I have to leave. I can't take this shit. I can't know that I've killed him. I can't live knowing he's going to die because of me. I KNOW about the communicability rate, and I'm sure if I called Collins he would tell me to chill my ass out... I need to talk to Collins. I need to get out of here. I need to leave.
I'm pulling on my pants when he wakes up. His sleepy eyes stare at me. "Where are you going?" he asks and I mutter something about taking a walk. He looks suddenly more alert. "Rog... is anything wrong? What's going on?" But I can't explain. I can't tell him that he forgot the condom.
I'm grabbing my coat from the couch when he comes up behind me. "Roger, you need to know something," he says. I turn to look at him, and he looks so strong and happy and real. "If this is about last night, you need to know that I did it on purpose."
I nearly hit him then.
"Come here," he says quietly and I am dragged behind him to his bed and he picks up the camera. "Mark, don't you dare," I say, and he shakes his head. "No, I have something I want you to watch, I don't want to film you," he says and hooks the wire from projector onto the camera. He aims it at the wall and presses buttons.
His face fills the wall. He's wearing the clothes he left the hospital in and his face looks weary. "Rog," he says on the screen, "I've just gotten home from the hospital. I'm filming this now, because I may not be able to say what I want to say when the time comes. I need to explain some things to you. Number one. I know you think I am really stupid right now. In fact, you've probably just tried to leave, and I'm probably sitting on your chest making you watch this."
His recorded self pauses here for a second, and I "hmph" at the real Mark standing nervously next to the bed. "So, as I was saying," he continues, "you think I'm stupid. You think I 'forgot' to put a condom on you. You think I was caught up in the passion or too drunk or some happy bullshit like that. Let me set the record straight right here, I did not forget anything. In fact, I've thought long and hard about all of this. I made a conscious decision. I want to be with you, and if that means dying with you, then I'm there.
In case you haven't noticed, Roger, I love you. I want to be with you on this road. If that's foolhardy, well then, I'm a fool. At least I am a fool who had a choice." The tape goes black there, and I don't move. I can't speak. A few minutes later Mark disconnects the camera and turns it toward me. "I really don't feel like talking to the fucking folks at home, Mark," I say, but he doesn't shut off the camera. "I want it on film," he says, and I look up. He has tears in his eyes. "Want WHAT on film?" I ask. "Your leaving. I mean... you ARE leaving, right?" he says.
I can't decide if I want to beat him or kiss him.
We talk. We argue. We fight and almost come to blows. And finally, we come to a decision. For six months, we will use condoms. Every single time. In six months, he gets tested. If he's positive, there's really no reason for condoms anymore. If he's negative, we continue using condoms. It's the only way I can bring myself to promise to stay.
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Six months is nothing in the grand scheme of things. Six months of my taking AZT and singing with the band. Six months of him filming another movie. He won't tell me what this one is about. He's talking to the family a lot on film, though. Six months feels like forever when you are waiting. And the waiting doesn't end there.
Why does it still take a week to get results? He won't let me go with him, so I am left at home to pace while he and Collins go to the clinic. It feels like it takes all day for him to get back. I miss him when he's gone, anyway, but this is maddening.
By the time he gets home, I'm frantic. He walks through the door with a big smile on his face and I feel my body relax. Then Collins walks in. He isn't smiling. I look back and forth between them. Mark walks past me, stopping just long enough to kiss my forehead. "Be right back," he says and goes to the bedroom. I look at Collins, but he isn't giving me any clues.
Mark comes out with a package of condoms. "See these?" he says, and I see it is a new box. He takes them to the trashcan and throws them in. "That is the last fucking box of those I'm ever buying." "So, you're..." "Positive? No," he says and I stare at him. "Not yet. I let you have your six months, Roger. It's my turn."