Chapter 19

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A/N: Thanks for the reviews, guys. I hope you're liking this. I'm kind of having some writer's block as to what happens in a while, so if you want to help me out please feel free to e-mail me. Enjoy! =)

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Maureen sat carefully on the edge of Roger's bed and pulled her socks back on. She and Mark slept in Roger's bed since Roger overtook their room the night before. She had managed to wake up early and sneak into their room to grab some clean clothes. She had become good at sneaking around in the last little while.

She stood up and swept her hair up into a ponytail. When she was satisfied with the look of it, she bent down to pick her old clothes up from the bed and tossed them on the ground instead.

"Mo?"

Maureen stood still and put a fake grin on her face. "Morning," she greeted Mark brightly.

"Where are you going?" he asked, rubbing his eyes and sitting up slowly. "It's early."

"Yeah," she replied. "Just out. I gotta run some errands real fast," she lied.

"But it's early," he repeated. "Come back to bed."

"I'll be back in a bit, Pookie," Maureen argued, sitting down on the bed. "You won't even notice I was gone."

"I always notice when you're gone," he replied sleepily. "Don't go." He reached out and took her hand, pulling her back down to him. She struggled out of his grasp and placed a hand on his cheek.

"I won't be long. I'll be back before you know it. I just have to go out for a little while." She kissed him quickly and pushed his hair off his forehead so it was sticking up. She patted him on the cheek and stood up again. "I'll see you in a bit, okay?"

"Fine," Mark replied angrily, though he shrugged to try and cover it up. He flopped over and pulled the blankets over his head.

Great, Maureen thought. I can't do anything right anymore.

Maureen rolled her eyes and slid out the door into the loft. She heard somebody taking a shower in the bathroom, probably Benny or Collins, and figured now would probably be the best time to escape and find someone new to spend her day with.

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Mark's eyes fluttered open and he flung the blankets off of him. He had been awake for the last little while, but remained in bed with his eyes shut and the blankets up over his head. It was warmer that way. He wasn't sure how long he had been drifting in and out of consciousness, but he was sure that he was mad that Maureen ran out on him earlier that morning. As usual she didn't tell him where she was going, so he automatically expected the worst.

"I'll be back in a bit, Pookie. You won't even notice I was gone."

He felt around on the ground below him for his glasses, and when he found them, shoved them on his face, sighing.

"I'll be back before you know it."

He sat up and slowly got out of Roger's bed. He did a double take, remembering why he was in it in the first place. It was pretty uncomfortable; it felt like springs were sticking out and it was very lumpy. Mark rubbed his back and still wearing his clothes from the night before, stepped into the living room. He glanced at the clock on the microwave in the kitchen and realized that it was one in the afternoon.

"Hey."

Mark whirled around to see Collins sitting on the couch behind him.

"Hi. Why aren't you at work?"

"Good to see you, too," he laughed. "I'm heading out in a bit." Mark nodded and wandered into the kitchen, removing a random container of food from the fridge. He slid it into the microwave and hoped that it would melt or explode.

"Are those even microwaveable?" he asked, watching it slowly spinning around in the microwave. Collins looked up from his work and shrugged.

"I guess."

"Has Roger been up?" Mark asked, finding something to drink in the fridge.

"Not for as long as I've been up, but that's only been a couple of hours. I highly doubt he'd have gotten up early, though."

Mark nodded. "Yeah, you're right."

The microwave beeped, signifying it had finished heating up Mark's meal. He took it out and breathed a small sigh of relief when nothing was engulfed in flames. He grabbed a fork from one of the drawers and broke off the handle in the process.

"I've said it before and I'll say it again: our loft sucks," Mark shook his head and sat down on the chair by Collins, digging into his mother's meat loaf.

"It really does. Sometimes I think about moving," Collins laughed, but stopped abruptly and paused. "Well, I might…"

"Huh? With Noah?" Mark asked, not thinking much of his friend's comment.

"No," Collins replied, eyes glued to the work in front of him.

Mark looked up. "Then where?"

"I haven't told you guys… and I don't know why, but I guess I need to soon." Collins laughed nervously.

"Told us what?" Mark asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Well, I got this great offer for a teaching position."

"That's good, right?"

"Yeah, it is. Computer-Age Philosophy. I get a whole load of benefits and vacation time and stuff."

"Sounds good," Mark laughed. "So you're just gonna move closer to NYU, then?"

"Not quite… The position isn't for NYU."

"Then what's it for?" Mark asked, regarding his friend curiously.

"MIT."

"MIT? Like, the Massachusetts Institute of… Technology?" Mark asked, eyebrows raised and voice several notches higher than normal.

"Yeah," Collins replied quietly.

"And you're taking it?"

"Yeah."

"Oh." Mark attempted to sound a lot less hurt than he was at that moment. "So you'll like, leave this summer and come back to visit on vacations or whatever?"

"No, I'll leave Sunday and come back to visit on vacations," Collins replied calmly, not wanting to spark a fight.

"Sunday?" Mark yelled. "Sunday?"

"Yeah. I know I should have told you guys sooner, but I—"

"Sunday?!"

"I just can't pass this up. I'd get to teach stuff that I want to, they're gonna pay me better. I don't think I can stick it out at NYU knowing I could have taken this opportunity."

"Yeah…" Mark said, not knowing what else to say. "So you're doing it, then?"

"I think so. I mean, yeah I'm apprehensive about it, but this could be great."

"Yeah." Mark shoved some more food into his mouth.

"Do you think I should?" Collins asked, wincing. He was obviously not sure about his decision. Mark thought a moment and swallowed his food.

"I don't know. I know I'd miss you. And so would my parents," he forced a laugh. "I don't want you to go. But, hey, it's your decision."

"I guess. I don't know, I guess I'll just keep thinking about it. Do me a favour? Don't tell anybody yet. Even Maureen."

Mark pretended to zip his lips and throw away the key. "No problem."

The men sat in the living room for a little while longer making small talk until Collins had to leave for class.

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Roger wiped the sweat off his forehead and kicked the blankets off of him. He rolled over and buried his face in the pillow, pulling it out from under him immediately after, smothering the back of his head with it.

"I am slowly going crazy," he murmured. "One-two-three-for-five-six-switch."

He rubbed his eyes and pulled out the needle and plastic bag of white powder from under the mattress. He put it there last night, in case one of his 'friends' were to storm in and yell at him. He toyed with the thought of using it, pulling it out from time to time, staring at it, then putting all his willpower to work and deciding to save it until he really needed it.

He kind of needed it now. He could use it and feel great for a while. But after it wore off he'd want more. And he didn't have more. Unless he left again. He could leave again, find lots and lots of drugs, drink a bit, meet some nice girls and have the time of his life. Again.

Roger's mind was cleared of all those thoughts when he heard somebody banging around in the kitchen; probably Mark. He was a real asshole that way.

He carefully shoved the needle and powder back under the mattress and placed his hands behind his head. The last thing he needed was Mark barging in and yelling at him for using again.

Roger shut his eyes and let his mind become flooding with images and memories of the past week. It was horrible, but at the same time it was fantastic. He had managed to convince one of his bandmates, Bender, to let him stay with him even though Roger wasn't there too often. His days were mainly spent getting high, getting drunk, and going at it with a random bleached, sparkled, and equally drunk or high groupie. He couldn't remember a lot of it, but the parts he did remember were awesome.

Roger sniffed and played with the edge of the blue comforter at the foot of the bed. This wasn't familiar. He glanced around the room and he finally realized that he wasn't in his bedroom, but Mark's. Which meant it was also Maureen's. Which meant he didn't know what the hell had been done in this bed. Gross. He leapt out and picked up the jacket he had "borrowed" from Bender from the floor, swinging the creaky door open. He stepped out into the loft and noticed Mark in the kitchen with his back to him.

"Morning," Mark greeted, deadpan, without looking up.

"Hi," Roger replied awkwardly. He hurried over to his room and flopped onto his back on his bed. Mark appeared in the doorway with a plate of food in his hand.

"Hungry?" he asked casually, stuffing what looked like a waffle into his mouth.

Roger shrugged and nodded. Mark left the room and returned with another plate with more waffles on them and shoved them in front of Roger, who was now sitting up.

"Here."

"Thanks," Roger replied, picking a waffle up and examining it.

"If you're not gonna eat it, I will," Mark retorted, rolling his eyes.

"No, I will," Roger replied quietly, taking a small bite. "It's good."

"I know."

Roger snorted. Mark sighed and sat down on the bed, looking down at his feet.

"Is it okay… if we talk?" he asked.

Roger nodded slowly, still staring down at his plate. "Yeah, I guess."

There was a long silence where both men were afraid to bring up where Roger had been. They sat eating their waffles, and when they were finished, placed their plates on the ground by Mark's feet.

"Where's everyone else?" Roger asked, sick of the quiet.

Mark shrugged. "Out. Work, work, and God knows where."

Roger stifled a laugh. "She's a bitch."

Mark rolled his eyes and stood up, but Roger quickly apologized.

"No-no-no, I didn't mean it like that. Sorry."

"You never mean it like that," Mark gave a big sigh and plopped back down on the seat. "Where the hell have you been?"

Roger grimaced and traced over the pattern on the sheets. "Don't want to say."

"What are you, five? You're how old Roger?" Mark demanded.

"Twenty four," Roger muttered. That was very unlike Mark.

"How old? I'm sorry, I can't hear you!" Mark mocked him, treating him like he was a child who had brought home a bad report card to his parents.

"Twenty four, Mark! I'm twenty four and I'm a fuck up who can't even be married without messing up again. You happy?" Roger yelled, letting out all of his pent-up anger and frustration.

"No, I'm not! You disappear for a week and come back cranky and crashed and you smell like ass, and you expect me to show you some sympathy?"

"I don't expect anything from you. You've got the fucking perfect life, so why the hell should I expect you to care about anything else?"

"Excuse me?" Mark asked, shocked. "Far from perfect, if anything, and this is not what we're talking about. Where the hell did you go and why did you just leave April high and dry like that?"

Fuck. Roger hadn't thought about April.

"Where is she?" he asked quietly.

"Rehab, idiot. We told you yesterday. I can't believe you," Mark shook his head violently, picked up the plates form the ground and stormed out of Roger's room. Roger rubbed his forehead and rolled over onto his stomach, burying his face in his pillow. What the hell what that smell? Flowers or fruit or another random shampoo scent, he concluded. He pushed himself up onto his elbows and kicked his feet against the mattress. What if…

No, he should save it for later, when he really needed it.

Or he could climb out the window and go join the others. He sprung up from the bed and pressed his nose against the frosted window. Seven stories wasn't too far. He could crawl long the tiny ledge and land in the dumpster. Or he could climb to the roof, take the stairs down from there. Mark would never know and he'd get out scot-free. Roger tapped his fingernails slowly along the glass and pulled back from it. He placed his hands at the bottom and tried to pull it up to no avail. He gave another attempt, putting all his force into it. When the window still didn't budge, Roger became frustrated. He stepped back and proceeded to kick the window's pane, the glass shattering in front of him. He yelped in pain and pulled his foot back quickly, hopping on the other to keep his balance.

Mark appeared in the doorway, eyebrows raised, clearly frustrated with Roger. "What the hell happened?"

"Nothing. I've got it under control." Roger's facial expressions contorted as he winced in pain and tried to look calm and collected at the same time. "You can go."

"Rog, your foot's--"

"Go!" Roger yelled, much harsher than he wanted to.

Mark immediately looked hurt, threw his hands up in the air, and shut Roger's door gently behind him.

"Fuck," Roger muttered, sitting down on the edge of his bed. He put his injured leg up on the bed and winced again as he removed his sock. His foot was bleeding, but not as much as it could have been. He stood up on his good foot and limped out into the living room. He saw Mark washing the two plates from before forcefully, muttering under his breath.

Roger glanced around the loft for something he could use as a tourniquet. He watched Mark storm into the bathroom and come back out with a towel. He threw it at Roger and returned to the sink, slamming the wet plates on the counter next to him.

"Thanks," Roger said, sitting carefully down on the ground. He laid the towel out and placed his foot on it.

"You're doing it wrong." Mark shook his head and sat in front of Roger. He took the liberty of fashioning a makeshift cast around Roger's foot. They both knew they couldn't afford to take Roger to the hospital, so Mark did what he could there at the loft.

"Sorry that I yelled."

"Okay," Mark replied monotonously, continuing with his work. Roger watched him in amazement and silence.

"Were you a Boy Scout?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Did you have like, a sash for badges and stuff?" Roger asked, amused.

"No, that's Girl Scouts. Boy Scouts had vests."

"Can you make a campfire?"

"Probably." Mark finished up, stood up and washed his hands back over at the sink. Roger hadn't even thought about AIDS. He hadn't been thinking about too much, it would seem. Mark had essentially just put his life on the line for Roger.

"Sorry." That would was becoming far too familiar.

"Yup," Mark replied, wiping his hands dry on his jeans.

"Can we just talk this out like civil people?"

Mark whirled around and faced his roommate, anger flaring in his eyes. "Go."

Roger started at Mark, a look of confusion on his face. He had no clue what to say. Sighing, Mark raised an eyebrow and walked over to his bedroom.

"Exactly."

"Mark," Roger started nervously. "Look, I don't know what to tell you besides that I'm a screw-up and I'm just as mad at myself as you are," he lied, trying to appease the blonde man.

Mark turned around, fed up. "Why did you leave?"

"I don't know. God, Mark, because I needed smack. You know that."

Mark's disposition immediately softened. "Just wanted to hear you say it, I guess. But you said you were gonna stop."

"I know. I want to, it's just hard. It's not like I can just give it up like that."

"Yeah," Mark replied, noticing his friend fidgeting. "Are you okay now?"

Roger shrugged and crossed his arms. "Kind of. Look, I'm sorry about everything before, I really am."

"I know," Mark nodded. He gave in and sat down on the couch. Roger followed suit and sat down, too.

"I feel bad, I really do. I don't like not being friends."

"Me neither," Mark shrugged. "Then why do you do it all?"

"What's 'it all'?"

"Everything… drugs, ditching us. Getting married," he added quietly.

"You mad about that?" Roger asked, glancing over at Mark from his seat on the chair.

"Not really mad, just kind of shocked, I guess. I had to find out through Maureen."

"Hey, Maureen wasn't my idea, it was April's. She said she helped her or whatever. If it was up to me, you would have come with us." He shrugged. "I figured I should let the little woman have her way."

Mark laughed. "Yeah. Next time tell me before you get married, though."

"Will do." Roger sniffed and leaned back in the chair. "Where's the coffee table?"

"It died."

"Died?"

"Yeah," Mark replied. "It broke."

Roger nodded and paused before speaking again.

"Can we just like, put everything else behind us? Kind of, start over or something? I want to get better."

"Yeah. Start over," he repeated. "I guess. As long as you don't run out again."

Roger shrugged. "Run away from my problems…" he trailed off.

"Your mom called."

"Fuck. Did she cry?"

"I didn't tell her you were gone. I said you were in the shower all four times she called. She probably thinks you're the cleanest guy in the world." He was anything but.

Roger took this as a cue. "I guess I should shower."

"Yeah. Call her, though. I think she's getting suspicious."

"Thanks, Captain Obvious," Roger joked. He stood up and smiled. "So we're good, right?"

"Yeah, as long you don't–"

"I won't," he replied, shaking his head. He turned and walked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

Mark hoped that Roger was serious this time.