A/N: 05-09-02—*looks at outline for ch. 6*... Ahh, yes, this should be fun.
The quintessential WDYL (Why Did You Leave?) fight that is vital to any M/R-
centered fic. ;) And you guys all kick ass, incidentally—keep reviewing!
Unless of course you want me to stop writing. In which case, don't flame
me, just keep quiet and I'll get the hint. :P
I'm in shock, I just got 100 on an evil math test. GO ME!!! The excitement isn't lasting though, I'm slightly nervous about my dance performance this weekend. (It's in the 11th Street lot if anyone wishes to attend. ;) Wish me luck.
NYTW Quote-of-the-Week: "Hello, I'm a dyke!" ~Maureen
Disclaimer: These characters belong to J.L., but he has been kind enough to share them with the general public, and that's why we have Rentfic. (Sorry, that's as witty as I can manage tonight.)
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6. [Mark]
"May 10th, eleven a.m., Eastern... etc., etc., you know the drill."
Who was I speaking to, anyway?
"It's been three weeks." The rhythmic, lulling hum of the camera took over for my unusually quiet voice as I groped for an appropriate narrative. "I don't know where she is."
I zoomed in on the assortment of belongings piled in precarious stacks and misshapen pyramids on her dresser, but my hand slipped and the beauty of the shot was lost as the camera's focus dove downward, filming the floor for a split second. My heart wasn't in it today. Could anyone blame me?
"This is her makeup purse," I idly informed any future viewers. "Well, it's more like a duffel bag. I could fit my whole wardrobe in there. Hell, *I* could fit in there."
I lost my focus again, accidentally hitting the power switch. The camera grew silent, and my view through the lens turned black. I didn't bother to turn it back on, but instead slumped down against the side of her bed, allowing sharp, bitter tears to blur my vision, and willing my voice to form one last, unheard cry, as though the spirit she had left behind in her apartment might answer (or at the very least, comfort) me.
"I miss you so much."
Why had everyone I loved ended up leaving me?
My father, when I was nine. I'm not ever sure why I worshipped him as long as I did. He took me to a carnival because my mother told him he didn't spend enough time with me. He yelled at me when I got cotton candy on the seat of his BMW. Three days later, he was gone.
Maureen... no explanation necessary.
Although it wasn't quite the humiliating experience one might imagine. I felt as bad for her as I did for me... then again, that was my nature. She was trembling when she sat me down on the couch and told me she was in love with someone else. A woman. She started crying as soon as she the full intensity of the confession hit her. She said I didn't deserve this. That she never meant for it to happen. And that she was so, so sorry, because she knew how much I'd already been hurt. It was the first time I'd seen her so defenseless. And probably the last.
Roger... almost seven months ago. I'd come to the city, all alone and scared to death, and he'd taken me in and looked after me. And seven months ago he took off... leaving me to take care of someone in return.
And now Mimi. My love. I had no right to be with her, or to love her the way I did, but I didn't care. And now she had vanished into thin air. I didn't know if she was still alive. I didn't know if she was in a warm, secure place somewhere... but something told me she wasn't. *I* was supposed to be that warm, secure place. She always told me I made her feel completely safe. Maybe she didn't really mean it. Maybe I was kidding myself... again.
I always suspected I needed the people I loved more than they needed me.
I gathered myself together and returned upstairs to the loft. Since that night a week ago, when I came home to find him watching my film, I had been working a little less, and Roger and I had been speaking a little more. A little here and a little there, however, didn't seem to make much of a difference. But I knew he was trying. And that's more than I could say for myself.
He looked up from his guitar when I walked in. "Hey." I nodded in reply. "Where have you been?"
"Just went for a walk." I don't know what made me think he'd buy the claim that I'd been walking since four o'clock that morning. In actuality, at four o'clock that morning, I'd crawled out of my room, escaped downstairs to Mimi's apartment, and curled up in her bed.
"For seven hours?"
"Yes!" I snapped. "God, you're acting like my mother."
He placed his guitar gently on the floor beside him, and I knew that this gesture signaled his full attention—and, generally, the start of a completely unnecessary blow-up. "I'm sorry."
Maybe I didn't know him as well as I thought.
"I..." he went on uncertainly. "I just wish you'd tell me where you're going, I was worried."
"This coming from the person who disappeared for six months without a trace." He was silent this time, and I knew my words had gone past the appropriate line and into completely uncalled for. "I'm sorry."
"I told you where I was going."
"A lot of good that did!" I retorted. "Do you even have a clue what it did to us? You just left me to take care of her, neither of us even knew why you were gone. Every night she would ask why. 'Why did he leave, Mark? Didn't he know I loved him?'"
And now I was forgetting what my point was, but it certainly felt a lot better to yell at an actual person instead of a bench in some deserted corner of Central Park.
"Mark... she may look helpless, but she's a big girl. She didn't need anyone to take care of her."
"Yes, she did," I insisted, trying harder to convince myself than him. Of course she needed me. She had to. I wanted her to. And I wasn't going to let him take that away from me. I hadn't meant it as a complaint—I loved taking care of her. I missed it so much it was almost physically painful to think about.
"Fine," Roger answered quietly. "If you two need each other so much, why don't you run off together? Everything seemed to be just peachy before I came back! I guess this is all my fault then, isn't it?!"
So many retorts and curses and comebacks sprang to my lips, but remained trapped there, fighting violently to escape. I wouldn't let them. I was learning quickly, with grave disappointment, that yelling at him didn't make me feel much better, after all.
I grabbed my key, stuffed it in my jacket pocket, and started towards the door.
"That's great, Mark. Just run away. That'll solve everything."
"You seemed to think it would."
"I came back!"
"Well, you shouldn't have!!"
And without allowing myself time enough to regret these words, I marched out, sent the door slamming back to its frame with a trembling resonation, and sprinted down the stairs.
As I sat on a warm, bumpy bench, waiting for the subway, I wondered where exactly I was supposed to be heading. I couldn't stay in the neighborhood. Roger would find me, and somehow I would crumble and allow him to apologize and pretend everything was all right, when it wasn't, and could never be. Collins would be my obvious choice, except he was somewhat in the middle of teaching a class at the moment.
I'm not sure what had happened between Maureen and Joanne and us in the last three weeks. Every time I tried to call them, they were out, or sounded rushed or distant or worried or... God, I don't even know. They probably blamed me for this. And they had every right to. Roger may have been the one who came back and shocked the hell out of everyone, but I was the one who'd been messing around with his girlfriend for a good third of the year. If anyone had driven her away, it was me. Even my own denial wasn't strong enough to challenge that.
I didn't care. If I was desperate, they would understand. They wouldn't turn me away.
I rapped lightly on their door. Joanne, I knew, would be at work. Convenient. Now I would only have to confront one of them... albeit the more difficult one, but still.
The diva appeared in the doorway, purple/red/blue hair pulled back into a loose braid, sporting her usual skintight t-shirt and favorite pair of faded jeans.
"Mark...!"
"Hey," I greeted, my whole self noticeably expressionless.
"Wow, um..." she shuffled her feet nervously. "I didn't know you were going to—"
"Yeah, sorry. Can I come in?"
She shook her head, almost reluctantly. "Honey, this really isn't a good time..."
"It never is," I noted. "You're going to have to stop avoiding me, because I really can't stay in the loft right now and I have nowhere else to go."
She put a hand on my shoulder as I started to step forward, and I halted. "Marky... I really don't think you should be here."
"Why not?!"
As I spoke, a small figure stepped slowly into view behind Maureen. Maureen followed my eyes and turned towards this presence—realizing her attempts had been futile and no longer necessary, she turned back to me, delicately backing out of the way.
Mimi...
[A/N: I really should stop here because I love giving cliffhangers, but that would screw up my chapter-by-chapter outline. Sigh. :P]
We exchanged a most dazed stare between some outrageously excessive ten feet of space. But this space narrowed considerably and rapidly—almost as a reflex, I took a step towards her, and she followed, and within seconds, we were in each other's arms.
It wasn't an embrace of reuniting or joy or even shock. It was just magnetism. She was there, and I was there, and the longer we'd been separated, the closer we needed to be. I could have stayed there all afternoon if certain other factors weren't quite so involved.
"Um..." That was Maureen. "I'm just going, to, uh..."
Mimi and I pulled away, and I turned around to see Maureen gathering her coat and purse and making a beeline for the door.
"Maureen..." She had already postponed her escape upon feeling the intensity of my bewildered stare, and finally turned to face me. "How long has she..."
Her eyes widened, and then fell shut with sudden recognition. "Oh... Marky..."
"Three weeks," Mimi squeaked in a tiny voice.
"WHAT?!"
No... no, no, no. I had been sick with worry and depression and loneliness and anger and... well, some more of all of that... for three entire weeks. And she'd been HERE? Scarcely miles away, right under my nose. And they'd known. They'd known...
Maureen approached me, desperately apologetic, and placed her hand on my arm, which I shrugged off. "Honey, I'm so sorry," she pleaded. "She just couldn't deal with everything, and she asked us not to—"
"The whole time," my voice, independent of my own will but simply desperate to verbalize my thoughts, dully found its way into the air.
Another hand was suddenly on my arm, but this one I couldn't bear to escape from. "Mark, baby, please," Mimi entreated softly. "Don't be mad at her. It's my fault. I made them promise not to tell you."
"Why... why, why would you do that?" I stammered, feeling less coherent by the second. "Do you have any idea how—"
Maureen took my arm and dragged me across the room—which resulted in about three short steps. "Yes," she replied. "Yes, I know, I know how horrible it's been for you, and for Roger, and I'm sorry it had to be like this. But please don't hate me. I can't stand it when you're mad at me."
As I eyed her warily, looking for more signs of deception or secrecy, I found only those electric blue eyes staring back at me, glistening with tears. I glanced at Mimi for guidance, and she nodded slowly. I knew I wasn't going to get out of this without giving in.
"Fine," I mumbled, scuffing the toe of my shoe against the carpet. Maureen threw her arms around me and, for once, kept silent. Over her shoulder, I saw Mimi shooting a relieved smile in our direction. I tried to pull away, but Maureen refused to let me go, so I finally consented and hugged her back. "Um, yeah, I missed you too," I added. "And, um... Maureen, I can't breathe."
She released me, swiping at tears with the back of her hand, and glanced between the two of us with a smile. "Right. Um... I'm just going to go, uh... surprise Joanne on her lunch break."
"Lucky her," I remarked.
Maureen rolled her eyes at me, but unable to let much of anything faze her at the moment, she planted a quick kiss on my lips and grabbed her car keys off the counter before turning to Mimi. "You okay?"
Mimi nodded. "I'll be fine. Thanks."
The drama queen pulled her into another one of those protective, airtight hugs, shot one last smile in my direction, and was out the door.
My eyes turned back to the small figure standing in the middle of the living room, to find her that her gaze was already fixated on me. In the movies, this would be the part where we fell into each other's arms and suddenly found ourselves in the bedroom under a tangle of sheets. However... neither of us really lived in this apartment, for one. And, far more importantly, I was having a very hard time keeping my guilt in check.
This was so much easier when Roger was gone. It seemed so permanent then; after awhile, I don't think either of us believed he was ever coming back. But here he was, and now this person standing in front of me appeared as nothing more than my best friend's girlfriend... whom I certainly had no right being alone with in this way.
She didn't belong to Roger anymore, I told myself. Well, she never had. She didn't belong to anyone. Mimi was not something to be possessed. But he wasn't the one she said goodnight to anymore. She didn't fall asleep in his bed every night, or wake him up with a kiss on Saturday mornings, or go for walks with him in Central Park on Sunday afternoons.
And... Roger wasn't here.
And when I spotted that smile dancing on her lips, I was powerless to resist. We each took a step forward, and then another, and before I had time to react, she had leapt into my arms and covered my mouth with her own. I stumbled backwards into the wall, but somehow managed to carry her over to the couch and set her down, where we both collapsed amongst a heap of pillows.
It was some moments later before I emerged from the intoxicating trance brought on by that kiss, and slowly regained consciousness, one sense at a time. The quiet clicking of a distant, unseen clock. The feel of those bouncing curls of hair between my fingers. The scent of strawberry vanilla shampoo that I recognized as Maureen's. That faint taste of coconut and almond from Mimi's favorite lipstick. And, as I opened my eyes... the tearful gaze that stared back at me.
"Please don't cry," I begged, dropping a kiss on the tip of her nose. "Do you want me to leave?"
She shook her head, clutching fistfuls of my shirt in her hands. "No, don't go anywhere."
And so I stayed, and we watched each other for what felt like a very long, albeit pleasant, time, until my own questions and sub-questions and only- half-related questions became too much, and I simply had to know. "Why did you leave?"
I watched as a tear slid unevenly down her cheek, but I caught it before it dropped, and kissed it away.
"I'm so sorry..." she breathed. "I never meant—"
"I just want to know why."
She sat up, and I allowed an inward sigh to escape. Our beautiful, untarnished moment of reunion was over.
"I couldn't..." she started. "I just knew I wouldn't be able to deal with it. Somehow... I knew, if I stayed, I'd end up losing both of you."
"Ah." I stared at a couch pillow in confusion. "So... by running away, that kept you from losing either of us?"
She shot me The Look, and I recoiled like a puppy who'd just been whacked with a newspaper. It was very multi-purpose, that Look was; it was the Don't-Be-A-Smartass look, the I-Know-What-You're-Thinking-So-Don't look, and the I'm-Going-To-Pretend-You-Didn't-Say-That look. Usually it didn't matter what it was used for—its intent was always fulfilled.
"I just..." I attempted to modify, "I mean, we... I... I barely survived without you."
She stared at my pillow guiltily, which made me feel even worse. I tried to convince myself I was angry with her, but I knew I could never be... and the last thing I wanted to do was make her feel even more guilty.
"I thought you two would have at least had the sense to look out for each other," she noted.
I sprung off the couch, pacing the small space of floor. "How could we?" I demanded. "I hated him for coming back, which I shouldn't have... and he hated me because I knew why you left and wouldn't tell him."
Her eyes met mine. "You didn't tell him about us?"
"No!"
"Oh, God, Mark..." she groaned, falling onto another convenient, stray pillow. I started to say something else, but she beat me to it. "I thought this would at least give him some time to get used to the idea... I can't believe you didn't tell him."
"You try it!" I offered. "In case you haven't noticed, Roger isn't the easiest person to talk to. And it's not fair that I should have to tell him by myself—it takes two to tango, you know. And not to mention—"
I wasn't interrupted (although probably should have been), but stopped abruptly on my own, realizing what I was about to say should not be blurted out lightly, unless I was ready for an answer that could cost me everything.
"What?" she prompted softly.
"Are you still in love with him?"
Silence. Always the worst response.
I refused to look at her, but instead reached for my coat. I then realized I was still wearing it, and, now not only heartbroken but embarrassed, I started for the door. "I should have known."
"Mark!" she leapt off the couch and positioned herself between the door and me, and considering my hand was on the doorknob, there wasn't much space.
"It's all right," I lied, now wanting nothing more than to rid myself of her presence, a blatant, cruel reminder of the one thing I wanted more than anything but couldn't have. "I understand."
Tears sprang to her eyes again, unforeseen. "I'm in love with you," she said simply, as if this were the most regular and obvious fact in the world. "Only you."
I watched her blankly, wondering how to respond to such words as I'd never heard before... and certainly with none of the conviction they carried now. This was not fair. Love, once found, was supposed to be perfect. There weren't supposed to be ex-girlfriends-turned-lesbians who had forever shattered your trust. There weren't supposed to be additional boyfriends who happened to be clueless of the affair. There wasn't supposed to be no heat or electricity and a year's worth of rent and rehab and life threatening diseases and tears...
No tears. We'd had enough.
"I hate fighting with you," I whispered.
"I know."
"You know I love you too."
A tiny smile. "I know."
I kissed her softly. "Will you come home with me?"
She sighed, shaking her head apologetically. But, powerless as I was, I let myself be dragged back to the couch for an explanation. "I can't. Not yet."
Frankly, I'd been expecting a little more. "Can I just tell him you're here?" She started to protest, but I resolved that I was going to get my way at least once. "Mimi, he's worried sick. He's so confused, he doesn't understand, he misses you so much..."
"Okay," she consented, softening her voice. "Okay." She reached over, straightening my shirt collar and smoothing down my ever-rebellious hair. "You should go."
"No," I whined stubbornly,
A grin spread across her lips. "Yes. Maureen will be back soon, and we're going to a movie."
I brushed a curl out of her eyes. "Don't leave me for another woman, 'kay?"
For the first time in three weeks, I was presented with that glowing, all- over smile that seemed to illuminate even the darkest rooms. "I won't," she assured me. "Same goes. You and Roger have always been too close for my peace of mind."
"Oh, shut up!"
[A/N: /tribute to classic slash fics ;)]
She winked at me, brushing her lips against mine briefly before pulling us both off the couch. "I love you. Now go."
"Fine," I pouted. "I'll be back."
"You'd better."
I leaned in for an innocent goodbye kiss, which turned into several longer kisses, which eventually landed us back on the couch, before we both came to our senses and I reluctantly rebuttoned my shirt and left the apartment. The usual longing inside me was now accented with a seemingly interminable grin across my face, for which I received several odd looks on the subway.
I didn't mind one bit.
I'm in shock, I just got 100 on an evil math test. GO ME!!! The excitement isn't lasting though, I'm slightly nervous about my dance performance this weekend. (It's in the 11th Street lot if anyone wishes to attend. ;) Wish me luck.
NYTW Quote-of-the-Week: "Hello, I'm a dyke!" ~Maureen
Disclaimer: These characters belong to J.L., but he has been kind enough to share them with the general public, and that's why we have Rentfic. (Sorry, that's as witty as I can manage tonight.)
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6. [Mark]
"May 10th, eleven a.m., Eastern... etc., etc., you know the drill."
Who was I speaking to, anyway?
"It's been three weeks." The rhythmic, lulling hum of the camera took over for my unusually quiet voice as I groped for an appropriate narrative. "I don't know where she is."
I zoomed in on the assortment of belongings piled in precarious stacks and misshapen pyramids on her dresser, but my hand slipped and the beauty of the shot was lost as the camera's focus dove downward, filming the floor for a split second. My heart wasn't in it today. Could anyone blame me?
"This is her makeup purse," I idly informed any future viewers. "Well, it's more like a duffel bag. I could fit my whole wardrobe in there. Hell, *I* could fit in there."
I lost my focus again, accidentally hitting the power switch. The camera grew silent, and my view through the lens turned black. I didn't bother to turn it back on, but instead slumped down against the side of her bed, allowing sharp, bitter tears to blur my vision, and willing my voice to form one last, unheard cry, as though the spirit she had left behind in her apartment might answer (or at the very least, comfort) me.
"I miss you so much."
Why had everyone I loved ended up leaving me?
My father, when I was nine. I'm not ever sure why I worshipped him as long as I did. He took me to a carnival because my mother told him he didn't spend enough time with me. He yelled at me when I got cotton candy on the seat of his BMW. Three days later, he was gone.
Maureen... no explanation necessary.
Although it wasn't quite the humiliating experience one might imagine. I felt as bad for her as I did for me... then again, that was my nature. She was trembling when she sat me down on the couch and told me she was in love with someone else. A woman. She started crying as soon as she the full intensity of the confession hit her. She said I didn't deserve this. That she never meant for it to happen. And that she was so, so sorry, because she knew how much I'd already been hurt. It was the first time I'd seen her so defenseless. And probably the last.
Roger... almost seven months ago. I'd come to the city, all alone and scared to death, and he'd taken me in and looked after me. And seven months ago he took off... leaving me to take care of someone in return.
And now Mimi. My love. I had no right to be with her, or to love her the way I did, but I didn't care. And now she had vanished into thin air. I didn't know if she was still alive. I didn't know if she was in a warm, secure place somewhere... but something told me she wasn't. *I* was supposed to be that warm, secure place. She always told me I made her feel completely safe. Maybe she didn't really mean it. Maybe I was kidding myself... again.
I always suspected I needed the people I loved more than they needed me.
I gathered myself together and returned upstairs to the loft. Since that night a week ago, when I came home to find him watching my film, I had been working a little less, and Roger and I had been speaking a little more. A little here and a little there, however, didn't seem to make much of a difference. But I knew he was trying. And that's more than I could say for myself.
He looked up from his guitar when I walked in. "Hey." I nodded in reply. "Where have you been?"
"Just went for a walk." I don't know what made me think he'd buy the claim that I'd been walking since four o'clock that morning. In actuality, at four o'clock that morning, I'd crawled out of my room, escaped downstairs to Mimi's apartment, and curled up in her bed.
"For seven hours?"
"Yes!" I snapped. "God, you're acting like my mother."
He placed his guitar gently on the floor beside him, and I knew that this gesture signaled his full attention—and, generally, the start of a completely unnecessary blow-up. "I'm sorry."
Maybe I didn't know him as well as I thought.
"I..." he went on uncertainly. "I just wish you'd tell me where you're going, I was worried."
"This coming from the person who disappeared for six months without a trace." He was silent this time, and I knew my words had gone past the appropriate line and into completely uncalled for. "I'm sorry."
"I told you where I was going."
"A lot of good that did!" I retorted. "Do you even have a clue what it did to us? You just left me to take care of her, neither of us even knew why you were gone. Every night she would ask why. 'Why did he leave, Mark? Didn't he know I loved him?'"
And now I was forgetting what my point was, but it certainly felt a lot better to yell at an actual person instead of a bench in some deserted corner of Central Park.
"Mark... she may look helpless, but she's a big girl. She didn't need anyone to take care of her."
"Yes, she did," I insisted, trying harder to convince myself than him. Of course she needed me. She had to. I wanted her to. And I wasn't going to let him take that away from me. I hadn't meant it as a complaint—I loved taking care of her. I missed it so much it was almost physically painful to think about.
"Fine," Roger answered quietly. "If you two need each other so much, why don't you run off together? Everything seemed to be just peachy before I came back! I guess this is all my fault then, isn't it?!"
So many retorts and curses and comebacks sprang to my lips, but remained trapped there, fighting violently to escape. I wouldn't let them. I was learning quickly, with grave disappointment, that yelling at him didn't make me feel much better, after all.
I grabbed my key, stuffed it in my jacket pocket, and started towards the door.
"That's great, Mark. Just run away. That'll solve everything."
"You seemed to think it would."
"I came back!"
"Well, you shouldn't have!!"
And without allowing myself time enough to regret these words, I marched out, sent the door slamming back to its frame with a trembling resonation, and sprinted down the stairs.
As I sat on a warm, bumpy bench, waiting for the subway, I wondered where exactly I was supposed to be heading. I couldn't stay in the neighborhood. Roger would find me, and somehow I would crumble and allow him to apologize and pretend everything was all right, when it wasn't, and could never be. Collins would be my obvious choice, except he was somewhat in the middle of teaching a class at the moment.
I'm not sure what had happened between Maureen and Joanne and us in the last three weeks. Every time I tried to call them, they were out, or sounded rushed or distant or worried or... God, I don't even know. They probably blamed me for this. And they had every right to. Roger may have been the one who came back and shocked the hell out of everyone, but I was the one who'd been messing around with his girlfriend for a good third of the year. If anyone had driven her away, it was me. Even my own denial wasn't strong enough to challenge that.
I didn't care. If I was desperate, they would understand. They wouldn't turn me away.
I rapped lightly on their door. Joanne, I knew, would be at work. Convenient. Now I would only have to confront one of them... albeit the more difficult one, but still.
The diva appeared in the doorway, purple/red/blue hair pulled back into a loose braid, sporting her usual skintight t-shirt and favorite pair of faded jeans.
"Mark...!"
"Hey," I greeted, my whole self noticeably expressionless.
"Wow, um..." she shuffled her feet nervously. "I didn't know you were going to—"
"Yeah, sorry. Can I come in?"
She shook her head, almost reluctantly. "Honey, this really isn't a good time..."
"It never is," I noted. "You're going to have to stop avoiding me, because I really can't stay in the loft right now and I have nowhere else to go."
She put a hand on my shoulder as I started to step forward, and I halted. "Marky... I really don't think you should be here."
"Why not?!"
As I spoke, a small figure stepped slowly into view behind Maureen. Maureen followed my eyes and turned towards this presence—realizing her attempts had been futile and no longer necessary, she turned back to me, delicately backing out of the way.
Mimi...
[A/N: I really should stop here because I love giving cliffhangers, but that would screw up my chapter-by-chapter outline. Sigh. :P]
We exchanged a most dazed stare between some outrageously excessive ten feet of space. But this space narrowed considerably and rapidly—almost as a reflex, I took a step towards her, and she followed, and within seconds, we were in each other's arms.
It wasn't an embrace of reuniting or joy or even shock. It was just magnetism. She was there, and I was there, and the longer we'd been separated, the closer we needed to be. I could have stayed there all afternoon if certain other factors weren't quite so involved.
"Um..." That was Maureen. "I'm just going, to, uh..."
Mimi and I pulled away, and I turned around to see Maureen gathering her coat and purse and making a beeline for the door.
"Maureen..." She had already postponed her escape upon feeling the intensity of my bewildered stare, and finally turned to face me. "How long has she..."
Her eyes widened, and then fell shut with sudden recognition. "Oh... Marky..."
"Three weeks," Mimi squeaked in a tiny voice.
"WHAT?!"
No... no, no, no. I had been sick with worry and depression and loneliness and anger and... well, some more of all of that... for three entire weeks. And she'd been HERE? Scarcely miles away, right under my nose. And they'd known. They'd known...
Maureen approached me, desperately apologetic, and placed her hand on my arm, which I shrugged off. "Honey, I'm so sorry," she pleaded. "She just couldn't deal with everything, and she asked us not to—"
"The whole time," my voice, independent of my own will but simply desperate to verbalize my thoughts, dully found its way into the air.
Another hand was suddenly on my arm, but this one I couldn't bear to escape from. "Mark, baby, please," Mimi entreated softly. "Don't be mad at her. It's my fault. I made them promise not to tell you."
"Why... why, why would you do that?" I stammered, feeling less coherent by the second. "Do you have any idea how—"
Maureen took my arm and dragged me across the room—which resulted in about three short steps. "Yes," she replied. "Yes, I know, I know how horrible it's been for you, and for Roger, and I'm sorry it had to be like this. But please don't hate me. I can't stand it when you're mad at me."
As I eyed her warily, looking for more signs of deception or secrecy, I found only those electric blue eyes staring back at me, glistening with tears. I glanced at Mimi for guidance, and she nodded slowly. I knew I wasn't going to get out of this without giving in.
"Fine," I mumbled, scuffing the toe of my shoe against the carpet. Maureen threw her arms around me and, for once, kept silent. Over her shoulder, I saw Mimi shooting a relieved smile in our direction. I tried to pull away, but Maureen refused to let me go, so I finally consented and hugged her back. "Um, yeah, I missed you too," I added. "And, um... Maureen, I can't breathe."
She released me, swiping at tears with the back of her hand, and glanced between the two of us with a smile. "Right. Um... I'm just going to go, uh... surprise Joanne on her lunch break."
"Lucky her," I remarked.
Maureen rolled her eyes at me, but unable to let much of anything faze her at the moment, she planted a quick kiss on my lips and grabbed her car keys off the counter before turning to Mimi. "You okay?"
Mimi nodded. "I'll be fine. Thanks."
The drama queen pulled her into another one of those protective, airtight hugs, shot one last smile in my direction, and was out the door.
My eyes turned back to the small figure standing in the middle of the living room, to find her that her gaze was already fixated on me. In the movies, this would be the part where we fell into each other's arms and suddenly found ourselves in the bedroom under a tangle of sheets. However... neither of us really lived in this apartment, for one. And, far more importantly, I was having a very hard time keeping my guilt in check.
This was so much easier when Roger was gone. It seemed so permanent then; after awhile, I don't think either of us believed he was ever coming back. But here he was, and now this person standing in front of me appeared as nothing more than my best friend's girlfriend... whom I certainly had no right being alone with in this way.
She didn't belong to Roger anymore, I told myself. Well, she never had. She didn't belong to anyone. Mimi was not something to be possessed. But he wasn't the one she said goodnight to anymore. She didn't fall asleep in his bed every night, or wake him up with a kiss on Saturday mornings, or go for walks with him in Central Park on Sunday afternoons.
And... Roger wasn't here.
And when I spotted that smile dancing on her lips, I was powerless to resist. We each took a step forward, and then another, and before I had time to react, she had leapt into my arms and covered my mouth with her own. I stumbled backwards into the wall, but somehow managed to carry her over to the couch and set her down, where we both collapsed amongst a heap of pillows.
It was some moments later before I emerged from the intoxicating trance brought on by that kiss, and slowly regained consciousness, one sense at a time. The quiet clicking of a distant, unseen clock. The feel of those bouncing curls of hair between my fingers. The scent of strawberry vanilla shampoo that I recognized as Maureen's. That faint taste of coconut and almond from Mimi's favorite lipstick. And, as I opened my eyes... the tearful gaze that stared back at me.
"Please don't cry," I begged, dropping a kiss on the tip of her nose. "Do you want me to leave?"
She shook her head, clutching fistfuls of my shirt in her hands. "No, don't go anywhere."
And so I stayed, and we watched each other for what felt like a very long, albeit pleasant, time, until my own questions and sub-questions and only- half-related questions became too much, and I simply had to know. "Why did you leave?"
I watched as a tear slid unevenly down her cheek, but I caught it before it dropped, and kissed it away.
"I'm so sorry..." she breathed. "I never meant—"
"I just want to know why."
She sat up, and I allowed an inward sigh to escape. Our beautiful, untarnished moment of reunion was over.
"I couldn't..." she started. "I just knew I wouldn't be able to deal with it. Somehow... I knew, if I stayed, I'd end up losing both of you."
"Ah." I stared at a couch pillow in confusion. "So... by running away, that kept you from losing either of us?"
She shot me The Look, and I recoiled like a puppy who'd just been whacked with a newspaper. It was very multi-purpose, that Look was; it was the Don't-Be-A-Smartass look, the I-Know-What-You're-Thinking-So-Don't look, and the I'm-Going-To-Pretend-You-Didn't-Say-That look. Usually it didn't matter what it was used for—its intent was always fulfilled.
"I just..." I attempted to modify, "I mean, we... I... I barely survived without you."
She stared at my pillow guiltily, which made me feel even worse. I tried to convince myself I was angry with her, but I knew I could never be... and the last thing I wanted to do was make her feel even more guilty.
"I thought you two would have at least had the sense to look out for each other," she noted.
I sprung off the couch, pacing the small space of floor. "How could we?" I demanded. "I hated him for coming back, which I shouldn't have... and he hated me because I knew why you left and wouldn't tell him."
Her eyes met mine. "You didn't tell him about us?"
"No!"
"Oh, God, Mark..." she groaned, falling onto another convenient, stray pillow. I started to say something else, but she beat me to it. "I thought this would at least give him some time to get used to the idea... I can't believe you didn't tell him."
"You try it!" I offered. "In case you haven't noticed, Roger isn't the easiest person to talk to. And it's not fair that I should have to tell him by myself—it takes two to tango, you know. And not to mention—"
I wasn't interrupted (although probably should have been), but stopped abruptly on my own, realizing what I was about to say should not be blurted out lightly, unless I was ready for an answer that could cost me everything.
"What?" she prompted softly.
"Are you still in love with him?"
Silence. Always the worst response.
I refused to look at her, but instead reached for my coat. I then realized I was still wearing it, and, now not only heartbroken but embarrassed, I started for the door. "I should have known."
"Mark!" she leapt off the couch and positioned herself between the door and me, and considering my hand was on the doorknob, there wasn't much space.
"It's all right," I lied, now wanting nothing more than to rid myself of her presence, a blatant, cruel reminder of the one thing I wanted more than anything but couldn't have. "I understand."
Tears sprang to her eyes again, unforeseen. "I'm in love with you," she said simply, as if this were the most regular and obvious fact in the world. "Only you."
I watched her blankly, wondering how to respond to such words as I'd never heard before... and certainly with none of the conviction they carried now. This was not fair. Love, once found, was supposed to be perfect. There weren't supposed to be ex-girlfriends-turned-lesbians who had forever shattered your trust. There weren't supposed to be additional boyfriends who happened to be clueless of the affair. There wasn't supposed to be no heat or electricity and a year's worth of rent and rehab and life threatening diseases and tears...
No tears. We'd had enough.
"I hate fighting with you," I whispered.
"I know."
"You know I love you too."
A tiny smile. "I know."
I kissed her softly. "Will you come home with me?"
She sighed, shaking her head apologetically. But, powerless as I was, I let myself be dragged back to the couch for an explanation. "I can't. Not yet."
Frankly, I'd been expecting a little more. "Can I just tell him you're here?" She started to protest, but I resolved that I was going to get my way at least once. "Mimi, he's worried sick. He's so confused, he doesn't understand, he misses you so much..."
"Okay," she consented, softening her voice. "Okay." She reached over, straightening my shirt collar and smoothing down my ever-rebellious hair. "You should go."
"No," I whined stubbornly,
A grin spread across her lips. "Yes. Maureen will be back soon, and we're going to a movie."
I brushed a curl out of her eyes. "Don't leave me for another woman, 'kay?"
For the first time in three weeks, I was presented with that glowing, all- over smile that seemed to illuminate even the darkest rooms. "I won't," she assured me. "Same goes. You and Roger have always been too close for my peace of mind."
"Oh, shut up!"
[A/N: /tribute to classic slash fics ;)]
She winked at me, brushing her lips against mine briefly before pulling us both off the couch. "I love you. Now go."
"Fine," I pouted. "I'll be back."
"You'd better."
I leaned in for an innocent goodbye kiss, which turned into several longer kisses, which eventually landed us back on the couch, before we both came to our senses and I reluctantly rebuttoned my shirt and left the apartment. The usual longing inside me was now accented with a seemingly interminable grin across my face, for which I received several odd looks on the subway.
I didn't mind one bit.