Author's Note: All right, folks. This chapter turns the point of view from Mark to Roger, so for the next five chapters (if it lasts that long), everything will be from Roger's third person limited omniscient point of view. Enjoy. I'll try to make the next chapter longer, I promise. Also, could I please get some reviews on "Cellophane Sun?" It's my first try at an actual first person fic, and Joy and I are dying for feedback. Pretty please with a Mark scarf on top?

Disclaimer: Due to recent events, I'd just like to remind a certain person that while the characters are the creations of the late, great Jonathan Larson, the plot and everything remaining in this story are mine. Thanks!


Roger could feel Mark's eyes on him as he jogged away from the school. Mark's intentions were good, he knew, but his scrawny new friend couldn't change anything. He was glad that Mark hadn't seen the condition of his stomach or the smattering of cuts and welts on his back and legs. It would have only made things worse.

School was his solace, the only time when he wasn't in constant pain or protecting anyone. He could let go and pretend that he was a normal kid, just like everyone else. Mark had changed that. Even with what had happened the night before looming over his head, Roger had already made a habit of watching out for the other boy, and he hated himself for it. He couldn't afford to put himself on the line for Mark; he needed to be there for Annie and Adam, for Mom.

"You're late again, Roger," was his mother's greeting as he walked in the door, throwing his jacket on the floor.

Roger winced, noticing her expression. She wasn't in a good mood.

"I'm sorry, Mom."

Mrs. O'Neil shook her head, "I know, Roger. You're always sorry."

"I-"

"I know it's hard for you, sweetie, but if I lose this job, we're in trouble. Matthew isn't making enough to support us, and-"

Roger closed his eyes as his mother trailed off. Matthew isn't making enough to support us, and if you're not making enough to support him, we'll be out on the street. Again.

"Make sure Adam does his homework, and that Annie drinks her milk," Mrs. O'Neil finished. She threaded her fingers through Roger's sandy blonde hair, and leaned down to kiss his forehead.

"Okay, Mom."

"I love you, Roger. Just remember that," she replied, straightening her apron. "How do I look?"

Roger sighed, inadvertently letting a lazy grin tug at the corners of his lips. "You look beautiful, Mom."

"Thanks, honey. I'll be home late again," she paused a moment, her blue eyes fixated on her son. "Roger?"

Roger looked at the floor. "Yeah?"

"Roger, please be careful."

Roger nodded, "I will."

"Love you."

"I love you too," Roger managed as his mother walked out the door. As he traipsed up the stairs, he cursed silently. He hated the way that his mother danced around the way that Matthew behaved. He couldn't understand why she accepted, why she let him hurt her, why she let him hurt him. Adam and Annie were all right, he knew, as long as he stepped in between them and Matthew's anger.

He walked into his room, conscious of the fact that Matthew was still asleep, and greeted his younger brother quietly. Adam was stretched out on the floor, paging through one of Roger's old issues of Rolling Stone, bobbing his head in time with his Walkman. Roger grinned slightly. Adam was so much like him, it was scary. Slowly unzipping his backpack, Roger emptied out his homework. He knew he had to get it done before Matthew woke up, or there would be no getting it done at all. Tossing the books on his already crowded desk, Roger eyed a photo on the edge of the table carefully. As of late, he had really been missing his father.

Jack Davis was perfect in his son's eyes. The blonde, brown eyed musician was carefree and gentle, always putting his family first, no matter how great the gig or how far it was. He and Roger had always been close, sharing a common bond over the guitar and the same quiet, inconspicuous intelligence. When Roger was eleven, his father developed testicular cancer. Just a few days after Annie's first birthday, Jack passed away, leaving his wife with little money and three kids. Seven months later, she met Matthew O'Neil in the diner in which she worked. He was charming and seemingly sweet, and was more than happy to help the single mother get back on her feet. Exactly a year after his father died, Roger's mother married Matthew. Within a few months, Matthew's booze hound habits surfaced and he started to beat his new wife and sexually abuse his two-year-old step-daughter. That's when Roger stepped in, taking the fall for his baby sister. He had never looked back.

Snapping away from his memories, Roger rubbed his black-and-blue arm, unaware of the frightened look it prompted on his little brother's face. Cracking open his history book, Roger tuned out reality and concentrated on the days of old.