Disclaimer: Nope. I don't own Mark or anyone except Liz. I don't even own Canada. Plus Ducky gave me a bit of help on the plot. (Though my fingers think differently. It's National Typo Day!)
A/N: I really like POV changes (for prime examples of this strange affinity, check out …And Suddenly the World Tasted Like Fruit Loops (shameless self-promotion. I know) which I am currently working *cough* very *cough* hard *cough* on) don't I? I'm laughing at my own corny-ness, which I won't share with you. Repeating myself is so much fun! Thanks again to Ducky for her bit (ok, A LOT! *grovel*) of help with the plot. So the ending didn't quite turn out right, but at least its done. I can move on. Or go to bed, you choose.
Chapter 6: Run Away
Liz's POV
Chattering voices came from the room we affectionately referred to as the "living room" when I woke up. Mark's side of the bed was empty, and it was three in the morning. I tried to identify the voices. It sounded like Roger, Collins, and Maureen. What were they doing here at this hour? I staggered out to the living room to find it completely empty, save for Mark and his projector. The voices were coming from a film playing on the blank white wall. Mark sat, staring at the wall, with clumps of filmstrips in his shaking hands. Roger paraded across the wall in Maureen's hat and coat, batting his eyes. Maureen ran after him, screaming at him to "Give her the fucking coat!" Collins entered, and the scene faded. The next shot was of a closed bathroom door, and the picture was shaking violently. An unseen hand opened the bathroom door. A flash of red, the camera fell, and I heard a scream. Next was Roger, sobbing and yelling at Mark to turn off the camera for once, that he didn't want this on film.
"Mark." I said, "Mark. Hi. What're you doing?" He spun around, surprised. The look of shock quickly turned from anger, to fear, to sadness and back to shock again. He turned off the projector, which was now showing Roger in the corner of a blank white room with his head on his knees and huge scars covering both of his arms.
"How long were you watching?" He asked, his voice shaking almost as much as his hands.
"Not long. What are you doing? Its 3 AM! And what…" he cut me off, probably because he knew I was going to ask about the bloody bathroom.
"I… I was just watching some old films, that's all. I…uh…couldn't sleep."
"Sure, Mark. What's wrong? And why are you shaking so much?" He was lying, I could tell. His face clearly said, "I'm lying! Catch me!"
"I…nothing's wrong. Just insomnia. Go back to sleep. I think I need to go on a walk." He turned away and began to collect all the filmstrips on the floor.
"Alright, but promise we'll talk later?" I said, hoping I wouldn't regret it. Returning to our room, I lay back down and eventually drifted back to sleep.
Mark's POV
How could I be doing this to her? All she had done was love me. But, yes, that was the problem. I wasn't used to being loved, only loving. Loving to the point of obsession. My old films showed that. Laughter, fun, action, I was never involved. I was obsessed with filming. My camera loved me. Until six months ago, I thought that was enough. And then I thought I needed more, love from something besides an inanimate object. I was wrong though. I don't need love, and love doesn't need me. Out for a walk, I'd said, a really long walk that might just involve a bus or two. A bus to Canada, the land of maple trees. Santa Fe is so cliché. Roger already tried that. Me and my camera. That's all I need, I hope.
Liz's POV
Dear Liz,
I'm so sorry to do this to you. All you did was love me, and it's all my fault. I promised we'd talk later so I'll call you as soon as I get to a phone.
-Mark
Tears dripped onto the yellow paper that the note was written on. He was right, I hadn't done anything but love him. But I had the feeling that loving him was causing the problems. The projector was still sitting where Mark had left it last night, and there were several filmstrips laying on top of it that he'd forgotten to put away. What the hell, I thought, might as well watch them. The first was of Roger packing for Santa Fe (or at least, that's what I thought it was). Not very exciting, as it seemed neither of them were speaking to each other. The next was a game of tackle football with Mimi, Roger, Maureen and Joanne. The third was at the bottom of the stack and had a post-it note attached to it that said,
Liz,
This song is for you. Roger wrote it a few years ago. I thought it fit the situation well.
-Mark
A guitar and a musician appeared on the wall and began to sing:
Open road,
why does love erode?
Get away, you can't stay away!
Look away from
the mirror now - look straight out ahead, that's how.
But how can you let her go?
Let her go.
No, you can't save the world, better save your heart.
Start to close the door,
look for open road.
Open road, why can't I crack loves code?
Time to fly, no time to say goodbye.
Goodbye!
Just try to forget her face,
just get yourself in the race.
There was more, I'm sure, but I couldn't hear it over my sobs. Where had he gone? When would he come back? Would he come back?
Mark's POV
O Canada, O Canada… Here I come. I've got "Open Road" stuck in my head, and I'm cursing Roger for writing it. What's Liz going to tell everyone else? Why can't I just stop thinking about Liz? I just need my camera.
Me and my camera. My camera and me. My camera. I drift off to sleep on the quiet bus. Goodbye.