Author's Note: This is my Christmas present to all my faithful readers. ::rereads chapter:: Wow that was depressing. . .I promise there will be more fun stuff soon. . .but ya. . .Merry politically correct holidays to all of you, and I hope you enjoy.

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Chapter 6: It Reaches Way Down Deep

January 10th

"You got back late last night," Roger commented as Mimi walked out of the bathroom, toweling off her hair with one hand.

Mimi looked at him cautiously, then went over to the closet and pulled out a black turtleneck shirt and a pair of black leather pants.

"I told you, I had to work last night."

Roger nodded and folded his arms across his chest.

"Yeah, but you told me your shift ended at midnight. You didn't get home until nearly two."

Mimi turned and glared at him.

"I had to stay late because three of the other girls called in sick with the flu."

"And you couldn't have called me and told me that?"

"Roger, what is this? You need to know where I am at all hours of the day? I can't eve go to *work* without you checking up on me every two seconds?"

Roger took a step toward her, his eyes alight with the fire of controversy.

"Not when 'work' means giving lap dances to whoever is willing to give the best tip. I'm sorry but when my girlfriend sells herself for a living, I can't help but be suspicious. Especially considering your history."

Mimi blinked back tears of anger and betrayal, and walked up to him until she was just inches from his face.

"My history? I didn't make my last girlfriend kill herself!"

Roger flinched as though he'd been physically slapped.

"Leave April the hell out of this!"

"This? THIS? What *is* 'this'?"

"'This' is called discovering that my girlfriend is a lying, cheating, bitch who is willing to use anything to hurt me!"

"No, 'this' is discovering that Roger Davis is an overpossessive, self-centered infant who can't let go of the past and has to drag it into absolutely *everything*!"

Roger stared at her for a moment in utter shock, then turned his back on her.

"Whore." He muttered under his breath. "Who is it this time? Benny again? Or somebody different? Mark?"

"Roger Davis, you turn around and say it to my face!" Mimi growled.

Roger turned around and looked her straight in the eye.

"Whore." His voice was louder this time, more certain.

Mimi stared at him for a moment, her lips twitching with fury. Then, in one lightening fast instant, she slapped him across the jaw.

"Bastard!"

"Whore!" he said again, nearly screaming it this time.

Roger reached out and grabbed Mimi by the arm, throwing her to the ground. She was on her feet again in an instant, leaping up and running out the door as quickly as possible. Roger just stood there, breathing hard. He half-heard the phone ringing, as though it was far away, or in another world.

"Roger!" Mark called from the other room.

"Yeah?" Roger asked, forcing himself to focus.

"It's some guy wanting to know why you're not at practice with the guys!"

Roger shook himself, trying to forget what had just happened.

"Tell him I'll be right there."

Roger snatched up his guitar case and left, forgetting to even grab a jacket.

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"Roger?" Mark called as he heard the door slam. "Roger, something wrong?"

No answer.

Mark shook his head, hung up the phone which was now making obnoxious noises, and picked up his camera. He aimed it at his reflection in the mirror and switched it to 'on.'

"January tenth, twelve pm, Eastern Standard Time. This, folks, is what happens when you're the sane one. You end up, like me. . .alone." He switched off the camera and just stared at himself in the scratched glass.

"Well that was depressing. Great, now I'm talking to myself. I've got to get out of here. Do you know where I can buy a life?" Mark asked his reflection. He shrugged at himself, scrawled a quick note to Roger, and set off for the park.

He kept his camera in its case, searching for a good shot as he walked. He would've like to film all of it, but money was running short lately, and he couldn't afford to buy much more film unless he sold something. Which meant no leisure filming. Project work only. The only problem with that was, Mark had no idea what his next project would be, since nothing he filmed seemed to be in any sort of demand. He'd settled on working on a documentary about hate and intolerance, but decided that it was too close to home for his liking. Now he was back to filming random scenes in the park and on the streets, and hoping someone somewhere someday would give him money for it. Otherwise, he would have to turn to bartending like Roger and forget about filming altogether.

Mark settled on a shot of a girl trying to beg food from a hotdog vendor.

"But I'm only ten cents short!" the girl protested.

The man behind the counter shook his head. He was middle-aged and well past his prime, with oily, graying brown hair and a face wrinkled and leathery from too many hours of selling cholesterol coated papers full of third-quality meat to tourists and people who were too busy with everyone else's problems to take care of themselves.

"Please? Sir, I haven't eaten in three days."

The man shook his head again and crossed his arms across his chest, eyeing her stubbornly.

"What is this? One of those news things where you people rip us off and then make us look like heartless misers?"

"What?" the girl asked, confused.

"Ah, don't act clueless, bitch! You're the one with the camera guy standing behind you. How much you payin' him?"

Mark quickly stashed his camera behind his back and pulled a dime out of his pocket, pretending to find it on the ground.

"Drop this?" He asked, tapping the girl on the shoulder. She turned around to take it from him and he gasped.

"Aimee?"

Aimee eyed Mark suspiciously, took the dime from him, bought her hotdog, then quickly walked toward a bench, motioning for him to follow.

"I know you." She said bluntly. "You're one of Tom's friends. Mark, right? The one who films everything because he's too shy to talk to people?"

Mark nodded, dumbfounded, and stood watching as she wolfed down the hotdog in barely three bites.

"How do you know that?"

She shrugged.

"Tom talks about his friends a lot. You in particular. Says he's worried about you."

It took Mark a moment to find his voice.

"Was-was it true what you said?"

Aimee quirked an eyebrow at him quizzically.

"What?"

"About you not having eaten in three days."

Aimee shrugged.

"Yeah. Hard facts of life."

"I thought you were living with Collins."

"I was. Maybe I still am. Life intervenes, what can ya do? The only thing you can ever be certain of is that nothing will ever go according to plan."

Mark nodded slowly, trying to take it all in.

"So does that mean you haven't been living with him recently?"

"Very good, camera man."

Mark dug through his pockets, scrounging around for change and a few wrinkled bills.

"Can-can I take you to lunch?"

"Where, at that place you people practically own?"

"The Life?" Mark asked nervously. "Yeah."

Aimee grinned at him suddenly.

"Beats the shit they sell around here."

Mark used the short walk to The Life to observe her, stealing sideways glances at her. She was dressed in an old pair of brown jeans and a baggy gray sweatshirt which covered her arms and all but the tips of her fingers. Her hair was tangled, and her face was smudged with dirt. Mark guessed by her appearance that she'd spent the last few days on the street. He wondered silently what her story was.

A few minutes later, Mark found himself sitting in a booth across from her, watching her bolt down a bowl of organic pasta. There was something different about her, he decided. Something hardened. She wasn't afraid to say what she felt, and yet at the same time he sensed in her an incredible apprehension about something. Him? He didn't think so. At least he hoped not. He continued watching her eat and tried to think of something safe to say to her. The more he watched her, the more he noticed her eyes. They were dark, chocolate brown. . .darker even than Mimi's.

"You're beautiful." Mark blurted, then slapped his hand over his mouth.

Aimee froze like she'd just been slapped. She stood up slowly, her eyes darting around.

"I have to go." She stood up, walked out, and was gone. Mark just sat there, staring after her in shock, wondering why nothing ever turned out right for him.

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