Roger was silent for a moment. He stared blankly at the bruises along Mimi's inner arm, waiting to see if they would fade, and find that it was only his imagination. But there was no change.
Quietly, he stood up and walked out of the room, leaving Mimi alone in the bedroom.
In the kitchen, he rustled through one of the cabinets until he found what he was looking for; a pack of cigarettes that he rarely ever used unless he was extremely stressed out. And this was one of those occasions.
He used the stove to light the cigarette, and took a swift drag of it, walking out onto the fire escape as he did so. He stared out at the streets below him. The neon lights, the occasional drunk or drug dealer squandering about the sidewalk. Back when he was a junkie, he used to wander around aimlessly like that too, at night.
He inhaled the cigarette smoke, holding it in his lungs, wanting to hurt his lungs if not himself. He got so wrapped up in his thinking and confusion that he began to cough, violently, taking in the smoke too forcefully.
"Rog?" a voice said from behind him.
Roger coughed. "Mark," he croaked, neglecting to hide the cigarette from his friend's view.
Mark looked at it. "You smoke?"
"Not really," he gasped.
Mark drew his eyebrows together. "What's wrong?" He knew Roger too well.
"I was in the bedroom with Mimi," Roger said, catching his breath. He shivered. It was unusually chilly. "There were track marks on her arm."
Mark didn't say anything at first. "Are you sure it's from…"
"Yeah. I know what they look like. I used to have them up and down my arms. Like these fucking blue and purple polka dot sleeves," he said, with forced laughter.
Mark couldn't think of anything to say to comfort him. Instead, he lifted his glasses off his nose and wiped the lens on the bottom of his shirt.
"She lied to me," Roger said, leaning on the railing. "About lots of things. I must be a fucking moron to have not noticed anything before. She always tells me that everything is fine." His voice began to choke up, and he became embarrassed. "She's really fucked up, though," he whispered.
Mark put a hand on his shoulder. He was already uneasy enough, with this subject matter, and not having anything to say to make the situation any better was making him even more uncomfortable.
"How long do you think this has been going on for?" Roger asked him, wiping his eyes, casually, pretending that was scratching them. "I mean, if she's lying to me about this, then who knows what else she's been lying to me about. And she wonders how she ended up being raped at the club," he spat, bitterly. "And it's not like this is something that just came about. It was like her whole upper arm, Mark."
"Does she know that you know?" Mark asked, slowly.
Roger snorted. "I think she's too wasted to notice anything right now."
Mark pressed his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose. "Are you going to talk to her?"
"Of course I'm going to talk to her. And I'm gonna make her tell me the truth about everything, about what happened."
"Alright," Mark said, quietly. "You should." He was surprised that Roger was reacting so eerily calm. He would've thought that he would've reacted crazily, and violently. That's something he would've done long ago. But Roger had changed, now.
"Are you going to go back to bed?" Mark asked him.
Roger sighed. "I don't know. I think I'm going to stay out here a little while longer. I'm fine. You can go back to your room if you want."
Mark paused. "Are you sure?"
Roger nodded, slowly. "I'm alright."
"Okay. Goodnight," Mark said, weakly.
Roger nodded after him. He inhaled the smoke deeply. It was hard not to do it without coughing. It'd been a while since he'd had one of these damn things.
Mimi awoke the next morning to the unpleasant sound of her own head throbbing, painfully.
"Fuck," she muttered, slowly sitting up. It'd been a while since she'd had a migraine. She rubbed her head with her hand, and slowly made her way to the bathroom.
On her way to the kitchen, she found Roger sitting in the living room.
"Hi," she said. She was tying the straps of her peach-colored silk bathrobe around her waist
He didn't look at her.
Mimi made a weird face and went into the kitchen for a glass of water. When she returned, Roger was still sitting on the couch, and it didn't seem like he'd changed his position.
She tried again. "Are you okay?"
This time, he looked up at her. She was surprised to find that his eyes were bloodshot, and his face looked paler than it usually was. It didn't look like he'd gotten much sleep.
"Yeah," he said, in a funny voice. "I'm fine." He paused. "You sleep okay?"
"Yeah. I've got a killer headache though."
"You were pretty messed up last night," he said.
"Yeah…I stopped at the Life Café. I had a little too much to drink."
Roger waited for her to say something more. She didn't.
"They must hurt," he said.
"What?"
"Those bruises on your arm."
Mimi turned pale. "Yeah…I slipped in the bathroom the other day." Uneasily, she turned to an old framed photograph of her and Roger, cuddled together in a booth at the Life Café on his birthday, and fingered the texture of the frame, slowly. A sharp shattering sound made her jump. She looked up and saw that the glass that Roger had been holding in his hand was now in the middle of the room, in pieces. "Did you just throw that?" she said.
"You know, they looked to me a little like track marks," he said, ignoring her.
Mimi was silent.
"You were pretty messed up last night. What'd you have to drink."
"I…I don't remember. I was too out of it." She got up and began to pick up some of the larger pieces of glass, placing them carefully in the wastebasket.
"Don't lie to me again, Mimi," he said, coldly.
Mimi bit her lip, sharply. "What do you mean?" she asked, weakly.
"I wasn't born yesterday, Meems. You were high last night. And those are track marks on your arms. I used to shoot up, you know. I know what they look like."
Mimi looked at the floor, refusing to meet his eye.
"Why did you lie to me?" he asked her.
She was silent.
"Does this have anything to do with the guy who raped you?"
Mimi winced at how he used the word rape so easily.
"Talk to me, Mimi," he exclaimed, rising up suddenly and placing his hands on her shoulders, tightly.
"I don't know," she whispered, her voice beginning to show evidence that she was about to cry.
Roger was disgusted. Where did she get off being the victim here? He was the one who had been fucking lied to. He couldn't help it. He began to shake her, violently, his hands grasping her shoulders tightly. "Don't lie to me again," he yelled.
"Stop it!" she yelped, and he did, finally letting her go and letting out a groan of disgust. She was trembling, frightened by Roger's sudden violent impulse.
"Tell me the truth," Roger said, coldly.
Mimi shook her head and rubbed her shoulder, slowly. "There's nothing…"
"Do you call this nothing?" Roger demanded, reaching forward and pulling up her sleeve to reveal a trail of multicolored bruises.
She said nothing.
"How can you do this to me, Mimi?" he asked, hoarsely. "And behind my back?"
"I…I don't know. I've been trying, Roger. I just slipped."
"I just slipped," Roger mimicked. "Those are multiple marks, Mimi. I wasn't born yesterday. This has been going on for a while, hasn't it?"
"What do you want me to say?" Mimi spat, bitterly. "YES. It has been going on for a while, Roger. Maybe if you weren't so oblivious, you would've noticed by now! "
"Oblivious?!" Roger exploded. "You call calling you at the club to see if you're okay and asking you each night if you're okay OBLIVIOUS!?" He was still kneeling on the with her, his hand still holding onto her sleeve. "Where do you come off being the guilty party, here?" he growled. "I'm the one who's been lied to. Who knows how many times. Don't you dare try to make me responsible for this. That's bullshit, that I haven't been concerned about you, and you know it. Admit it. You're responsible." He tightened his grip. "Admit it."
Mimi, who was shaking hard, on the verge of tears, did not answer.
With a groan of disgust, he shoved her away from him.
Not expecting this action, Mimi tripped over the ties on her robe and fell over, landing hard on her side. Her knee was underneath her at an odd angle, and she winced as she struggled to get back up. "Roger," she whispered, meekly. "I'm sorry."
Roger glared at her, hating himself for softening a bit.
She limped awkwardly over to him and placed her cold hands on his arm, tightly. "Please," she croaked. "I've been wanting to tell you. Someone just had some stuff at the club one night…I just tried it once…and then I couldn't help myself."
Roger shook his head and refused to look at her.
"I want to stop. I did it once, and I can do it again. I want to be better," she said, unable to help from crying. "I don't want to disappoint you. I want you to be happy. I'm sorry for everything," she sobbed. "I want things to be how they were before."
"Please," she begged, when he didn't say anything. "Talk to me. I need you."
Roger kept his stony stance, but felt himself break when Mimi pressed her head against his chest, crying, softly. He felt struck by guilt. He ran his fingers through her curly hair, and rubbed her shoulders, gently. "It's okay," he said quietly, brushing his thumb against her wet cheek. "I'm sorry too."
Then there was a longer period of silence, with the two of them pressed tightly against each other as if they were stuck that way.
"Meems," Roger finally cleared his throat and tipped her head up with his fingers. "I'm going to need you to tell me about what happened that night."
"I…okay," she finally shuddered, defeated.
"I need you to tell me everything."
Silently, she nodded and pressed her face against his sweater, feeling the material tickle her nose.
"You'll be alright," Roger said softly, hugging her. "You'll see. Everything will turn out alright."
"I know," she whispered, hugging him back.
Come up to meet you,
Tell you I'm sorry,
You don't know how lovely you are.
I had to find you,
Tell you I need you,
Tell you I set you apart.
Tell me your secrets,
And ask me your questions,
Oh, let's go back to the start.
Runnin' in circles,
Comin' up tails,
Heads are a science apart.
Nobody said it was easy,
It's such a shame for us to part.
Nobody said it was easy,
No one ever said it would be this hard.
Oh, take me back to the start.
Song Credit: 'The Scientist'-Coldplay
Author's Note: Aw that makes my bowels ache L. Anyhoo, sorry I haven't updated this in a while. I'll try add the next part in soon. Review, in the meanwhile! Ciao.