Author's Note: Okay, first of all, thank you all so much for the positive feedback on chapter seven! It means a lot to me that you all enjoyed it, for lack of a better word. It was incredibly nerve-wracking to write, and I appreciate that you appreciated it. Please, keep it coming! Secondly, the rest of the story is considerably more subdued to the previous chapter, but still pretty angst-laden. And for the record, Roger's middle name is Jonathan not because of the late, great man we know and love, but because of his father. Jack is a nickname for Jonathan. Hey, Mark reappears in the next chapter! YAY!

"Is he going to be all right?"

The sounds were muffled, almost as if they were coming from within a tin can, but he knew his mother was there. He felt her cool, well-manicured hand in his own, and it was trembling. It was clammy, and her fingers were softly, but almost desperately caressing his knuckles. Roger heard a monotonous and precise reply, and then the squeak of a door opening and slamming shut.

"M-Mom?"

His voice was hoarse, barely audible. He felt his mother tense, and she let go of his hand, weaving her fingers through his hair.

"Roger, baby?" she whispered, prompting her son to open his eyes. "Honey, are you awake?"

Roger tried to nod, but a searing pain tore through his trunk and head. He winced.

"Don't try to move, sweetie," Mrs. O'Neil said, letting the pad of her finger slide along Roger's cheek.

Roger bit his lip, obeying his mother and letting his eyes adjust to the stark light of his surroundings. Everything was a sterile, dull egg-shell white, and the room was sparsely furnished. He felt the all too familiar sensation of tears damming at the back of his eyes. He was in the hospital; he couldn't protect them.

"Mom," he began. "Mom, how bad is it?"

His mother looked away, staring at the wall.

"Mom?"

"I've called school, honey. I told them that you were in the hospital, and they said that they would send one of your classmates by so that you don't fall behind. Annie and Adam are staying with your Grandpa Marty for right now, until we can figure out something else."

Roger stared at her. "Mom?"

"Hector said that I could have the next few days or so off, just until you get used to the hospital."

"Mom?"

Mrs. O'Neil looked down at Roger. "What?"

"You didn't say anything, did you?"

"Roger," she whispered, leaning closer to him. "You know that I can't do that. Honey, they could put him in jail for this and- well, I don't want to think about what he would do to us when he got out. It might be worse than this; next time, he might go back for Annie, or Adam."

Roger gaped at her. "He might go back for me. Mom, you can't let him keep doing this to us. You can't let him-"

"Roger, please stop. I know you don't understand, and I don't think that even I understand, but I love Matthew. He'll- he can change, and I know he will."

"He won't."

"Roger Jonathan..."

"He won't, Mom," Roger forced the words out with as much vehemence as he could manage. "He'll come back, and it will happen all over again."

His mother sighed, wiping away a stray tear from his cheek with her finger tip.

"He'll come back, and..." he trailed off, pausing for a moment. "And maybe I won't be so lucky the next time."

"Shut up," his mother hissed, a few tears sliding down her cheeks. "Just stop it!"

"No," Roger persisted. His voice was still a faltering whisper, his breathing irregular gasps. "Mom, you have to stop it. You can't just move on."

She shook her head, "I can and I will. He loves me Roger, and I love him. We'll work through this, and it will be fine. You'll see."

"No!" Roger replied. "Mom... Dad loved you. He would've never let this happen to us. I don't understand-"

"You're right, Roger, you don't understand."

"Mom?" Roger felt himself give into his tears, and the pain in his chest worsened.

Mrs. O'Neil stood up, caressing her son's cheek slightly. "I'll be back tomorrow."

"No. Please don't go. Not like this," Roger pleaded.

"Honey, you need your rest," she said coolly. "Please, get some sleep. You've got a long way to go yet."

Roger's chest heaved, and he blanched in pain. "Please..."

"Bye, sweetie. I'll send the nurse up to check on you."

Mrs. O'Neil turned away from her son, and left him alone in the hospital room.

"Mom?" Roger struggled on the word. He didn't understand how she could just leave him, and go back to that house, where he would be waiting. He just couldn't understand.

His thoughts distracted him from the pain for a few minutes, until a pleasant-looking black nurse walked into the room.

She smiled at him, "Oh, now, puss, quit your crying. You might be in pretty bad shape, but Dr. Katz and I will have as good as new in no time at all. My name is Muriel, by the way, and I'll be your hostess while you're residing in this fabulous piece of lodging."

Roger tried to reply, but all that came out was a fitful sob.

"Sweetie, you need some rest. I'm going to give you a little something to help you sleep, all right?"

Roger tried to protest, but Muriel began rummaging around on a small table at his bedside. She readied a syringe, and lay it at the edge of the table while she found a cotton ball. Dipping the cotton ball into some sort of clear fluid, she rubbed the soft sphere on his bruised bicep.

"Now, this might hurt a little bit, but don't worry. It will put you out like a light, honey."

She flicked the edge of the needle, and brought it to Roger's arm. He flinched as she let the cool tip pierce his skin.

Muriel grinned, "Pleasant dreams, Mr. Davis. I'll be back in a few hours to check on you."

Muriel left the room, flicking off the fluorescent lights as she went.

As the rest of the world faded into an exhaustive haze, Roger was left alone with his thoughts. He didn't understand how she could abandon the welfare of her children, all for a selfish fit of love with a monster. He felt the tears sliding off his chin, penetrating the paper-like material of his hospital gown, their salt stinging various wounds left by the man his mother loved.