Chapter 3

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A/N: Thanks for the reviews. I've been off school lately so that's why there are such frequent updates. But knowing me and my procrastinating ways, I'll update instead of studying for my exams or something. I've written chapter 4, but I'm not sure if I'm gonna use it or re-write it. But if I DO use it, some pretty wacky shiat is coming up soon! And to Kelby, I'm not much of an April fan, either.

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Roger woke up and sighed. His head was pounding and his body felt heavy. He looked over at the clock on April's bedside table. It was 4:30 in the afternoon. The late afternoon sunshine was peaking through a gap in the heavy curtains covering the windows. He covered his eyes with his arm and hit April in the process.

"Ow! What the hell Roger!"

He laughed to himself. "Sorry." He turned over slowly to face her. "You were awake?"

"I guess. How are you?" April squinted, noticing the ray of sunlight, too.

"Shitty. But better now that I'm with you." He grinned and pinched her cheeks.

"Loser," she laughed, slapping his hand away. She pulled the blankets up around her and Roger and shut her eyes, but remained awake. They lay like that for a little while longer occasionally sighing or sniffing. After a good half hour, April carefully sat up.

"I'm getting something to eat. Want anything?"

Roger grunted.

"Oh, okay." She stepped out of the bed and grabbed Roger's t-shirt from the night before. She put it on, and clipped her hair up behind her head. She walked into the kitchen, wincing at the sudden cold of the floor. She searched through her cupboards in the kitchen looking for something edible and returned to the room with a partially eaten box of Pop Tarts. She sat down on the foot of the bed and gently shook Roger.

"Do you like strawberry?" she whispered.

Roger grunted.

"Roger?" she asked a little louder.

Roger grunted.

"Roger!" April yelled loudly, jumping on her boyfriend.

"Ugh. . . April!" Roger tried to look mad, but failed miserably, putting his arms around April's waist. April kissed him, but her eye caught the clock on the table. She pushed herself up off the bed.

"Shit! Oh, shit!" She hopped off the bed, rummaging in her closet for some clothes.

"What? What is it?" Roger asked, slightly disappointed.

"Fuck. I was supposed to be at work – at the restaurant, like, four hours ago!" She was now wearing a pair of black pants and doing up the buttons of her white shirt.

"Call in sick. . ." Roger caught her hand as she searched the room for her purse.

"I can't, Baby. Not again." She gave him a quick peck on the lips and rushed into the living room still looking for her purse. "Seth would kill me."

Roger sat up and grabbed his boxers from the floor. He put them on and followed April out into the living room. "You sure?" He put his arms around her waist from behind and kissed her neck. She turned around within the circle of his arms and kissed him back.

"Yeah. Help me find my bag?" She ducked under his arms and continued her search.

Roger sighed a great dramatic sigh. "Sure – oh, is this it?" He picked up a red clutch purse from the coffee table.

April tore the purse out of his hand, as she walked to the other end of the small apartment. "Yeah, it is. Can't believe I missed that." She grabbed her blue jacket out of the closet and threw it on, then grabbed her keys off of the counter.

"I'll see you later, okay? I'll call you or something," April said quickly as she slid out the door and shut it behind her.

Roger stood in the middle of the apartment in a daze. "Alright," he replied, though he was sure that April must have been at work already considering the speed she zoomed out of the apartment.

He stretched his arms behind his back and turned to the bathroom. He stepped in, noticing it was much colder than the other rooms. He saw the window was open slightly and shut it. He didn't want April to get sick. He ran some water in the tub and switched on the shower. He stepped out of his boxers and hopped in. After a very long shower, Roger stepped out and wrapped the only towel he could find, which was very pink, around his waist. He ran his fingers through his short blonde hair and left the bathroom. He didn't want to leave and face his friends at the loft just yet. He knew they'd drill him with questions and ask why he was so late getting home, and he just didn't feel up to dealing with that right now.

Roger wandered around the empty apartment aimlessly. He cleaned up a bit, tidying up the kitchen, picking all the dirty clothes up off the floor, even making the bed.

'What the hell am I doing? I'm turning into Benny. . .' he thought. It's not that Roger didn't like Benny, he did. He, Mark and Roger were all really good friends. Benny just isn't somebody he'd want to emulate. Roger dropped the dishtowel he had in his hand back on the counter and leaned against it. He looked at everything she had on her fridge.

Roger laughed. "What a pack rat," he thought aloud. There was a calendar from last year, old birthday cards from her parents, doctor's appointment slips, a picture of her long gone cat, Indiana Jones, work schedules ranging from two years ago to this week, among other things.

Roger hated that April almost always had to work. When she didn't, though, she was usually dealing with her parents, who always wanted to know how she was doing, when they could get together for lunch, whether she was still seeing Roger. They didn't like Roger. They thought he wasn't good enough for their daughter, "born and raised in the Upper East Side, you know". Roger rolled his eyes. He didn't care for them, much, anyway.

Roger finally decided he needed to get back to the loft. He missed Lola. He went back into April's bedroom and quickly changed back into his clothes from the last night. He threw his jacket back on and stepped into his old trainers, and he jogged down the stairs back to the street. He realized it was much colder, so did the zipper on his jacket up to the top, keeping his hands warm in his pockets.

He walked unconsciously back to the corner of 11th Street and Avenue B. When he reached the tall industrial building, he slowly walked up the stairs, trying to think of a good excuse to use. Mark hated the fact that Roger was so into drugs. It sparked many fights which were usually ignored or forgotten about afterwards.

He and April went to lunch and spent the rest of the afternoon walking through Central Park. That's what he'd say. Mark would have to believe that. He had no proof of anything else. Roger smiled to himself and reached the door of the loft, pushing it open. Inside was Collins sitting at the island reading through a stack of papers.

"Hey, man." Roger called.

Collins looked up from his work. "Hi. Where've you been?" he asked, turning his attention back to the papers.

"Lunch with April."

Collins looked up, shocked. He raised an eyebrow and studied Roger before shrugging and returning to his work. "Okay."

Roger sat down beside the older man and folded his hands together.

"You don't believe me."

"No, Roger, I don't." Collins didn't even look up.

"Why?"

"Because it's you, Roger."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Roger's temper was slowly climbing.

"You can't afford to go to lunch."

"April can."

"Just be careful."

Roger rolled his eyes, ignoring the teacher's warning. He was only four years older than him. What could he possibly know that Roger didn't?

Roger stood up, and grabbed Lola, his Fender, who was leaning against the wall. He sat down on the couch, resting his feet on the coffee table and began tuning it.

After about 15 minutes of essay marking and guitar playing, Mark came into the loft. He gently placed his video camera on the coffee table. When he saw Roger, he stopped dead in his tracks.

"You're back."

Roger looked up. "Yeah, I am."

"Where were you?" Mark took off his coat and shoes.

"Out to lunch with April." Roger half expected Collins to react to that, but he didn't. He just kept marking.

"Oh." Mark tossed his coat aside and picked up his camera. He wasn't convinced.

"Why'd you leave so quickly last night?" he prodded.

"I missed April." Roger didn't look Mark in the eyes, just kept tuning his guitar.

"Missing shooting up with April?" Mark asked casually, walking over to his bedroom.

Roger sighed, putting down his guitar, and followed the filmmaker to his room, leaning against the door frame. "Sorry."

"I know." Mark put his camera on top of his dresser, pretending to fiddle with it.

"I am. I'm gonna try and stop. I am."

Mark looked up at his friend. "Really?"

"Yeah. I swear."

"For real?"

"Yeah."

"REALLY?"

Roger laughed. "YES, Mark!"

Mark let out a sigh of relief. "Good. I'm sick of having to deal with it after you crash from a high, anyways."

"Thanks, man." Roger replied sarcastically.

"Oh, anytime!" Mark smiled and exited the room.

"Collins, has Maureen been home yet?" he asked, grabbing a juice box from the fridge and trying to get the straw out of the wrapping.

"Nope." The professor replied.

"Oh." Mark's morale dropped immediately. He continued to try to get the straw out of the plastic, hitting against the counter, hard.

"You okay there?" Collins looked up finally. He took the straw from Mark and opened it with ease.

"Yeah." Mark grabbed the straw back and shoved it into the juice box, taking a long drink from it.

"Just dump her, dude." Roger called from the couch. "She's a bitch, anyway."

Mark sat beside his friend on the couch. "No she's not. You just don't like her."

"Because she's a bitch."

"YOU'RE a bitch."

Roger laughed. "You're weird."

Mark looked down, still drinking his juice.

"Mark, honestly. Just get rid of her. She's annoying, she's stupid, and she's a bitch."

"But – "

"No, just listen! She's manipulative and uses you as a sound man for her stupid little protests and –"

"Okay, just stop." Mark interrupted him quietly, not sounding particularly sad or angry.

"Sorry. . ."

"It's okay. Just. . .don't worry about it."

There was a pregnant, very awkward silence to follow. Roger didn't even touch his guitar which was still sitting in his lap. Collins continued marking, having heard the whole thing, and Mark fiddled with his juice box. He loosened the triangles on the bottom and the top, and set it on the table.

"What's that?" Roger asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

"A Juice Box Ninja."

"What?"

"A Juice Box Ninja. See?" Mark made a high pitched noise like Xena, and threw the box at Roger.

"Oh, gross! There was still juice in that!" Roger laughed and tossed it back at Mark. "I want one too!" He ran over to the fridge and took a juice box out, drinking it quickly and making his very own Juice Box Ninja. Collins, not wanting to be left out, left his work and made one, too. The afternoon dissolved into a game of Ninjas in the middle of the loft, with all thoughts of drugs and girlfriends forgotten.