Disclaimers and summary on first chapter

Chapter 10 -Do You Ever Do Anything Fun?-

+Mark's POV+

I cough slightly on the air inside the club. I hate smoke. Maureen is pulling on my arm.

"C'mon Marky! The band's starting!"

I roll my eyes, but follow her through the crowd. She pulls me right up front, next to the stage. Roger is just joining the rest of his band, grinning almost shyly at the audience. He catches my eye and his smile becomes more confident.

The sound of this band is far different from what I heard him play at the talent show. The originals they play are harder, a more driving rock, the lyrics meaningless. They seem to enjoy destroying other songs as well by adding heavy guitar solos and a thundering bass line. Roger only sings on about half of the songs and the other guy is horrible. I'm bored by the third song, but Maureen is a regular groupie. I half expect a pair of panties to fly near my head. With that thought I start to move away.

I find my way over to the bar and wonder if I can fool the bartender into giving me something strong.

He glares at me when I sit down.

"No kids over here."

Fuck. I roll my eyes and move away from the bar. I hate being short. I don't want to go back near the stage just yet so I shove my hands in my pockets and find a dark corner to lean in. I really do hate these places. I see someone's left a half full glass of some kind of alcohol on the table near me. Looking around cautiously I go and pick it up. Maybe if I get drunk I won't mind it as much. I hesitantly sip at it. It tastes awful, but the thought of blocking all this shit out is too tempting. I take another sip, a larger one and cough when I pull the glass away.

I finish it and put it back on the table and start searching for more unattended drinks. I lose count eventually and have to start sitting down when I drink them, afraid of the risk of falling if I stood. I lean back heavily in my chair, raising the glass up to my mouth.

"There you are!" Oh fuck.

A hand pulls the glass away from me, and I groan in anger and disappointment. I look up into two pairs of green eyes. It's not Maureen after all, but two Rogers.

"What are you doing?" He sounds amused. But his face doesn't reflect it.

"I feel sick."

"I wouldn't doubt it. C'mon." He grabs me under one arm and pulls me up and starts to lead me somewhere. I find myself in a bathroom. He bends me over the toilet, I feel his hand on my back.

"You alright buddy?"

I start to reply, tell him to just fuck off and leave me alone, but I throw up instead.

"Hey, it's alright. You're ok."

I want to tell him to shut up, that he's not helping, but I wouldn't really mean it. It's kind of nice what's he's doing. I start to sit up and he helps me. He hands me a few paper towels, his eyes wide and round.

"You ok?"

I nod.

He smiles, amused. "You don't need that stuff, Mark. We'll have plenty of fun without it."

I groan. "You sound like a pamphlet."

"Pamphlet? That's a strange word to use if you're smashed." That smile again. His eyes mock me gently. I close my own and then open them, trying to see through my double vision.

"C'mon, 'just Maureen' is waiting. I'll give you guys a ride home. You're too drunk to do anything anyway. Next time, huh?" He says this as he again lifts me up and drags me out of the bathroom. He sounds slightly disappointed, but still happy.

"Jesus, Marky! What the hell did you do?" Maureen rushes to me and touches my arm. I try to look over at her but I feel a pounding in my temple when I move my head so I stop.

"He's just drunk, he'll be fine." Roger tells her. "I'll drive you two home, my car's in the back."

Roger helps me into the backseat, laying me down on the seat. Maureen gets in the front. As we're driving my eyes catch Roger's in the mirror.

"Are you gonna get busted?" He asks.

I try to laugh but instead cough violently. What the hell did I drink?

"Yeah, of course."

He looks nervous. "You know, if you're sober enough to make a phone call you can just stay with me tonight. And we can hang out tomorrow." His expression turns hopeful.

"She'll know." I say. "If I talk to her like this she'll know."

"I'll call for you, Marky." Maureen says. "I'll say you're staying at my house. Helping me with homework." She grins. "That's what you told her about tonight anyway, remember?"

"What if she asks for me?"

She shrugs. "I'll say you're in the shower or something and you'll call her tomorrow. What's the difference if you call from Roger's house or mine?"

"None, I guess." It does sound appealing. At least I know Roger isn't going to give me that 'we're disappointed' speech because of what I did. In fact he'll probably just let me pass out. Which sounds like a excellent idea.

"Alright, sure."

"Great!"

I groan and let my head fall back onto the seat.

+++

I open my eyes slowly.

"Jesus Roger, close the window!"

He laughs. "The blinds are closed. . . Marky."

"Fuck you. God, it's so bright."

"Here, drink some water."

I take the glass. "Will it make my head stop pounding?"

"No, but it'll help get rid of that gross morning after taste in your mouth."

I drink it eagerly, very willing to rid myself of the dry feel of cotton that rests on my tongue. It helps, a little. I sit up more, blinking rapidly and realize I'm on a bed.

"How did I. . ."

"Oh, you passed out there. I figured I'd just let you take my bed. I've got that chair over there in the corner anyway." My eyes follow to where he gestures lazily. There's a large and rather comfortable looking armchair across from the bed.

"Oh, sorry about. . ."

He grins. "Don't worry about it."

Roger's room looks nothing like mine. His bed is just a mattress on the floor. There's a large stereo next to it and beside that a record player. There are various boxes and piles of CDs, cassettes and vinyl spread across the floor in no certain order. On a stand near the door is an electric guitar and a case next to it that I recognize and know holds his acoustic. At the foot of the bed there's a pile of clothes and only a few shirts hanging in his open closet.

My room is always immaculate; my mother would disown me otherwise. I have a bed frame, a nightstand, a dresser and a desk; the wood on all of them matches. All my shirts hang neatly in my closet and anything of mine that doesn't fit into this neat little mold is in coordinated boxes in the bottom of my closet. I hope I never have to bring him to my room

The rest of Roger's house is similar. Not in quite as much disarray, but carelessly organized none-the-less. He's not as well off as my family is and as I walk however unsteadily through his house I start to like it. It looks comfortable, lived in. My house reminds me of a museum.

"Want some cereal?"

"What?"

"Cereal." He holds up a box of Captain Crunch and shakes it at me, always that same look of general amusement. We never eat cereal for breakfast in my house.

"Sure." It's like visiting a foreign country here.

"Where are your parents?"

"My mom's at work. She leaves really early. My dad doesn't live with us anymore."

He says it offhandedly, dismissively. I stare at him, our eyes burning into each others.

"Why?" I ask, trying to seem innocent.

For the first time since I've known him he looks almost angry, his face has darkened.

"I'd rather not talk about it." His voice is cold, the tone telling me to back off.

I shrug and take the bowl he hands me. His mood stays for a moment, then he looks at me hesitantly.

"You feeling any better, you want to do something?" He grins. "I have a car, remember? We can go somewhere."

I'd really rather go home, but then I remember my parents would be there, ready with questions and accusations, that I had a backpack full of homework I had yet to do and he had let me sleep, drunk and passed out, in his bed last night.

"Sure. Where?"

He thinks for a moment, then goes across the room and pulls a box out of one of the boxes of vinyl. There's money in it. He counts it out and then looks up at me.

"Any flow?"

I pull a twenty and a ten out of my pocket.

He grins again, wider this time. "Let's drive to the city."

"What city?"

He rolls his eyes. "What city? New York!"

He smiles even more. "Let's get a really cheap motel room and spend the night. Then we can have all day tomorrow to hang out and walk around."

"Tomorrow's Monday."

"So?"

"We've got school."

He laughs. "So?"

"My mother. . ."

"Do you ever do anything fun?"

"No." I answer honestly.

"Tell her you're staying with Maureen again or something."

I'm shaking my head. "She's not going to like it."

"As far as she knows, you're still going to go to school. We'll call ourselves out tomorrow."

"You can do that?"

He rolls his eyes. "Well if you want to be technical, no, but you don't tell them it's you calling."

"Then who?"

"Say it's your dad, genius." He smiles and gives me a gentle punch in the arm. "C'mon, we'll stop by your house so you can get some clothes or whatever."

"Won't your mom care?"

"I'll call her later, say I'm staying with a friend. No big deal." He stops in his doorway and turns around, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

I'm shaking my head at him, but follow anyway.

+++

Notes: This was a way shorter chapter, but since my computer decided to be a champion douchebag and crash and make me break my promise of more weekend chapters, I decided to lengthen it. Next up, the boys in NYC! I think I see some slash glinting off there in the distance, but I guess you'll just have to wait and see.

I've decided to revise the next chapter, so that'll be up tomorrow hopefully. I promise a large update soon. I'm very busy this week though. Sorry! Thank you all for reading and I hope you enjoy it!