Please don't kill me, I've been so busy lately. I've been out of town 3 weekends in a row, had 2 school projects to do, etc etc so I haven't had much time to write. We're getting to the climax/turning point of the story, so I'm going to be very meticulous about these next few chapters. but anyway, I'll shut up now.
Fortune: Your example will inspire others
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Chapter 18: Towels, Songs, and Friends
"Ok, can someone please explain to me why anyone would make a towel that does not fit around your waist?" Mark said to himself, fighting with a blue towel as he got out of the shower. He held it tightly against his body and made a dash for his bedroom.
"Why is this towel so small?!" He cried as it began slipping off.
"Because it's a hair towel," came the answer from a female voice.
Mark leaped ten feet in the air, letting out a high-pitched shriek.
April stood, giggling, in the doorway, watching him frantically try to cover his body with the tiny towel.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, blushing.
"I came to see Roger."
"He's out right now."
"Do you know where he went?"
"He's out with the band guys. Listen, can you just give me two seconds to-"
"Yes, go get changed!" April finished for him, waving her arm towards his room. He ran full speed into his room and shut the door.
She sat down on the couch, flipping through Mark's latest screenplay.
"Why are hair towels so small?" Mark called through the door.
April shrugged, then realized he couldn't see her, "I don't know. Maybe cause they belong on your hair?"
She heard Mark scoff, "It was more of a rhetorical question."
"Sorry," she called just as the door opened. Mark walked out in a pair of loose jeans and no shirt. He had the hair towel on his head, wrapped the way he'd seen Maureen do it.
April clamped her hand to her mouth and buried her face in the couch to keep from laughing. It was quite a sight. Her body shook with silent laughter and she heard Mark give an annoyed sigh.
"What? This is the way it's supposed to be worn right?"
"Well yeah but…" she couldn't finish her sentence, she was laughing too hard.
"Ok that's enough! It's not that funny," he pouted, hands on his hips.
"Stop doing that, you look too much like Maureen and it's scaring me," she said, he eyes glowing brightly.
Mark considered this, "Yeah you're right, that is scary," he agreed, taking the towel off.
April smiled, "So why were you trying to use a hair towel instead of a regular towel?"
"It was the first one I found," he replied, shrugging. Suddenly his eyes widened, "You didn't see anything… well…"
"No I didn't," April said, laughing, then added, "Cute butt though."
Mark turned crimson and put his face in his hands, moaning with embarrassment.
"I'm just kidding!" she said, grabbing his arm and prying his hands away. He was still blushing furiously.
"You are so cute," she said, giggling, "I don't mean that as a come on by the way."
Why do all girls think I'm cute, yet not as a come on? Mark thought, remembering Mimi's words.
"So where's Roger?" April asked, becoming serious.
"He's out at practice with the guys."
"Again? That's all he ever does now," she said, laying her head down on the couch.
He noticed her sudden switch in moods, "He's not always with them."
"He has been for the past week."
"Well yeah but they're practicing for their gig tonight. After tonight it'll be all over and he can go back to being with you 24/7."
She smiled, "I just miss him."
"Hey join the club. I miss Maureen all the time."
She looked guilty, "I'm sorry, that was insensitive of me."
"Nah, it's ok. I don't care."
"Sure you do."
He smiled, "Oh let's just have a pity party for us on 3. 1… 2…3"
"Awwwwww," they both said together, then erupted in a fit of giggles.
"You know, I never get to hang out with you," Mark noted, hopping over the back of the couch and sitting down next to April, "You're really pretty cool."
"Thanks. You're cool too."
"I can see why Roger likes you."
She turned to face him, intrigued, "And why is that?"
"You're not afraid to say what you mean. You're really strong."
She considered this, her eyes on the coffee table.
"I mean, obviously you're beautiful, but I never realized how much fun it is to be around you. I could see us becoming good friends you know? But you can't really do that with Roger, being as he's your boyfriend and all."
"No, I can't be friends with Roger because he thinks friend and girlfriend are two separate things. You're his best friend, I'm his girlfriend, that's just the way it is. I mean, I understand him, and we talk and stuff, but I don't have the kind of connection to him that you do. But really, could you imagine telling Maureen about that girl at the club who turned you on, or the guys in the band, or the song you were writing?"
Mark looked surprised, "Yeah, I never really thought about it. I've always wondered why a person can't be your lover and your best friend at the same time, but I guess they're just two different things."
She nodded, "Why is that?"
"I don't know," Mark admitted, "But I don't think it should be that way. If a person's your 'soul mate' and all that, then you should be able to say anything to them you know? They would have to be your best friend if you're going to spend the rest of your life with them. I mean think about it, you spend a lot more time around them, talking, cuddling, than you do in the bedroom. I dunno, maybe I'm weird, but the girl I end up being marrying would have to be more than good in bed."
"You're not weird at all. In fact, I think you're really smart. Not a lot of people realize that, I know Roger hasn't."
"Do you think you might marry him?"
She paused, "I don't know. I love him, I know that. But he's so unpredictable, sometimes I don't know what's going through his head, and… I don't know. Maybe I'm thinking too far into things."
"Maybe we both are," Mark suggested.
"Yeah, so let's talk about something random and superficial," she suggested.
"Like what?"
"Well we could go back to the towel thing…"
Mark blushed again, "Or we could not."
"But that's so much fun!" April insisted.
"No, no it really isn't."
"Yes it is."
"Is not."
"Is too!"
"Is not!"
"Too!"
"Not!"
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"Alright guys I think we've got about 15 minutes before we have to get ready so wanna run this one more time?" Roger asked, surveying his band mates.
Guitar player Zack took a swig from his water bottle and nodded, "My hands are going to hurt like hell afterwards but let's do it."
Jake, the bass player, rubbed his fingers, "Shit man, mine already hurt. You'd think I'd have gotten calluses on my hands by now."
Drummer Shawn threw a drumstick at him, which whizzed by harmlessly, "If you practiced a little more maybe they would."
"You start with me and I'll shove this drumstick up your ass Shawn!"
"I'm so scared now. You're so full of shit."
"Just try me, go ahead."
"What the hell is wrong with you-"
"Ok that's enough," Zack said, rolling his eyes, "We are spending way too much time together, I'm sick of listening to you two fight."
Roger grabbed a bottle of Tylenol from the pocket of Zack's coat that was flung over a chair and swallowed two dry. He had a terrible headache.
Shawn noticed this and swiveled in his seat to look at him, "You okay man?"
"Yeah," Roger replied, "Just feeling lousy."
"You sick?"
"Nah, just a headache, probably from listening to you and Jake. And the music."
"And Jake's shitty playing," Shawn added.
"What did I say?" Jake snapped, waving the drumstick threateningly.
"Okay shut up both of you. Let's just do the song one more time," Roger said, massaging his temples.
The four men took their places and Zack counted off the beats.
"1, 2, 3, 4."
The room exploded with the harsh rock music, all four of their bodies pulsed with the bass line. Roger shook his blonde hair from his eyes and leaned into the microphone.
"Tell me where you are, tell me where you've been," he sang in his sexy baritone voice, "Why do I gotta pry these things from you again? Tell me who you are, cause you never seem to grow, tell me all the things that I need to know."
He continued to sing, losing himself in the song. That was his favorite thing about singing, he could disappear within his lyrics, hide behind the melodies, and it was his own choice whether he ever came back down. When he sang, he flew higher than the clouds. He never shot up before he sang, never performed high, he couldn't sing as well and there was no hope for his guitar playing, but he never needed to. His song was his high. When he sang, he forgot about everything, it was just him and the lyrics, the story he needed to tell. The rest of the band was there, but they weren't with him, he was alone but not lonely. He lived for the times when he could sing. Times like these were the best of his life.
"It's not that I don't need you, it's not that I don't want you. It's just that I don't love you. At least not the way you want me to," he finished.
He struck his ending chord and fell with a crash back to Earth. Everything returned, his headache, his memories, and most of all, his cravings.
"Great job guys, I think that was our best yet," Jake said.
Zack ran a hand through his platinum blonde hair, "Roger where did you get the idea for this song?"
Roger carefully placed his guitar in its case, "Um, from a friend."
"It's nice, one of your best."
"Thanks."
He felt it again, that need. It consumed him, turned him against himself. He quickly took a swig of water, dismissing his hunger for his drug. He told himself that if he shot up now there was no way he could sing well at the gig tonight. And he needed to do well tonight.
"Rog, dude you're shaking."
"What?" he looked down at his hands, they were visibly shivering, this craving was coming on hard and strong.
"Nerves," Jake said, tossing him a joint, "This'll calm you down."
Roger lit it and took a long drag, "Thanks."
It was with the band that Roger had begun experimenting with drugs. It had never been a big deal, it was something all rock bands did. He had smoked cigarettes and pot since he was around 16, but he hadn't started doing the hardcore stuff until he met Jake. Jake had introduced him to a whole new world, was his teacher in a classroom unfamiliar to him. He still remembered the first time he had used heroin, how nervous he had been because of the things he'd heard. How a person could get HIV through a shared needle and other things like that. But once the needle had slid under his skin, once he felt the drug being pumped into his body, all his fears had disappeared. In fact, pretty much everything had disappeared. In all honesty, Roger had become addicted to the drug after his first high, he knew immediately that this was it, this was what he wanted. A way of disappearing from the bills and the nagging girlfriends and the songs that had to be written. It was his key from the cell he was locked in 24/7, he was a prisoner in his own body and when that needle came in contact with him he gained wings and slipped through the bars on the window. Flew into the sky and soared until the wings melted from the sun. Each return was harder than the last, each time the bars grew closer to each other, it was harder to slip through them. But he did. He always found a way to.