Disclaimers and summary on first chapter

Notes:

Chapter 14 -That Wasn't What Was Important-

+Mark's POV+

I throw my bag down on the bed.

"This has to be the single most disgusting room I've ever been in."

Roger grins at me before flopping backwards on the bed.

"Isn't it great?"

I look around the room, taking in the stained and threadbare carpet, the cracked T.V. screen, what I can see of the moldy and cobwebbed bathroom through the open door and the worn bed that's been used countless times for god-knows-what. I grin back and fall next to him.

"Yeah. It is." I turn my head to meet his gaze and we laugh together.

I notice a guitar case next to the bed.

"I didn't know you brought your guitar."

He looks shocked. "Of course!"

He gets up off the bed and opens it to reveal his acoustic. I pull myself up so I'm resting on my elbows.

"Play something." I tell him and he smiles shyly.

"What do you want to hear?" He asks.

I shrug. "Surprise me."

He starts playing a song that sounds vaguely familiar to me, but I can't quite figure it out. He looks up while he's playing and grins.

"Know it?"

I shake my head. "Not really."

He laughs. "It sounds a little weird cause it's on an acoustic. It's Black Sabbath."

I laugh with him. "You listen to Black Sabbath?"

"Not really, but my guitar teacher did."

"You took lessons?"

He shrugs. "Only a couple. This is basically all he taught me. I did it myself besides."

He stands up still holding the guitar.

"C'mon, let's go out."

I gesture toward the guitar. "You bringing that with?"

"Sure." He smirks. "For some spending money."

"Spending money?" I follow him out the door and onto the street. He turns to look at me.

"Isn't this great? Nothing to worry about, no parents, no school," He nudges me grinning. "Just us, and the city."

I nudge him back and he gestures across the street. We cross and he sits on the ground against the building with his guitar on his lap. I sit beside him. He's lost in thought for a moment then turns to me.

"Take one of your shoes off."

"Why mine? Why not yours?"

"Take it off." He repeats and starts to play. I shrug and pull of my right shoe, positioning it in front of us. He elbows me after a while.

"If I play something you know, will you sing?"

I laugh. "Roger, I can't sing."

"C'mon, earn your keep."

"Honestly Rog, I can't. Really."

"Hey. . ." He trails off and stops playing for a minute.

"Hey what?" I ask him.

He gives me a slight smile. "You called me Rog."

I shrug. "So?"

He shrugs back. "I don't know, I don't think anyone's ever called me that." He pauses and his eyes meet mine. "I like it."

We're silent for a moment and he looks away and picks at his guitar. I watch his fingers on the strings, staring at the thin fingers, the dirt he has under his nails on his right hand. He catches me staring and looks up. I sigh, but I'm smiling.

"Only if you sing with me." I tell him.

His smile could crack any other face. When Roger is happy, he's happy and the world knows it. He starts playing an REO Speedwagon song we heard on the radio on the way here. Not really a favorite band for either of us, but it's one of those songs everyone knows. No one really remembers the first time they heard it or why they suddenly started singing along, but it's commonplace. Some guy drops a few coins into my shoe. Eventually there's a dollar bill. Then two. By the time we decide to leave we can't have made more than five dollars but that wasn't what was important. Roger gave it to some homeless guy on the way back anyway.

We pause outside of a convenience store.

"You hungry?" Roger asks me. I nod and start to follow him in when I catch sight of a phone on the outside of a building.

"You go ahead, I'm gonna call my mom."

"Oh yeah, I forgot." He says. "Need change?"

"No, I got it." I say, pulling a few quarters out of my pocket. Roger nods and goes inside. I see him greet the cashier and head toward the candy. I shake my head, smiling and drop my money in the phone. It rings a couple of times before Cindy finally picks up.

"Hello, Cohen residence."

I roll my eyes. "Cindy, it's Mark. Is mom there?"

"No." I hear her sniff in amusement. "But dad is. Wanna talk to him? Here." Before I can object my father's voice replaces Cindy's.

"Mark? Where the hell are you?"

I close my eyes, wishing I was as detached and carefree as Roger.

"I'm at Maureen's, dad, remember? I'm staying the night, we have a project to work on."

I hear him grumble before he speaks again.

"I don't remember you telling me anything."

"I did, just the other day." I lie.

"Bullshit. What kind of project?"

"History. Big report on, uh, the civil war. It's a huge part of our grade." I squint my closed eyes, terrified he'll know with some kind of astonishing intuition that I'm lying.

I hear Cindy calling him and he yells something undistinguishable back then returns to me. "Fine. Whatever. Tonight only." He says.

"Thanks. Bye." I say hanging up. I lean back against the wall and let out a huge sigh. I open my eyes ready to join Roger inside.

The people I see are hardly Roger. They're older than us mostly, and a lot taller. Some taller than even Roger. There's five of these monsters standing over me. I look over my shoulder frantically, but I can't see Roger inside and the clerk isn't looking.

One of them approaches me. He shoves me hard on the shoulders and I fall backwards.

"Got any money, faggot?"

Instead of trying to get back up I lay there with my hands covering my face as if it would prevent them from seeing me. How often would this happen in grade school, in junior high? Where was the recess lady now? I wonder if reaching for the ten dollars I brought out with me is a good idea or not. I exhale deeply when I hear another voice, a familiar voice.

"Hey, leave him alone."

Another sound accompanies it and it's foreign to me. I lift my head to see Roger standing by the door of the store as expected and glinting in his right hand is a switchblade. He starts walking toward them, brandishing the blade.

"I said, leave him alone."

To my surprise a couple of the guys laughed. I had thought Roger looked pretty threatening right now, but apparently it wasn't so. I chanced another glance back at him. He's been nothing but gentle mannered near me, but somehow I can imagine God trembling at the idea of him angry. I see it in him now. He's furious and I get the sense for the first time that he's really not an awkward teenager like me, he's a man. He's not uncomfortable or clumsy in his body like some that mature at his rate are, but he's fully adjusted. He's accepted it and it shows. I don't know which I'm shrinking away from anymore. Him or them.

He comes to my side and holds out a hand. When I don't take it he looks down at me, his gaze concerned, not the brutal stare he'd been cornering our foes with. I take his hand and he pulls me up.

"We'll gladly leave both you kids alone, just give us your lunch money."

Roger rolls his eyes. "Fucking junkies, get out of here."

They react angrily, two of them rushing towards us. Roger pushes me backwards, the blade out in front of him. One of them swipes angrily at him and Roger blocks the action with the knife, cutting open the other's arm. He hisses in pain and clutches at it. I hear the wail of a police siren off in the distance and pray it's coming in our direction. I lean against the wall and slide down till I'm sitting on the ground and bury my head in my knees. I'd be no help to Roger, and I'm not going to watch them kill him. A few moments later another one of them calls out to the others.

"Cops! Get out of here!" He yells. They push Roger and he stumbles but doesn't fall as they take off down an alley nearby. He wipes his knife on his pants and flicks it closed before coming over to me. There's a cut on his forehead but otherwise he looks fine. He sinks down beside me.

"You ok? They didn't hurt you did they?" He asks, looking at me. I'm gazing at the ground in the opposite direction. I shake my head.

"Good." He tugs at my shirt and I stand up with him and we both go into the store. He takes his guitar back from the clerk and nods at him.

"Thanks for calling the cops, man."

The cashier smiles at him. "No problem, kid. Those junkies been hanging around this area a lot lately. Can't believe they're picking on kids now."

Roger gives him some money and takes the bag he's handed.

"Thanks again." He puts the guitar strap over his shoulder so the instrument hangs down his back and throws an arm around my shoulders. We walk back to our motel in silence.

"You sure you're ok?" He asks me once we're back in the room.

I nod. "I'm tired though."

"Yeah, me too." He looks over at the bed. "It doesn't bother you that there's only. . ."

"No, it's fine." I say, sensing his discomfort. I pull my toothpaste and brush out of my backpack and head into the filthy bathroom. Roger follows me.

"Hey, do you mind if I borrow some of that? I forgot mine."

I roll my eyes. "I bet all you brought was your guitar."

He looks offended. "And clean underwear."

"Clean underwear? I'm impressed."

He grins at me and picks up the paste. "Can I?"

"I'm not going to kiss you."

He winks. "No one asked you to." He squeezes some onto his finger and proceeds to rub it throughout his mouth. I take the paste back from him.

"Who taught you to squeeze toothpaste? You don't squeeze it from the middle Rog, you work your way from the end like. . ."

He spits into the sink. "Lighten up, Marky. Maybe you're anal retentive by choice after all."

I scowl. "I am not."

Roger grins. "Sure, Mark."

I lay beside him on the bed, a respectable distance between us.

"Night, Mark."

I smile with my face in the pillow.

"Night, Rog."

+++

Notes: I like this chapter quite a bit, it's also fairly long. Hope you've enjoyed! Thank you little reviewers/readers, for putting up with me!