Mark sauntered into Roger's kitchen, silently reprimanding himself for still being in the other boy's house. Roger stood over the stove, stirring a pot of macaroni and cheese. His features had tensed again, and his knuckles had paled from the tight grip he had on the wooden spoon in his hand. Mark nodded awkwardly at him, and Roger grinned nervously.
"Annie thinks you should stay for dinner," Roger said softly, tentatively tapping the spoon on the side of the pot.
Mark nodded, "Okay."
"It's not much," Roger continued, lifting the macaroni off the burner and carrying it over to a carefully set table where Annie and Adam were already sitting. "Mac n' cheese is pretty much all we have."
As Mark sat down, Roger shuffled around the table, plopping a soggy heap of yellow noodles onto each of the plates. Suddenly, a board creaked overhead, and Roger almost dropped the pot. He quickly set it on the table, closing his eyes. Mark stared at him, curious. A groan carried down the stairs, and a door squealed open, a prequel to the pounding of heavy footsteps on the steps. Running a hand through his unkempt blonde hair, a well-built and handsome man lumbered into the kitchen. Roger's arms slid around his brother and sister as the man grabbed a beer from the refrigerator.
"Damnit, Roger! Would you look at this fucking mess?" the man waved his arm, indicating some stray drops of milk, an empty margarine wrapper, and dustings of cheese powder. "God, it's bad enough living in this dump without having your crap all over the place. And, Jesus! You make enough goddamned noise to wake the dead."
"I'm sorry, Matthew," Roger said quietly, tightening his grip on Annie and Adam. Mark felt a pang of anxiety at the tone of the other boy's voice. Roger sounded almost scared, an emotion Mark had figured Roger was exempt from.
"You damn well better be," Matthew said, taking a swig of his beer. He glanced over at the table, his gaze resting on Mark. "Who's that?"
"Uh... this is, um, Mark," Roger managed. "He's staying for dinner."
Matthew snorted, "No... no, he's not. You've got shit to do, kid."
"Matthew, I-" Roger started, his voice trembling.
"Shut up!" Matthew spat. "I said 'you've got shit to do', and you're going to do it. Mart or whatever his name is needs to leave."
Roger squeezed his eyes shut again, dropping his head. "Okay, yeah."
Matthew knocked back another sip. "That's what I thought."
"Mark, I think you'd better leave," Roger said through gritted teeth. Mark nodded, watching Matthew flex his hand.
"Thanks for everything, Roger. Um, I'll get your stuff back to you tomor-"
"Don't worry about it," Roger interrupted.
Mark shrugged, standing up. Roger ushered him over to the front door, handing him his backpack.
"I'll see you at school, I guess," Roger said, pushing Mark out the door. "Bye."
The
door closed quickly, and Mark stood for a moment, disoriented. What was
going on? He sat on the stoop, not ready to walk home just yet. He heard
something clatter to the floor, breaking. Screams and rushed sobs erupted
behind the door, and Mark felt himself become nauseous. He jumped up from
the stoop and ran from Roger's house.
