A/N: Sorry it's been taking me so long to update! But here ya go…
ONE WEEK LATER
"Whatcha reading?"
I jumped, startled.
"Sorry," April laughed, sitting down on the couch beside me.
"Could you not read over my shoulder again?" I complained.
April grinned, sheepishly. "Sorry."
"Thank you." I rustled the magazine and opened it up to the page I'd been looking at before being so rudely interrupted.
A few moments later, I looked up again.
April had moved to the little wooden chair across from the couch I was sitting on, sitting on it backwards.
"What?" I snapped.
"What are you reading?" she asked, looking interested.
"None of your business," I retorted.
An amused look came over her face. "Why? You looking at playboy or something?"
"No," I exclaimed, my cheeks flushing.
April laughed. "Then what's the big deal?"
"Fine, you wanna know, here you go," I thrusted the magazine out towards her.
April took it from my hand gently and looked at it. "It's a guitar."
"Yeah, well, it ain't no trumpet" I said, pulling up a chair beside her and glancing at it with her.
"What kind?"
"A Gibson Les Paul."
"A Gibson Les who?"
I laughed. "Gibson's the brand. Les Paul is the name of the guitar."
"Oh." She paused. "Is that the kind you want?"
I shrugged. "My fender's not so bad. Kind of old and beat up. But yeah, it'd be a dream come true to get this baby." I snorted. "Like I could ever get the money for it."
"Maybe you could," April argued.
I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, how? Strumming in the Subway?"
April shrugged. "You never know."
"What are you two lovebirds doing?" Mark asked, entering the room wearing only a pair of red and white plaid boxers.
I winced. "God, Mark! Put some clothes on!"
Mark turned to April. "Am I making you uncomfortable?"
April giggled. "No."
"Right then. I think I'll stay where I am," Mark said, lying down on the couch. "Whatcha doin?"
"Looking at guitars," April told him.
Mark groaned. "Rog, you still staring at that Gibson Les whatever thing?"
"Les Paul," I corrected him.
"Yeah, whatever. A guitar's a guitar."
"Yeah. And a video camera's a video camera."
Mark shrugged. "Touche."
"Here, put this on," I said, tossing a balled up T-shirt at him from off the floor. "We really need to do the laundry," I said, glancing around the apartment. "There's dirty clothes piled up everywhere."
"Yes, mom," Mark mimicked. April laughed and crawled onto the couch beside him.
I frowned. For some reason it bothered me seeing the two of them so lovey-dovey.
"We'll do it tomorrow," Mark said, pulling the T-shirt over his head.
There. He was doing it again. "We'll do it tomorrow."
"So, Rog…you find any jobs to your liking?"
"No," I said, glancing at the folded up newspaper beside me. "I looked in the newspaper but there was nothing that appealed to me."
"So you resorted to staring at a picture of a guitar for twenty minutes," April said.
I looked at her.
She smiled.
I couldn't help but smile back.
Mark rolled his eyes. "Money's money, Roger. Sometimes you just have to do what you can to get some spare change. Whether it's walking someone's dogs or wiping a baby's ass."
"Well I don't see you finding any jobs," I snapped back at him.
His face flushed. "I'm working on it."
"Right." I leaned back in my chair and looked at April. "And what do you plan on doing to make a living?"
"I got a job as a waitress at The Life Café," April answered, automatically.
I gestured my hands toward her. "There you have it. A good hard worker."
"I'm going to get a job, Roger," Mark said. "And so will you."
I shrugged.
Mark stood up. "I'm going to attempt to make us some breakfast. You guys like pancakes?"
"I do. I'll help you," April said, standing up.
"You wanna help, Rog?"
"Nah. I think I'll sit here and stare at this guitar some more," I said, sarcastically.
Mark shrugged. "Suit yourself." He and April trailed off into the kitchen.
Groaning, I reached out with my arm and punched my fist into one of the couch pillows, causing the newspaper to flop over and fall to the ground.
After a moment, I leaned over to pick it up. It had landed so that the Want Ads were facing up.
As I picked it up, an ad caught my eye that I must have missed before.
Wanted- An experienced, but not too professional lead guitarist. Must be comfortable with both acoustic and electric guitars. Style of playing must be hardcore rock- no wimpy country acoustics. Must have decent vocals.
Below that was a phone number to call if interested, and the name of the band. The Well Hungarians.
"Weird name," I murmured to myself.
"Rog, come in! We need a third pair of hands in here!" Mark called from the kitchen.
I ignored him, and continued to stare at the ad.
"ROGER! Come on! What are you doing in there?"
"Nothing," I grinned. "Just found a job, that's all."
***
"How do you know if you're going to get it or not?" Mark asked me later that night.
Roger shrugged. "I've got a feeling, that's all."
"You've got a feeling," Mark repeated, popping the top to a can of beer. "I'd say you have to take a piss is all."
"Hey, you want me to start making money or not?"
Mark shrugged. "Okay, okay." He offered me a sip of his beer.
"No thanks. I have to use the bathroom," I said, getting up.
Mark laughed. "Told you!" he called after me.
Without thinking, I opened the bathroom door without knocking.
"ROGER!"
"Jesus Christ, again?" I exclaimed, relieved to see that she was not in the shower or using the toilet.
"It's called knocking," she snapped. She was fully clothed, and had a washcloth draped around her arm.
"It's called locking the door," I snapped back.
"Where've you been? The lock on this thing is busted."
"What are you doing in here?" I asked, seeing a razor resting on the side of the bathtub.
"Shaving my legs," she said quickly, reaching for the razor with her other arm, knocking it onto the tiles.
She mumbled something under her breath.
"Here, I'll get it," I said, reaching down.
"No, that's okay," she said quickly, trying to grab it before I could reach it. As she did, the washcloth wrapped around her arm fell to the floor, revealing her bare skin, with the sleeve rolled up to the elbow.
I stared in shock.
"Goddamn it," April swore, picking up the towel again and placing it on her arm.
"Where did you get those?" I asked, referring to the several red marks on her arm.
April snorted. "What do you want me to say? I had a run-in with a cat? I cut, Roger."
"You cut…" I said, slowly. Now looking at the tub, I could see a few small drops of blood that had refused to slide down the drain.
"Yes. For about a year now," she sighed.
"Why?" I asked, still in shock.
April shrugged. "My dad. The stress. Whenever I'd get so mad that I could kill him, I'd lock myself up in the bathroom and do it."
"So instead of hurting your dad, you hurt yourself," I said, quietly.
April didn't answer and stared at the floor.
"Wait…if you've been doing it for over a year, how come I didn't see the marks when I first picked you up?" I asked, remembering the sleeveless sundress that she'd had on.
April picked at her cuticles. "My dad sent me to this rehab for two months. He had no proof that I did anything besides cutting…but he wanted to get rid of me, and there was no reason why the doctors there shouldn't have believed him. They let me out two months later, with some prescriptions to fill out," she snorted. "I started up again a few nights ago anyhow."
"The Anti-Depressants," I said to myself, quietly.
"What?"
"That's why you had the Anti-Depressants in your purse."
"Oh, great. You went through my stuff?"
"It fell off the bed in the motel," I snapped. "And I was picking it back up for you. I saw the bottles when they rolled out of your purse."
April rolled her eyes. "Right. I'm sleeping in the same room as a thief."
"And what about me? I'm sleeping in the same room as a girl who cuts herself!"
"Oh, just forget this," she growled. "You wouldn't understand."
"You're right. I probably wouldn't," I snapped, standing to my feet. "And frankly, I don't care to understand ay further."
"Fine," she snapped back at me.
"Fine!" I reached for the doorknob.
"Roger?" April asked in a softer, more collect voice just as I opened the door.
"What?" I said, gruffly.
"Just…don't tell Mark, okay?"
I shook my head. "Right." I exited the bathroom and let the door close loudly behind me.
***
A/N:*Rubs hands together* Ohhhh I have SUCH good plans for this story. The things you think up in a single night. Love? Hate? Reviews are what keep the night oil running!
