A/N (9/26/02): Yes, I realize this is probably the quickest update I have ever done. However, I have decided to be generous since my weekend is going to kick so much ass. So, without further ado, chapter 8. I figure there'll be about 10 chapters all total, and chapter 9 is half written already. So....enjoy the remainder of AtF. God knows I've loved writing it.

Quick Warning: This chapter has some rather un-pretty subject matter. But so does this story in general. Have faith, and all will be resolved in the end.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

**
After the Fall
Chapter 8
**

The door closed behind Mark. I've never been so glad to see him go.

Mimi turned away from me, finding her shorts on the floor by the kitchen. She pulled them on, apparently hoping to bring a bit of decency and normality to the situation. I couldn't think of a single thing that could class up this whole mess.

My hand hurt; I couldn't believe I had hit Mark. Not that he hadn't deserved it-because he had-but because I've never hit Mark. Of course, I'd never had a reason to want to hurt him until today. I hoped that his jaw hurt twice as much as my hand did.

The fan whirred in the background, becoming a maddening sort of white noise.

"How did it happen, Mimi?"

She looked up at me, startled. "Roger, I-"

My throat felt tight, like I was about to burst into tears. Ignoring it, I strode over to Mimi, grabbing her by her upper arms. My voice was rough. My grip on her tightened as I jerked her close to me, forcing her to meet my eyes. "Tell me,"

"Roger, stop," Mimi said, her voice shaking. I stepped closer, looking straight down into her eyes. Her eyes. I shoved her away; she stumbled a couple of steps, then looked up at me. I saw fear in her eyes. Fear and...hurt. Where the hell did she get off being hurt in this situation?

"Tell me you don't love me."

She narrowed her eyes, obviously trying to figure out of I was serious or not. It was amazing how much we had grown apart in the last month. We used to be able to practically complete each other's sentences. We could have been on opposite ends of the country for how much we understood each other at the moment. Mimi walked back over to my side, reaching a hand up to caress my cheek. I tried not to lean into her touch, but failed miserably. I was powerless. But maybe it wasn't over yet. Maybe Mark was a mistake, and maybe she'd realized that.

"I'm sorry, Roger,"

Maybe not.

I grabbed her hand, and pushed her backward, then pulled her back to me. She stumbled again, her feet not quite under her. Her eyes flashed with terror, but I barely noticed as she twisted her body frantically, trying to pull out of my grasp. We both knew she was trapped. I was amazed at the sick sort of satisfaction I got out of this knowledge.

"Roger, let me go," she whimpered, still struggling. Her eyes pleaded with me, but I ignored them. I walked us backwards towards the couch, both of her wrists pinned in my hand. She fought to get away, desperately kicking at me, her eyes wide in disbelief and panic.

Disgusted, I threw her in the general direction of the couch, not especially caring where she landed. She screamed, then there was a crash as she landed on the coffee table. Bits of glass and wood exploded, showering down upon the floor as her body made contact. Then she was still, sprawled out amongst the destruction like an unwanted doll.

Oh my God, what had I done?

**

I was halfway up the stairs when I heard it.

A woman's scream, followed by a large crash.

I'd never heard Mimi scream before.

I ran back down the stairs and flung open the door to her apartment, sending it crashing back against the wall. Immediately, I spotted Mimi lying slumped against what was left of the coffee table, glass shattered and flung everywhere; scattered across the small room like bits of ice, marred only by small drops of crimson. It sparkled, catching the light from the open door and reminding me of Mimi's strange but endearing love of glitter. Other than a small stream of blood coming from various cuts all over her body, she was still. I ran over to her side, hearing nothing but the pounding of my heart and the sound of glass crunching beneath my feet. Sinking to my knees by her side, I didn't even bother to avoid the blood that was accumulating everywhere-on the splintered frame of the table, on the shards of glass, on my white shirt that still hung on her. I pushed her hair back behind her ear and felt for a pulse. She was fine. She would be fine, I corrected myself.

I turned around. Roger stood in a corner on the other side of the room, one arm crossed tightly over his chest, the other trembling hand covering his mouth. His red-rimmed eyes were wide with shock, staring blankly at Mimi's unmoving form.

"What in the hell did you do?" I asked, trying to keep my anger in check.

He shook his head. "I-she-"

"Get the fuck out of here,"

His entire body was shaking at this point. I didn't care. "Mark, I-"

"Get out!" I shouted.

He started to move towards the door. I turned back to Mimi, feeling as if I was sinking into the floor. Her head was drooped onto her shoulder, her lips slightly parted. A small line of blood snaked its way out of the corner of her mouth.

"Meems?" I asked, hearing my own voice crack. I reached a hand up to wipe a smear of blood off of her cheek, but she didn't respond. Pressing my check into her stomach, I began to cry. What in the hell had happened? I heard the door close behind Roger and picked myself up off of Mimi, then lifted her up onto the couch, brushing pieces of glass onto the floor before setting her down. I found a clean dishcloth in the kitchen and headed back into the living room to get some of the blood off of her, feeling physically sick at the sound of glass crunching beneath my feet. The apartment seemed to echo even more than usual.

She moaned, squirming a little when I first started to clean the cuts. But she didn't wake up. I wondered if I should call for an ambulance...I hadn't wanted to, because that would just add to the money we owed but couldn't pay back. Something couldn't really be wrong with her, right? She'd just hit her head. She had a few bruises, a few cuts. But she'd be fine. Right?

God, what if she wasn't?

I began mechanically to clean up what was left of the table; dragging the bigger parts over into a corner where at least she wouldn't see them when she woke up and sweeping up the endless amount of glass. The pieces scraped along the wood floor, but it barely pierced my consciousness. All I could hear was Mimi's scream, then the crash.

I paused, looking down at my hands. They were covered in blood. Her blood.

Oh my God, what was wrong with me?

I ran into the kitchen, turning on the hot water and reaching for the soap. I scrubbed my hands furiously for what felt like hours. My skin started to burn as the water got progressively hotter and hotter, but I didn't care; hot tears began to roll down my cheeks, swirling down the sink with the pink tinted bubbles. I fell to the floor, leaning back against the refrigerator and pulling my knees up to my chest, my wet hands leaving spots all over my khaki pants.

Numbly, I pulled myself up to my feet and turned off the water. I dried my hands and stripped off my blood spotted shirt, dropping it on the floor without a care. I ignored the scratches from Mimi's nails that were on my chest and walked out into the living room. I sat on the edge of the couch, then pulled her into my lap, laying her head on my chest. My jaw throbbed in time with my pulse. Mimi's chest continued to rise and fall.

Sighing, I wrapped my arms around her waist and waited.

**

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