"How long will you be gone for?"
Mark and Roger were standing on the street corner, just outside their apartment building, waiting for Roger's cab. Mark's mother had agreed to loan Mark the money to pay for Roger's treatment, and so in a few minutes the musician would be placed in rehab for the second – and hopefully last – time in his life.
Roger shrugged and scuffed his feet on the dusty road below him. "It's a thirty day program so I shouldn't be gone for too long." He shrugged again as he shifted his weight and fidgeted with the backpack he held in his hands.
Mark, sensing the musician's discomfort and hesitancy, said, "You're doing the right thing. It's much better this way."
Roger gave a noncommittal nod as a taxi rolled down the street and came to a halt in front of the two men.
The filmmaker shifted his weight nervously and Roger continued to stare at the ground, neither of them knowing how to say goodbye. Finally, Mark wrapped his arms around his friend and whispered, "Call if you need anything," as he felt warm droplets fall onto his shoulder.
Mark tightened his embrace, trying to ignore his own feelings of doubt and confusion, in an effort to make this just a little bit easier on Roger.
Mark knew how much Roger hated rehab. He had been told so dozens of times before after the musician had gotten home that first time. And Mark knew what a big deal it was for Roger to admit that he needed help, and to actually check himself into a treatment center again. Those things, coupled with the soft touches and whispered apologies of the past few days, convinced Mark that Roger was serious this time. That the words weren't just lies, that he really did want help. That he was sorry and wanted to change. And Mark clung onto those reassurances because, right now, it was all he had.
Finally, Roger pulled away and with all the willpower he possessed, he forced himself into the taxi, preparing himself for what he was sure would be the worst thirty days of his life.
Mark stood in that spot for a long time after Roger's cab drove away. Just standing there thinking. Thinking of nothing, and thinking of everything. His mind drifted back to that day three months ago when he and Roger had watched "Hedwig and the Angry Inch" together. The movie had come to play an important part in his life, ever since that night he had threatened to leave the loft for good.
Apparently Roger had taken a liking to the movie as well, because he had gone and bought the soundtrack a mere two days after seeing it for the first time.
"The Origin of Love". That was the song he played over and over and over again. And now Mark could see why.
Sighing, Mark ascended the stairway up to the loft and gently ran his tongue across his lips. Maybe it was his imagination, but he could almost still taste Roger's lips on his own. Feel his warm breath mixing with his, could still feel his pulse quicken as Roger had deepened the kiss…
Neither of them had mentioned it since it happened. Mark was almost beginning to think that it hadn't happened at all; maybe he had dreamt it all up. It had to be a dream. A crazy nightmare. Because Mark Cohen was not gay, and certainly was not in love with his best friend. Best friend. Friends, and nothing more.
Maybe if he kept telling himself that he would believe it.
Mark sighed again and looked up, realizing that he had reached his floor. He turned the key in the lock and flopped down on the couch. He was already bored and Roger had not even been gone ten minutes. It would be a long thirty days.