A/N – Thanks for the reviews. I only got 2 so far, but hey, at least I know someone's reading. I can always use advice and compliments are always nice. I love to know what people think of my writing, whether they like it or not—it always helps me improve. =)

3 Leila

Chapter 3

Mark refused to screen the call. He needed to talk to the hospital as soon as he could.

"Hello?" he answered.

"Mark? That you?" Roger asked, coughing between each word.

"ROGER?" Mark yelled directly into the phone.

"Fuck, Mark! Don't yell in my ear. I have the worst headache. I'm not even supposed to be on the phone. I snuck out of my room."

"Rebel. How do you feel? Are you going to live to see tomorrow?"

"Mark, I'm not dying...physically anyway. Emotionally, I'm dead."

"Roger do us all a favor. Quit the shit. Hey that rhymed!"

"You'll always be a loser Mark Cohen. But, seriously, you don't realize how hard it is to stop. You've always been the goody goody who didn't do drugs or anything. You don't understand, you really don't. Don't preach to me."

"But you were doing so good. You were clean for so long."

"Things were okay then. April left. I've got Erica. What do you expect? What would you do if you were in my place?"

"I don't know."

"They want to send me to some nuthouse. They said I'm a fuckin' manic depressive. They say I'll go to some rehab program there."

"That's great...well...sort of! Did you agree?"

"Fuck no! I'm getting out of this place if it kills me! I'm not a nut and I don't belong in a fucking nuthouse!"

"Rog, this could really help you. You could get clean again. You can start over. You won't be gone for a really long time, will you?"

"They want to keep me in that place for a year! They want to do some fucking research on me! I'm not a fucking lab rat Mark! And they won't let anyone see me! Don't let them make me go."

"I can't stop them. I'm not your parent. You're an adult."

"They can't just carry me off, can they?"

"I don't know. I've never been to a mental institute."

"Maybe you belong in one but I sure as hell don't. They think I tried to kill myself."

Mark didn't know what to say.

"Did you?"

"Try to kill myself? Come on Mark..."

"Come on Roger...You can't run away from your problems by just—ending it all."

"You think they're right don't you! Some best friend I've got!"

Mark looked at Maureen, who could hear screaming through the phone. "He hung up on me," Mark said emotionlessly. "They think he tried to commit suicide with the drugs and the drinking. They want to institute him."

Maureen just stood there. She too, had no idea how to react to such a statement. Maureen never quite understood Roger. If April wasn't in the room, he was a bitter young man. April was the one thing, besides Erica, that made his life worth living and Maureen never understood why. Maybe that was because she wasn't married and didn't have a child, but even so, she was genuinely happy without those things. She was happy living the life she was living with Mark as her boyfriend.

The phone rang again.

Maureen swerved around the table so that she could answer it and give Mark a chance to rest his body and his mind.

"Screen it Maureen," Mark demanded. Maureen backed away from the phone immediately and listened as the answering machine picked up the call.

"Mark? Mark, look, it's me again—Roger."

Maureen left the room so that Mark and the answering machine could have a moment together, alone.

"Man, I'm sorry. I'm so fucked up in every way possible."

Mark couldn't argue that.

"And I'll be honest..."

There was a long pause. "When I was drinking...and shooting up...and all that shit...I was hoping I'd die..."

Mark took his hand and covered his mouth and tried not to scream.

"I know you're there...screening. Don't waste your time. Don't pick up. I'm going to wherever the hell they want me to go...I just want to see my baby before I go. Can you bring Erica over here later? If you don't want to I don't blame you. I wouldn't want to see me either—not like this."

He hung up. Mark knew why. Roger was crying and Roger didn't like to let people know when he needed to cry. Mark wasn't sure if he wanted to return Roger's call. He understood Roger's desire to see Erica, but Roger wasn't supposed to have visitors.

"I can't just smuggle a four-year-old into a hospital," Mark said to Maureen. "and I'm sure I wouldn't be able to smuggle a four-year-old in to see a—er—a—," he stopped mid-sentence. He couldn't bare to call his best friend mental case.

"I know Mark sweetie. You can't bring her in there," Maureen said quietly, staring at her feet.

"First April goes. Now Roger's going. Who the fuck is supposed to take care of Erica?" Mark yelled.

"Mark calm down," Maureen whispered calmly. She sauntered over to him and embraced him. "Don't you think we should? Roger probably assumes we will."

"Assume. That's all he ever fucking does. What if I say 'no' and just refuse to take care of her? She's not my responsibility!"

"No Mark she's not. She's not my responsibility either. But honestly Mark, would you ever say no to her angel face?"

Mark shook his head and plopped on the couch saying, "But what the hell do we tell her when she starts asking where Roger and April are? What are we supposed to tell her Maureen? 'Oh, your mom ran out on you and your dad's in a mental institute! Don't worry they'll be back!' Yeah Maureen if she asks, you tell her because I won't. I don't want to be the one to tell her what kind of fucked up family she's from."

Maureen could sense the anger coming from her boyfriend. Whenever Mark got mad at Roger, he really got angry. Roger was the only one that Mark ever got really upset with. Maureen had always assumed that it was that "brotherly" thing, where they vowed to look out for each other. Maureen snapped out of her thoughts when she heard Erica come out of her bedroom.

"Oh God, here it comes," Mark muttered just loudly enough so that Maureen could hear. Maureen was tempted to hit him, but instead went over to Erica.

"Hey sweetie," she said sweetly.

Erica looked around the loft. Was she hoping to turn around and she April's bright smile? Was she praying that Roger would walk through the door with his arms spread out wide, just so she could run into them and he could scoop her up and twirl her in the air? That wouldn't happen—not for at least another one year, when Roger would return.

"Want to go play?" Maureen asked, not knowing what else to do. "Uncle Mark will play dolls with us if you'd like. Isn't that right Uncle Mark?"

He groaned from behind the couch. This wasn't the time to make him play dolls.

"I drew my daddy a picture. I want to give it to him," Erica explained. "See!"

Erica handed Maureen a piece of white paper. Maureen turned it every which way, trying to make out what Erica had drawn.

"Tell me about it," Maureen finally suggested after giving up trying to figure out what the picture was of.

"That's me in my pretty pink dress," the little girl began. "And that's daddy and his guitar. He's right next to me because he told me he'd never leave me."

Mark peered over the couch at Maureen to see her reaction to this. He could sense the awkwardness Maureen was feeling.

"And mommy's over there," Erica said, pointing to a stick figure with yellow lines for hair who was halfway off the page. "I don't know where mommy is."

Maureen could hear Mark muttering obscenities from the couch across the room.

"I want to give the picture to my dad!" Erica said once again.

"I'll have Uncle Mark give it to him, is that ok?" Maureen asked, hoping the girl wouldn't ask for any details. Luckily, Erica agreed and went skipping through the loft, looking for her jump rope.

Mark ran towards Maureen, and grabbed the drawing out of her hand, wrinkling the paper in the process. Without a word, he stormed through the loft and left. Maureen didn't bother to ask in fear that he would just take his frustrations out on her.

"Can I see Roger Davis? It's an emergency," he said to the old woman at the hospital's front desk.

"And you are?" she asked.

"Mark Cohen. We're...brothers."

"With different last names? Never mind—I won't ask—none of my business."

The woman typed information into the computer and relayed any information she could give out to Mark. He thanked her and ran to room 412 where he would find Roger.

Knock.

Mark slowly opened the door, exposing a rather morbid room. The walls were grey but the paint was peeling. The shades were pulled down and the flowers Maureen had brought Roger were wilted. The balloons Erica had sent her father were deflated and they now were in a pile on the floor.

"Mark? How the hell did you get in here? I'm not supposed to be able to see anyone," Roger explained in shock.

"I need to give you something," Mark said, fumbling through his back pocket. "Here."

Roger watched as Mark unfolded and unwrinkled a white piece of paper. He could tell that there was something on it, but he couldn't make it out from the angle at which he sitting.

"What's this?" he asked as he examined the drawing. "Erica drew this, no doubt."

"How'd you know? I could've drawn it," Mark joked.

"First of all, you may not be an artist, but you draw better than a four- year-old. Secondly, that's her—in her pink dress. She loves that pink dress," Roger said, tearing up a bit at the memories he had with his daughter.

"You're right. How'd you know that was a—an—anything? We couldn't make out a thing—it's just blobs to me."

"Mark, these aren't blobs. It's artwork. Artwork that makes me feel like a shit head."

"Why? Because she drew April hanging off the page because she hasn't been around and she drew you right next to her since you said you'd never leave her?"

"Thanks Mark, I needed that. Is that what she said?"

"Exactly how she put it," Mark said before a long period of awkward silence. "I better be going."

Mark grabbed his coat and patted Roger on the shoulder. He took one last look around the room and walked towards the door.

"Hey—Mark?" Roger called.

Mark turned around. "Yeah?"

"Take care of Erica for me?"

Mark smiled, "Will do. Good luck man."

The two men smiled at each other, but on the inside, they were frowning. They were about to embark on a one year journey without each other. It had finally sunk in to each of them that that was the last time they'd see each other for an entire year.

I hope you liked it. I was going to abandon this story because I couldn't think of where I wanted to go with it, but I decided not to give up on it. Now I have a pretty good idea of where this story is going. Please review =]

- Leila -

PS – I edited the time in the institute from two years to one because (as Kelby pointed out – thanks!) two years did seem extreme. =)