the cabinet was going to be a bitch, though. Thank God for being a dancer. I pulled a chair over to the refrigerator, swiftly climbed up on it and hoisted my right leg onto the top of the antiquated appliance. I was still about a foot shy of reaching the bottle. Maybe if I twisted just a bit...
"God, Mimi, what are you doing?" Mark exclaimed. "You're gonna fall!"
No shit. If you sneak up behind me and start screaming, of course I'm going to fall. "I'm fine, Mark," I gritted out, finally grabbing the vodka. The poor man had just gotten one hell of a show. I hopped off of the chair and pushed my skirt back down. Clutching my bottle proudly, I announced, "I now have everything I need to complete the evening."
Mark shook his head, obviously exasperated with me. "Mimi, I really don't think a hangover is going to help anything."
"Oh, there's where you're wrong," I called, uncapping my Absolut and heading into the living room. I took a nice, long pull from the bottle and tried to focus on anything other than the taste of the liquor. God, I hate vodka.
I felt Mark standing behind me, his hands gripping my upper arms. "Jesus, Mimi," he admonished, prying the bottle out of my hands. "Sit down before you fall down."
"I'm fine," I protested meekly. In truth, I was already feeling the delicious warm, tingly sensation that always came with the first shot. Or, in my case, first three.
Mark's brow knit together; his entire face tensed in a look of extreme worry. I immediately felt a wave of guilt wash over me. He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and I let him sit us down on the couch. "Seriously, Mims. Are you okay?"
I nodded, instinctively. I looked at my tight red skirt, and I couldn't help but wonder if perhaps it had originally been intended to be worn as a tube top.
"Mimi," Mark said. His voice had taken on a sharp edge. His hand gently cupped my cheek, and lifted my face to meet his eyes.
Oh, hell. I never could lie to anyone when I looked them straight in the eyes. It was just one of those talents I wasn't lucky enough to possess. My mother had learned this early on in my childhood and ruthlessly exploited it until I moved out on my sixteenth birthday.
"No," I whispered. "I'm not okay."
**
[Mark]
"I'm not okay," I heard Mimi say, her voice catching on the last word. She leaned her head onto my shoulder and I immediately wrapped my arms around her, pulling her into my chest.
"It'll be alright, Mim," I murmured into her hair. "I'll fix everything, and you and Roger will go back to normal, and-"
I was cut off by a huge sob from the woman in my lap. What the hell?
"What's wrong?"
She looked up at me miserably with wet, black eyes. "Roger," she groaned. "The last thing I want is for everything to go back to normal."
Um, okay. Just twenty minutes ago, wasn't she worried that Roger would never forgive her?
"Mimi, I'm really not following," I replied gently. She sighed, then dragged herself out of my embrace. Grabbing the Absolut off of the makeshift coffee table, she poured herself a double shot. This time, I didn't even try to stop her.
She quickly drank the liquor, then poured another; this time sliding the glass my way.
"I don't love him, Mark. Not like I thought I did."
Oh, hell.
I grabbed the glass and took the shot, wincing at the sting as the liquor burned its way down to my stomach. I grabbed the bottle and poured myself another, taking it just as quickly.
Mimi quirked an eyebrow. "Wow."
"Wow yourself," I choked out. "You don't love Roger?"
She shook her head. "I love him, Mark. Very much. But I'm not in love with him," she paused, twisting a dark brown curl around her finger. "But then, we've never been quite right together. We've always fought. We've never trusted each other."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Roger and Mimi seemed like they had finally solved most of their problems in the past month. Granted, they had been fighting lately, but I always thought it was just how they worked. Yes, they fought constantly, but in the end they loved each other; in the end, love was enough. It seemed I was horribly mistaken. "But, when you were sick..."
Mimi shrugged, looking sadly down at her hands. "It got better for a while. But once normality set in, all of our old patterns came back."
My head dropped forward and I took off my glasses, rubbing the bridge of my nose. How could I have been so blind? I saw the two of them nearly every day...for things to be this fucked up and me not to even notice, just how selfish was I?
"That's what happened tonight," she continued quietly. "He yelled at me for dancing with some other guy, and ended up leaving with some people he hardly knew. I have no idea where he is. So, I came up here."
I tossed my glasses carelessly onto the coffee table, watching as they skittered across the surface and hit the bottle with a clink. "I had no idea, Mims," I said. "I'm so sorry. I should have paid more attention...I should have done something."
Mimi chuckled, the hint of a sob creeping into her voice. "You couldn't have, Mark. Even Roger thinks everything is fine." She reached for the vodka again. "Shall we?"
I nodded, noting with amusement at how her wrist shook as she tried to pour a drink and succeeded only in spilling it all over the table. "Well, fuck," she muttered, giving up and drinking straight from the bottle.
I stifled a laugh. That's my girl, I thought wryly, taking the bottle from her and taking a drink myself. I lay back against the soft couch, closing my eyes and relishing the warm, heavy, fuzzy feeling of impending drunkenness. I was going to be severely fucked up in the morning if I kept this up.
Mimi swung her legs over my lap and snuggled up to my chest. I hummed contentedly, nuzzling her hair and noting happily how it smelled like a mixture of jasmine and Mimi. "We'll work everything out, Mimi. Together."
"I know," she replied. I smiled, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. My other hand rested on her boot, right below her knee. My fingers found the zipper on her boots and started working it slowly downward.
"What are you doing?" she asked slowly, her voice barely above a whisper.
My hand stilled. "Taking off your boots," I replied, still whispering. "They can't be comfortable."
"Oh. Okay,"
I worked one boot off her slender calf, then the other. They hit the floor with a loud thump. Mimi flexed her toes, sighing happily. "Thank you,"
I nodded.
Mimi lifted her head off my chest; I felt her eyes closely examining my face. "What is it?" I asked.
"I've never seen you without your glasses before," she replied.
I smiled at her, yet noted how sad this small observation was. Mimi and I had never been very close-there was always the buffer of Roger between us. Now, however, it was Roger who was bringing us together. "What's the verdict?"
"I like it," she said shyly. "You're a beautiful person, Mark."
Where was this coming from? And more importantly, where was all of this going? Her simple, quiet statement was easily the kindest thing anyone has ever said about me. It was time to ask the question that had been nagging me for the past hour.
"Why'd you come up here tonight?"
She shrugged. "I trust you,"
Impulsively, I moved to kiss her cheek. At the last minute she lifted her face to look at me, and our lips made contact. We froze, but neither of us pulled back. Instead, her eyes fluttered open and regarded me with anticipation and fear. Our first kiss was incredible-there were no sparks, no fireworks, no fanfare. It was like melting as our lips met and moved over each other. There was nothing awkward or unnatural about it.
I never knew it could be like that.
The next few minutes flew by in a flurry of kisses, touches, and whispers. We somehow made it back into my bedroom. Hours later, Mimi curled up naked by my side, her hair spilled across my chest, I heard her whisper "I love you, Mark." I answered that I loved her too. It was true-somehow, over the last six hours, I had fallen desperately in love with Mimi.
I just couldn't help but wonder exactly what she meant by that and if she whispered the same thing to Roger every night.
**
Reviews rock my world. :)
Shout out to Lola and Dulcey for making me write this. Lola, I believe you owe me a tape now. Here is your scene. I hope you like it. :)
**
[3]
**
[Mimi]
Six months ago today, Roger left for Santa Fe.
After he left, I locked myself in my apartment for days. I didn't go to work or out to see any of my friends. The only time I went anywhere at all was to buy myself a fix and that was generally a ten-minute outing. This cycle continued for about a week, until finally there was a knock at my door. I stumbled over to answer it, one of Roger's shirts hanging down around my knees, dark circles under my eyes, with my hair falling in my face. Needless to say, I was not at my most stunning.
It was Mark. He was going to spend the day filming in the park and wanted to know if I would like to come along. I looked up at him, incredulous, through my dark brown hair. I figured people had all but forgotten about my existence. Instead, Mark showed up at my doorstep on a random Sunday morning and wanted me to spend the day with him. I tried to put him off, saying that I was too tired and had plenty to do around the apartment. He just smiled at me hopefully and held up a white paper bag.
"I have bagels," he said, waving the bag temptingly in front of my face. My stomach growled angrily at me-I hadn't eaten much in the past week-and I reluctantly gave in. It looked like it was going to be a fairly nice day anyway. Maybe getting out of the apartment would do me some good.
I quickly got dressed, locked the apartment, and met Mark outside on the sidewalk. He filmed my exit from the building and I looked over at him questioningly.
"You never know," he replied as a way of explaining absolutely nothing at all. I sighed. It was going to be a long, strange day.
We walked over to the park in silence. Occasionally he would stop, turn his camera on, and film something. I would wait for him to finish being inspired, then we would proceed on our walk. After twenty minutes or so of this pattern, we stopped and sat down under a clump of trees. I immediately pounced on the bagels, nearly wrestling the bag out of his hands. He laughed easily, smiling at my immaturity and settling back against a tree to watch me.
I looked up guiltily. "Want one?" I mumbled, my mouth full.
He shook his head. "Nope, they're all yours,"
I grinned. "Thanks."
He just smiled, turning his attention to a couple walking hand in hand down the path. I tried to ignore how happy they seemed. "Mark, I've got to ask. Why did you do this?"
He furrowed his brow, his eyes landing on mine. "Do what?"
I held up a bagel. "This. Just...being nice to me in general."
He closed his eyes, sighing deeply. "I don't know, Mimi. You needed to get out...I needed some company. It seemed like a good idea at the time."
It wasn't until that moment that it struck me just how intensely lonely Mark was. I had always assumed that he was alone by choice; that he was okay with it. But looking at his downcast eyes, his hands fidgeting nervously with the strap of his camera, I realized he was more a victim of circumstance. All of us had paired off without a second thought, not really leaving him with any other options. And as much as I was missing Roger, Mark was missing him too. While I had lost my boyfriend, he had lost his best friend and roommate. Well, I could certainly relate to that.
I looked up at him, smiling shyly. "Thank you for caring, Mark,"
From there, the day got easier. Mark and I got along surprisingly well and had more in common than I would have thought. We talked about our families and our childhood ideas of what we had wanted to be 'when we grew up'. We even talked about Roger a bit, though it was definitely a sore subject. He filmed me feeding birds bits of leftover bagel, and later I curled up next to him in the sun to take a nap.
When I woke up later that afternoon, I saw Mark stretched out on his back in the grass beside me, watching me sleep. I smiled lazily, propping myself up on an elbow. "What?"
He shook his head slightly, sitting up. "Looking at you just now...I have no idea how he could have left."
I reached for his hand, squeezing it slightly. "He left you too, you know,"
With those words, tears began to slip down his cheeks. He swiped at them furiously, and I pulled him into a hug. Before I really knew what was happening he was crushing me to his chest desperately, his body shaking with sobs. I suspected it had been a long time since anyone had truly reached out to Mark. We sat there in the park, crying and clinging to each other, for I don't know how long. Eventually we made our way back to our respective apartments. He hugged me goodbye and I kissed his cheek softly, telling him to take care of himself. He nodded, then headed back up the stairs to the loft.
The next Sunday, around 10 a.m., there was a knock on the door. I was surprised to say the least, but certainly not unhappy about it.
From then on, Mark and I spent every Sunday in the park together, talking and laughing and people watching. We became friends, I think. We certainly grew to depend on each other's companionship. Sometimes, though not often, Mark would show up at my apartment during the week or I would go up to the loft for the night. We'd sit and talk until early in the morning then fall asleep on the couch.
Roger came back from Santa Fe on a Sunday. He turned up early that morning with nothing but a sheepish expression, a thousand apologies, and his guitar; after seeing him I had immediately left my apartment. As happy as I was to see him, I was almost upset at his timing. Sundays were my time with Mark, and I'd grown to love them. I spent the day in the park, alone, hoping that Mark would show up. I desperately needed someone to talk to. But he never did. I can't say that I blame him-his best friend was suddenly home for the first time in months. Meanwhile, I panicked, I didn't go back to my apartment at all during the next week, got horribly sick from living on the street, and the rest, as they say, is history.
Now, almost two months after Roger's glorious return, I'm standing on Mark's doorstep again, not sure whether I should knock or not. I shivered, pulling my coat tighter around my body. Oh, hell. It had been a wretched night, and it certainly wasn't as if I could talk to Roger about it all.
Pushing all doubts out of my mind, I knocked. And waited. And waited.
Finally I just opened the damned door and walked on in.
**
[Mark]
"Mark?"
I spun around, almost dropping my camera in the process. I hadn't even heard the door open. "Mimi?"
She was dressed for going out-tight, glittery, sexy clubbing clothes and her ratty old coat that looked more like carpeting than clothing. I tried to come up with some legitimate reason why she'd show up on my doorstep like some stray cat. Had she and Roger fought again? Was she sick? Her eyes seemed panicked, darting around the room before meeting mine. Finally, I decided to quit staring at her and just find out why she was here.
"What's wrong, Mims?" I asked, setting my camera down on a small table next to the couch and going over to her side.
She shook her head violently, bits of glitter fluttering, shimmering in the moonlight as they drifted towards the floor. Mimi took two steps forward and into a beam of moonlight coming in through the skylight.
My fingers twitched, longing to capture the image in front of me on film. Her face turned an ethereal silver in the moonlight as she looked back at me over her shoulder with a wistful longing playing across her delicate, exotic features. The light bounced off the vinyl of her boots and her eyes glowed with a mixture of determination and fear that I recognized as wholly Mimi.
Somehow, Mimi had made her way into the spotlight without even trying.
"Mark," she began, her wide eyes silently pleading with me. "I have to tell you something."
Her jacket fell to the floor with a muffled thump, pooling around her black stiletto boots. She was left in only a tight, short red skirt and clingy, sparkly black top.
I gulped. I was frozen, feeling for all the world like a fly trapped in a spider's web. In this case, though, the spider was an unbearably sexy, 5'3" Latina stripper in stilettos. I think I'd prefer the poisonous insect, given the choice.
She took a slow, deliberate step toward me, her hips swaying sensually. "You can't say a word to Roger about this."
I nodded dumbly, for lack of anything better to do. My mouth went dry and suddenly I realized my palms were sweaty. My God. I hadn't been this intimidated by a woman since junior high. But then, this wasn't just any girl; this was Mimi. This was the girl who had given me my first lap dance a couple of years ago, before we knew each other. Thankfully, she doesn't remember that. Or, at least I don't think she does.
God, I hope she doesn't.
Suddenly, a tanned forearm interrupted my thoughts. I focused in on her arm, and stood there for a moment, completely bewildered.
Then, everything clicked.
I caressed her arm gently, my fingers trailing up from her slender wrist to the soft skin on the inside of her elbow. My fingers stopped directly beneath a fresh red wound.
A track mark. I should've known.
"God, Mimi," I sighed, my head dropping to my chest. She gathered me into a hug, whispering frantically how it would never happen again, how this was the last time, how she couldn't stand doing this to Roger.
Logically, I knew her relapse would destroy her already somewhat tenuous relationship with Roger. Once again, it seemed it was my job to pick up the pieces.
"I'll help you," I mumbled against her neck, already hating myself for this choice. "But you've got to promise you'll always tell me the truth, or else you're just as well off alone."
She nodded, her nose brushing against my chest. I could feel her hot tears soaking through my white t-shirt and instantly knew that this shirt was ruined. I don't want to be rude, but don't they make waterproof makeup? I don't know how Roger deals with the black smudges all over his shirts.
"Thank you, Mark," Mimi snuffled, attempting to dry her eyes.
I pulled out of her grasp, my hands still resting lightly on her upper arms. "Do you want to stay up here tonight?"
"Yeah, I'd better," she replied. She glanced anxiously at the door.
Roger. Fuck.
"I'll go tell him something," I offered, already heading for the door. "Is he in your apartment?"
She shook her head. "He's out with some people he knew from his band."
Great. Just fucking great. Now I was going to have two relapsed junkies to deal with.
"I'll go stick a note on your door," I decided, beginning the search for a pen and paper. "You can take my bed. I'm fine out here."
Not even waiting for her reply, I grabbed some old stationary of Collins's from his brief stint at MIT, and a pen from some random hotel, then headed out the door.
**
[Mimi]
As soon as Mark left the loft, I began to ransack the kitchen. My buzz from the club had long worn off and right now I wanted to deal with my problems like a healthy, well-adjusted 20-year-old. I was going to drink myself into oblivion. Things always looked better in the morning that way, or at least your problems seemed to pale in comparison to the massive hangover. Either way, I didn't really see how the night could get any worse.
"Aha!" I muttered to myself, spotting an old-but blessedly full-bottle of Absolut in the back of the cabinet over the refrigerator. The boys probably didn't even realize this was here. Reaching the back of the cabinet was going to be a bitch, though. Thank God for being a dancer. I pulled a chair over to the refrigerator, swiftly climbed up on it and hoisted my right leg onto the top of the antiquated appliance. I was still about a foot shy of reaching the bottle. Maybe if I twisted just a bit...
"God, Mimi, what are you doing?" Mark exclaimed. "You're gonna fall!"
No shit. If you sneak up behind me and start screaming, of course I'm going to fall. "I'm fine, Mark," I gritted out, finally grabbing the vodka. The poor man had just gotten one hell of a show. I hopped off of the chair and pushed my skirt back down. Clutching my bottle proudly, I announced, "I now have everything I need to complete the evening."
Mark shook his head, obviously exasperated with me. "Mimi, I really don't think a hangover is going to help anything."
"Oh, there's where you're wrong," I called, uncapping my Absolut and heading into the living room. I took a nice, long pull from the bottle and tried to focus on anything other than the taste of the liquor. God, I hate vodka.
I felt Mark standing behind me, his hands gripping my upper arms. "Jesus, Mimi," he admonished, prying the bottle out of my hands. "Sit down before you fall down."
"I'm fine," I protested meekly. In truth, I was already feeling the delicious warm, tingly sensation that always came with the first shot. Or, in my case, first three.
Mark's brow knit together; his entire face tensed in a look of extreme worry. I immediately felt a wave of guilt wash over me. He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and I let him sit us down on the couch. "Seriously, Mims. Are you okay?"
I nodded, instinctively. I looked at my tight red skirt, and I couldn't help but wonder if perhaps it had originally been intended to be worn as a tube top.
"Mimi," Mark said. His voice had taken on a sharp edge. His hand gently cupped my cheek, and lifted my face to meet his eyes.
Oh, hell. I never could lie to anyone when I looked them straight in the eyes. It was just one of those talents I wasn't lucky enough to possess. My mother had learned this early on in my childhood and ruthlessly exploited it until I moved out on my sixteenth birthday.
"No," I whispered. "I'm not okay."
**
[Mark]
"I'm not okay," I heard Mimi say, her voice catching on the last word. She leaned her head onto my shoulder and I immediately wrapped my arms around her, pulling her into my chest.
"It'll be alright, Mim," I murmured into her hair. "I'll fix everything, and you and Roger will go back to normal, and-"
I was cut off by a huge sob from the woman in my lap. What the hell?
"What's wrong?"
She looked up at me miserably with wet, black eyes. "Roger," she groaned. "The last thing I want is for everything to go back to normal."
Um, okay. Just twenty minutes ago, wasn't she worried that Roger would never forgive her?
"Mimi, I'm really not following," I replied gently. She sighed, then dragged herself out of my embrace. Grabbing the Absolut off of the makeshift coffee table, she poured herself a double shot. This time, I didn't even try to stop her.
She quickly drank the liquor, then poured another; this time sliding the glass my way.
"I don't love him, Mark. Not like I thought I did."
Oh, hell.
I grabbed the glass and took the shot, wincing at the sting as the liquor burned its way down to my stomach. I grabbed the bottle and poured myself another, taking it just as quickly.
Mimi quirked an eyebrow. "Wow."
"Wow yourself," I choked out. "You don't love Roger?"
She shook her head. "I love him, Mark. Very much. But I'm not in love with him," she paused, twisting a dark brown curl around her finger. "But then, we've never been quite right together. We've always fought. We've never trusted each other."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Roger and Mimi seemed like they had finally solved most of their problems in the past month. Granted, they had been fighting lately, but I always thought it was just how they worked. Yes, they fought constantly, but in the end they loved each other; in the end, love was enough. It seemed I was horribly mistaken. "But, when you were sick..."
Mimi shrugged, looking sadly down at her hands. "It got better for a while. But once normality set in, all of our old patterns came back."
My head dropped forward and I took off my glasses, rubbing the bridge of my nose. How could I have been so blind? I saw the two of them nearly every day...for things to be this fucked up and me not to even notice, just how selfish was I?
"That's what happened tonight," she continued quietly. "He yelled at me for dancing with some other guy, and ended up leaving with some people he hardly knew. I have no idea where he is. So, I came up here."
I tossed my glasses carelessly onto the coffee table, watching as they skittered across the surface and hit the bottle with a clink. "I had no idea, Mims," I said. "I'm so sorry. I should have paid more attention...I should have done something."
Mimi chuckled, the hint of a sob creeping into her voice. "You couldn't have, Mark. Even Roger thinks everything is fine." She reached for the vodka again. "Shall we?"
I nodded, noting with amusement at how her wrist shook as she tried to pour a drink and succeeded only in spilling it all over the table. "Well, fuck," she muttered, giving up and drinking straight from the bottle.
I stifled a laugh. That's my girl, I thought wryly, taking the bottle from her and taking a drink myself. I lay back against the soft couch, closing my eyes and relishing the warm, heavy, fuzzy feeling of impending drunkenness. I was going to be severely fucked up in the morning if I kept this up.
Mimi swung her legs over my lap and snuggled up to my chest. I hummed contentedly, nuzzling her hair and noting happily how it smelled like a mixture of jasmine and Mimi. "We'll work everything out, Mimi. Together."
"I know," she replied. I smiled, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. My other hand rested on her boot, right below her knee. My fingers found the zipper on her boots and started working it slowly downward.
"What are you doing?" she asked slowly, her voice barely above a whisper.
My hand stilled. "Taking off your boots," I replied, still whispering. "They can't be comfortable."
"Oh. Okay,"
I worked one boot off her slender calf, then the other. They hit the floor with a loud thump. Mimi flexed her toes, sighing happily. "Thank you,"
I nodded.
Mimi lifted her head off my chest; I felt her eyes closely examining my face. "What is it?" I asked.
"I've never seen you without your glasses before," she replied.
I smiled at her, yet noted how sad this small observation was. Mimi and I had never been very close-there was always the buffer of Roger between us. Now, however, it was Roger who was bringing us together. "What's the verdict?"
"I like it," she said shyly. "You're a beautiful person, Mark."
Where was this coming from? And more importantly, where was all of this going? Her simple, quiet statement was easily the kindest thing anyone has ever said about me. It was time to ask the question that had been nagging me for the past hour.
"Why'd you come up here tonight?"
She shrugged. "I trust you,"
Impulsively, I moved to kiss her cheek. At the last minute she lifted her face to look at me, and our lips made contact. We froze, but neither of us pulled back. Instead, her eyes fluttered open and regarded me with anticipation and fear. Our first kiss was incredible-there were no sparks, no fireworks, no fanfare. It was like melting as our lips met and moved over each other. There was nothing awkward or unnatural about it.
I never knew it could be like that.
The next few minutes flew by in a flurry of kisses, touches, and whispers. We somehow made it back into my bedroom. Hours later, Mimi curled up naked by my side, her hair spilled across my chest, I heard her whisper "I love you, Mark." I answered that I loved her too. It was true-somehow, over the last six hours, I had fallen desperately in love with Mimi.
I just couldn't help but wonder exactly what she meant by that and if she whispered the same thing to Roger every night.
**
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