Disclaimers and summary on first chapter.
Chapter 5 -Enough Dignity To Be Ashamed-
+Roger's POV+
When I wake up Mark is sitting on the end of the bed, his back to me. I move slightly and he turns around, I see his eyes are red. I've never really known Mark to cry, except maybe when I told him I was leaving. He comes over to me, kneeling on the floor beside the bed. He takes my hand and rubs his fingers over it gently. Normally I would pull away, but since it's Mark and the pain in his eyes is evident, I allow it.
"I'm sorry." He whispers. "I don't want you to leave. Please stay here."
I look away. "I'm a junkie, Mark. You don't want me here, remember?" I realize for the first time how badly my hands are shaking. Mark notices and holds my hand tighter.
"I don't want to lose you again."
I pull my hand away. "Stop being so fucking weak. I'm going." I get up to leave. I'm reaching for my guitar case when he grabs my arm.
"I love you."
"You don't know me."
I push him away and head out the door. I need a hit so bad.
Someone touches my shoulder as I'm moving toward the main door.
"I'm going, Ma. . ."
I turn around to see not Mark but a tall black guy. He smiles warmly.
"You're Mark's friend." He says in a deep voice. "How you doing? You were pretty out of it yesterday. I had to help, well I had to carry you here." He laughs. "Mark was basically useless."
"I'm fine." I say, moving to leave.
"Going already? I thought Mark said you were staying."
"Well I'm not!" I don't mean to yell, but I can't ignore the pains in my stomach, my veins, my body anymore.
His expression makes a quick transformation from confusion to an apathetic glare. I know he's staring at my arms. I turn around and once again move toward the door, rubbing my arms self-consciously.
"You'd choose that over him?"
"He doesn't mean anything to me," My voice is harsh, but turns quiet. "Not anymore."
"You mean something to him."
"I have to go."
He sighs but doesn't stop me. I hear him knocking on Mark's door as I'm leaving.
+++
I throw the guitar case down by some garbage cans and start looking for The Man. I really don't want to resort to what he'll want, so I'm hoping to find someone else before him, but there's no one around. He's on his usual corner making a deal with a girl who looks about half my age. She's small and she shivers as he hands her a bag. He sees me and waves me over.
"What'll it be, cutiepie?"
I look at the ground. I still have enough dignity to be ashamed of this.
"I don't have any money."
He laughs and I cringe. It's such a critical and humbling sound. I've done this so many times I've lost count, but each time I lose another piece of my pride. I hope there's never a day I feel nothing. I feel him pulling me into an alley and then his mouth crushing mine. I hardly respond but he doesn't seem to care. He opens my pants and turns me around, my face scraping against the brick wall.
When he's finished I hear the sound of a bag hitting the ground. It doesn't sound very full. Bastard. I re-button my pants and start to limp away when I hear voices behind me. I try to ignore them and the fact that I'm terrified. I feel hands grab me again and my clothes rip. Someone seizes the stash from my pocket. They force me to the ground and I hardly protest. What kind of sick pleasure do people find in doing this? I barely notice the pain and my lack of concern frightens me because it means I'm giving up. I'm going to die someday, alone, in a fucking alleyway. Probably after being raped again or beaten, or having my drugs stolen. Fucking drugs, fucking heroin. Fuck April for getting me into it. Fuck me for allowing it.
Something is being forced into my mouth and I accept it, ignoring their taunts, an ongoing drone of hatred and ridicule. I don't even know them. There are three I think, or maybe just two, but it sounds like more. Someone kicks me and another pushes my head into the ground and then they leave. I'm afraid to move, afraid of what else this alley may hold for me. Cautiously I sit up and grab my pants, but the zipper is broken now. When I pull them on they hang open. I grab the material in my fist and hold it closed, my other arm wrapped around my stomach. Something isn't sitting right inside of it, probably from where they kicked me. I run my fingers over my ribs gingerly but they don't feel broken. I stumble back to where I left my guitar, ready to give up and pass out for the night.
Maybe I have the wrong place, it can't not be here. I knock over the cans in my frustration, then run down the alley, checking behind every can. It's not here.
I want to just give up. I fall to my knees in the middle of the alley, my hands colliding with the cracked cement. I'm lost now. I have nothing. Nothing but a crushing addiction and. . .
And Mark.
How did I ever leave him? Why did I ever leave him? I don't know if I remember how to get there. I start in the general direction, following any street that looks familiar. It's probably been a few hours, it's almost dark now. I'm covered in a cold sweat, my body is shaking. It's been more than two days since I've had a hit. That looks familiar.
I think that's it, maybe. How the fuck do I get in? There's no intercom and even if there was I wouldn't know what to do. Is that the window? There's an open window, maybe it's his. I don't think I have enough energy to yell. I lean against the wall, sliding down it till I'm sitting on the cold pavement. I rest my head in my hands.
It's dark when someone kicks me. Not hard, just a nudge.
"What the fuck?" I look up slightly, my vision tired and blurry. I must have fallen asleep.
"You waiting for someone? Or do you plan on sleeping out here?"
"Both." I say weakly, letting my head fall back against the wall.
"We've got room, if you want to come up. . ."
"Maureen." My voice is so tired and soft.
She stares at me, her eyes narrowed, then they widen with understanding a moment later.
"Holy fuck! Roger!"
I nod feebly. I feel a cough coming on and it drains the last of my strength.
"You're all bloody, what happened? Does Mark know you're here?"
I laugh softly, weakly. "If he knew right now I don't think I'd be out here. But yeah, I was here last night."
She starts tugging on my arm, trying to pull me to a standing position. I stumble, my legs not wanting to support me. This is probably as concerned as I've ever seen Maureen, so though I normally would push off someone trying to help me I take advantage of it. I wonder how she can support my weight, but I look down at my body and realize that I'm fooling myself. I have nothing even vaguely reminiscent of a muscle now, and I haven't eaten properly in weeks. I don't remember when I last looked healthy. I'm sure I scare the hell out of her and that I smell too, but she doesn't say anything about it. She opens the door and helps me up the stairs yelling for Collins, who I can only assume is the tall black guy I saw earlier. He comes down the stairs a few moments later and though his face is grim he pulls me away from Maureen and practically carries me up the stairs.
Mark is standing in the doorway and when he sees me his eyes are round and frightened.
"Roger?" He reaches out a hand but Collins nudges him.
"Look out, Mark."
Mark moves and Collins carries me back into Mark's room. He lays me on the bed and then walks out. I don't really blame him for hating me. I hate me too. Even though it's an old, hard mattress I let out a deep sigh when I feel myself sinking into it. It was only last night but I'd already forgotten the feeling of comfort. Mark comes to my side. He touches my arm uncertainly, then takes my hand. I realize the other is still holding my pants together and I figure it's safe to let go now since I'm lying down. Maureen is standing in the doorway, twirling a piece of hair around a finger. She looks like a little girl when she does it. It makes her seem very pretty.
"Do you need something, Marky? For him?"
"Get him some water, Mo. And another blanket."
She leaves and Mark lays his head down on the bed.
"God Rog, what have you done to yourself?"
+++
Notes: To be perfectly honest, I only have a vague outline of what's going to happen. All I know is the general plot. Why did Mark suddenly get so bitter in the last chapter? That wasn't intentional. Ah well, such is life. I'll update soon, review and let me know what you think so far. Thank you!
Chapter 5 -Enough Dignity To Be Ashamed-
+Roger's POV+
When I wake up Mark is sitting on the end of the bed, his back to me. I move slightly and he turns around, I see his eyes are red. I've never really known Mark to cry, except maybe when I told him I was leaving. He comes over to me, kneeling on the floor beside the bed. He takes my hand and rubs his fingers over it gently. Normally I would pull away, but since it's Mark and the pain in his eyes is evident, I allow it.
"I'm sorry." He whispers. "I don't want you to leave. Please stay here."
I look away. "I'm a junkie, Mark. You don't want me here, remember?" I realize for the first time how badly my hands are shaking. Mark notices and holds my hand tighter.
"I don't want to lose you again."
I pull my hand away. "Stop being so fucking weak. I'm going." I get up to leave. I'm reaching for my guitar case when he grabs my arm.
"I love you."
"You don't know me."
I push him away and head out the door. I need a hit so bad.
Someone touches my shoulder as I'm moving toward the main door.
"I'm going, Ma. . ."
I turn around to see not Mark but a tall black guy. He smiles warmly.
"You're Mark's friend." He says in a deep voice. "How you doing? You were pretty out of it yesterday. I had to help, well I had to carry you here." He laughs. "Mark was basically useless."
"I'm fine." I say, moving to leave.
"Going already? I thought Mark said you were staying."
"Well I'm not!" I don't mean to yell, but I can't ignore the pains in my stomach, my veins, my body anymore.
His expression makes a quick transformation from confusion to an apathetic glare. I know he's staring at my arms. I turn around and once again move toward the door, rubbing my arms self-consciously.
"You'd choose that over him?"
"He doesn't mean anything to me," My voice is harsh, but turns quiet. "Not anymore."
"You mean something to him."
"I have to go."
He sighs but doesn't stop me. I hear him knocking on Mark's door as I'm leaving.
+++
I throw the guitar case down by some garbage cans and start looking for The Man. I really don't want to resort to what he'll want, so I'm hoping to find someone else before him, but there's no one around. He's on his usual corner making a deal with a girl who looks about half my age. She's small and she shivers as he hands her a bag. He sees me and waves me over.
"What'll it be, cutiepie?"
I look at the ground. I still have enough dignity to be ashamed of this.
"I don't have any money."
He laughs and I cringe. It's such a critical and humbling sound. I've done this so many times I've lost count, but each time I lose another piece of my pride. I hope there's never a day I feel nothing. I feel him pulling me into an alley and then his mouth crushing mine. I hardly respond but he doesn't seem to care. He opens my pants and turns me around, my face scraping against the brick wall.
When he's finished I hear the sound of a bag hitting the ground. It doesn't sound very full. Bastard. I re-button my pants and start to limp away when I hear voices behind me. I try to ignore them and the fact that I'm terrified. I feel hands grab me again and my clothes rip. Someone seizes the stash from my pocket. They force me to the ground and I hardly protest. What kind of sick pleasure do people find in doing this? I barely notice the pain and my lack of concern frightens me because it means I'm giving up. I'm going to die someday, alone, in a fucking alleyway. Probably after being raped again or beaten, or having my drugs stolen. Fucking drugs, fucking heroin. Fuck April for getting me into it. Fuck me for allowing it.
Something is being forced into my mouth and I accept it, ignoring their taunts, an ongoing drone of hatred and ridicule. I don't even know them. There are three I think, or maybe just two, but it sounds like more. Someone kicks me and another pushes my head into the ground and then they leave. I'm afraid to move, afraid of what else this alley may hold for me. Cautiously I sit up and grab my pants, but the zipper is broken now. When I pull them on they hang open. I grab the material in my fist and hold it closed, my other arm wrapped around my stomach. Something isn't sitting right inside of it, probably from where they kicked me. I run my fingers over my ribs gingerly but they don't feel broken. I stumble back to where I left my guitar, ready to give up and pass out for the night.
Maybe I have the wrong place, it can't not be here. I knock over the cans in my frustration, then run down the alley, checking behind every can. It's not here.
I want to just give up. I fall to my knees in the middle of the alley, my hands colliding with the cracked cement. I'm lost now. I have nothing. Nothing but a crushing addiction and. . .
And Mark.
How did I ever leave him? Why did I ever leave him? I don't know if I remember how to get there. I start in the general direction, following any street that looks familiar. It's probably been a few hours, it's almost dark now. I'm covered in a cold sweat, my body is shaking. It's been more than two days since I've had a hit. That looks familiar.
I think that's it, maybe. How the fuck do I get in? There's no intercom and even if there was I wouldn't know what to do. Is that the window? There's an open window, maybe it's his. I don't think I have enough energy to yell. I lean against the wall, sliding down it till I'm sitting on the cold pavement. I rest my head in my hands.
It's dark when someone kicks me. Not hard, just a nudge.
"What the fuck?" I look up slightly, my vision tired and blurry. I must have fallen asleep.
"You waiting for someone? Or do you plan on sleeping out here?"
"Both." I say weakly, letting my head fall back against the wall.
"We've got room, if you want to come up. . ."
"Maureen." My voice is so tired and soft.
She stares at me, her eyes narrowed, then they widen with understanding a moment later.
"Holy fuck! Roger!"
I nod feebly. I feel a cough coming on and it drains the last of my strength.
"You're all bloody, what happened? Does Mark know you're here?"
I laugh softly, weakly. "If he knew right now I don't think I'd be out here. But yeah, I was here last night."
She starts tugging on my arm, trying to pull me to a standing position. I stumble, my legs not wanting to support me. This is probably as concerned as I've ever seen Maureen, so though I normally would push off someone trying to help me I take advantage of it. I wonder how she can support my weight, but I look down at my body and realize that I'm fooling myself. I have nothing even vaguely reminiscent of a muscle now, and I haven't eaten properly in weeks. I don't remember when I last looked healthy. I'm sure I scare the hell out of her and that I smell too, but she doesn't say anything about it. She opens the door and helps me up the stairs yelling for Collins, who I can only assume is the tall black guy I saw earlier. He comes down the stairs a few moments later and though his face is grim he pulls me away from Maureen and practically carries me up the stairs.
Mark is standing in the doorway and when he sees me his eyes are round and frightened.
"Roger?" He reaches out a hand but Collins nudges him.
"Look out, Mark."
Mark moves and Collins carries me back into Mark's room. He lays me on the bed and then walks out. I don't really blame him for hating me. I hate me too. Even though it's an old, hard mattress I let out a deep sigh when I feel myself sinking into it. It was only last night but I'd already forgotten the feeling of comfort. Mark comes to my side. He touches my arm uncertainly, then takes my hand. I realize the other is still holding my pants together and I figure it's safe to let go now since I'm lying down. Maureen is standing in the doorway, twirling a piece of hair around a finger. She looks like a little girl when she does it. It makes her seem very pretty.
"Do you need something, Marky? For him?"
"Get him some water, Mo. And another blanket."
She leaves and Mark lays his head down on the bed.
"God Rog, what have you done to yourself?"
+++
Notes: To be perfectly honest, I only have a vague outline of what's going to happen. All I know is the general plot. Why did Mark suddenly get so bitter in the last chapter? That wasn't intentional. Ah well, such is life. I'll update soon, review and let me know what you think so far. Thank you!