Chapter Two:

Chapter Two:
Scattering the pieces


The white walls stared back at him. The chair bit into his back. He shuffled his feet.

Shit . . .

How could she?

He played with his hands. He had called the loft, left a message on the machine. He didn't know what to say. How could he know what to say?

"I'm at the hospital . . ."

The mess they'd all see in the bathroom.

Why?

Mark stared at the doors. He had no idea if she would be okay, but he knew that she wouldn't. Even if death wasn't there, she would be far from okay.

Roger.

I'm sorry.

We've got AIDS.

He swallowed.

He had no idea where Roger was. Band practice, roaming the lower East side, looking for another fix . . .

He knew. Fuck it, he knew.

He did nothing.

April had tried to kill herself, maybe succeeding, and he knew that she and Roger had been using. Knew Roger was using before April. Of course then, it was less frequent and he forced himself to not notice, although it was plain as day staring him in the face and easy to see even through a camera lens.

The one time he did mention it taught him to ignore it even more.

He and Roger were the only ones home. April was somewhere else, a friend's, somewhere. Roger blew up, slamming fists, grabbing Mark and shoving him against a wall, telling him never ever to mention what he did with his life again.

He was high, Mark knew. Roger wasn't that violent. Not when he was off drugs, not drunk. Somewhat normal. Sure, he had a temper, but . . .

Mark retreated back to his little corner, helpless, watching his best friend throw his life away. Watched April throw her life away.

Was it only a year ago that they'd just met? That she was innocent, barely 18, and like they all were, running from her family life?

It seemed so far away. So long ago.

He wished someone else were here. That someone else had found her. If he had come home a couple of minutes later, it would have been different.

God, Roger.

How would he handle this?

HIV wasn't a new thing to him, even to Roger. Collins was HIV positive; had been for a couple of years. But he took his AZT and seemed healthy. One look at him and you never knew. Collins wasn't giving up, and Mark admired that more than anything. His look at life was something to look up to.

He knew with Roger it would be different. Looking at Collins, it was hard to believe that he'd die someday. Mark knew about HIV, read a lot about it after Collins had been diagnosed, but still, looking at him, it didn't seen real. No, not real. Not AIDS.

Roger was already a mess. A wasted figure of a human being, drugs in control. HIV could eat him alive.

Eat April alive.

It already has, he told himself. Look where you are.

Right.

Funny, how he always ended up in these situations. He wished Collins were here. Were there. He was the peacemaker. He'd know what to do.

Yeah.

He didn't know whether to try and locate April's family. She rarely talked about them. He'd only heard her mention them once, truly. Listening to Roger strum his guitar in the background, she once told Mark she was the middle child of upper middle class parents. A real disappoint and bother.

He related to it, for her story sounded similar to his own, but April never revealed anything farther.

"Mark!"

A glance up saw Maureen, Collins. Both rushed toward him. Maureen reached out to him and he let himself be embraced. He wouldn't meet their eyes.

"We heard the message," Collins said softly. "I ran into Maureen in the stairwell on my way out."

"Yeah," Maureen echoed, and for a second, it seemed like she had nothing to say.

Silence.

"How is she?" Collins ventured the question. He broke his contact with Maureen.

"I don't know." Deep breath. "Someone should find Roger . . ."

Collins nodded. Maureen sat. Mark swallowed.

"I - I should find him. Tell him, I guess."

"Are you sure, honey?" Maureen asked, looking incredibly uncomfortable in the environment. Maureen was the type of person that was used to managing her own well being. She could care deeply for others, and could be incredibly sweet, two things Mark loved about her, but she tended to still waver toward her selfish ways. Times like these, though, she was at a loss. They all were.

He wondered if they saw the message in the bathroom.

He needed to find Roger.

He got up and shook Maureen off, promising the two he'd be back soon. They said they'd wait. Wait for the doctor, word on April. Pray.

He set out, ready to search all of New York.

He tried every place he could think of, including a confrontation with Roger and April's dealer. He couldn't remember where the band would be rehearsing today, or even if Roger would decide to go or not. He wondered the East village for a while, almost ready to give up

In the end, however, he stumbled upon Roger on accident, when he headed back to the loft to check the answering machine for information from Collins or Maureen. Found Roger in the loft, sitting on the bathroom floor, staring at the mirror, looking very much like he was in shock, frozen to his spot like a block of ice.

Shit.

End of chapter two.


Anyone like this idea? Worth continuing? Reviews are much appreciated.