Chapter 7: In a Moment

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The sunlight streaming in the window feels warm on my face. I roll over without opening my eyes. I don't want to shatter this moment. I feel good. Better than I've felt in over a month. Almost. . .happy, like the faded memory of a good dream, forgotten as consciousness returns. Finally, the feeling begins to fade, and I open my eyes gradually, wincing as the light sends a sharp pain through my forehead. Mark's standing over me, looking concerned. My heart skips a beat. Mark. Oh, God, Mark.

"Mimi," he says softly, his voice unnaturally strained.

His short blond hair is tousled, standing up in little cowlicks all over his head. He's wearing a pair of old sweat pants, and his shirt is on inside out.

I hurriedly wrap the sheets around myself, suddenly embarrassed.

"We need to talk," Mark says finally, looking at the floor.

"I know." I don't move.

"Ummm. . .I'll let you get dressed." Mark turns and flees the room.

I roll out of bed and stretch. My head is spinning and I feel nauseous. If at all possible, things just got a hell of a lot worse.

I open my closet and stare in without seeing any of the clothes. Finally, I settle on a baggy gray t-shirt and a pair of jeans. The last thing I feel like doing now is being sexy.

Mark's sitting at the kitchen table with one of his numerous screenplays in front of him, drinking coffee and gnawing on a pencil.

I slide into the chair opposite him, trying to think of something to say. Some way to explain.

"I'm sorry." I mutter finally. It's all I can come up with at the moment.

"Do you regret it?" Mark asks bluntly.

I nod helplessly. It's all I can do. Why do I do these things to myself? To the people I love? Sometimes I think I would be doing everyone a huge favor if I dug myself a nice, deep hole in the ground and just never came out again.

Mark looks hurt, angry. I don't blame him.

"Mark. . .look. . .um. . .you should probably get tested. I mean, I know we were safe but—well, there's always a chance that—"

Mark slams his fist down on the table, making me jump and sloshing black coffee all over the table. He takes a deep breath, then lets it out in a long, loud sigh.

"I guess I should've expected as much from you." His voice is cold as ice and the words slice through me, leaving me gasping for breath.

"Mark—I didn't—"

"Shut up!" he shouts, "Just shut up! I'm sick of hearing excuses for why people walk all over me. Let's face it. I'm like a good cleaning product. Easy to use and easy to discard. It's as simple as that."

"Mark, it's not like that!" I plead, "Please give me a chance!"

"You told me you *wanted* to! I believed you. I may be a fool, but it's not like you're without blame either."

He's on his feet now, towering over my chair, eyes wild.

"Is this what you did to Benny?" he asks, "Let me guess, you seduced him and then told Roger he gave you no choice, that you were too weak to resist!"

"Mark, shut the hell up!"

His hand flashes out in an instant to slap me, but I block him and he strikes a glancing blow off my arm. He freezes as though some kind of switch has been turned, and weakly stumbles into the living room, sinking down onto the couch.

"Don't tell Roger," I beg, trying not to cry, "Pleas, please don't tell Roger."

Mark shakes his head.

"No. I won't. Of course I won't tell Roger. This is the last thing he needs to worry about right now."

"Thank you," I manage weakly.

We stay there in silence for a few seconds, me standing, Mark sitting. It's so strange how time seems to change. Last night changed everything in a heartbeat and now I know it'll take months, years to be okay again. Maybe it never will be.

"Damn it, Mark, I'm so sorry. I know there's nothing I can say to you to make it better. Maybe I should just leave. Stay with Maureen until Roger—until I don't need to be here anymore. Then I can find a new place to live, start over somewhere else."

"Santa Fe?" Mark asks softly, "You gonna go the same way Roger did?"

Despite everything, I smile to myself remembering Roger's 'trip' to Santa Fe. How he'd told me later that he hadn't even made it over the state line before turning around and heading back.

"Sure," I agree, "If you want me to."

Mark looks far off, lost in thought.

"You want to tell me your side?" he asks softly, and suddenly I get the feeling that he regrets this as much as I do. After all, he's just betrayed his best friend's trust.

"I. . .don't really know how to explain it. I knew it was wrong, I just. . .couldn't help it. Everything's falling apart."

I close my eyes, trying to block out the memories of the last two months. Everyone haunting the loft for the first few days, offering their sympathy. Roger's stubborn refusal to accept it. It only took him a few days to drive everyone off. He won't even let them visit him in the hospital. Says he doesn't want them to see him sick.

I look back up at Mark. He's still staring expectantly at me. I sigh. I'm so sick of feeling helpless, and yet that's what my entire life has become. Helplessness. Dependency.

"Mark. . .all I can say is that no one's ever treated me the way you did. No one. It was like. . .a dream. Too good to be true, of course. You gave me what I needed. I couldn't help but take it."

Mark nods slowly, and I can see tears glistening in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," I repeat, hating to see him hurt like this, "It's not like I don't care about you, Mark. I just. . .can't. Not like that."

"I'm sorry too," Mark answers finally. "I knew it was wrong too. I never should have let you. . .I never should have let myself. Are you really going to leave?"

"I don't know. Probably. It's not like there's really anything left for me here. And I can't stay here. Not after everything."

Mark shakes his head.

"I never meant for this to happen. I should've know. . .should've thought. . ." he trails off, then gets up and comes over to face me. I cross my arms over my chest.

"I should've known too. All my life I should've know. I never meant for any of it to happen."

"Mimi. . .is there any way we can still be friends?"

"I don't know, Mark. But I'm willing to try."

I lean up and hug him, just for a second. He doesn't hug me back, but he relaxes slightly.

The awkward silence in the loft is interrupted by the phone ringing.

"I'll get it," Mark states, practically sprinting for it.

He listens for only a few seconds before muttering a hurried thank you and hanging up.

"Who was that?" I ask, my heart pounding.

"The hospital." He answers, "We'd better hurry. I don't think we have much time."

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