Mark's POV:

It was the same nightmare I always have . . . lately.

'So you think I'm beautiful,' Maureen says. She's high on marijuana. She's dancing around the loft like a belly dancer. It's sexy. She's sexy.

'You are beautiful. Come here,' I reply as I am much less inhibited when I'm high. I'm also much less inhibited when Roger is at one of his gigs. It's just me and Maureen . . . beautiful, sexy, dangerous Maureen.

She does as told, which is miraculous when I remember it was Maureen. I run my fingers through her wavy brown hair. She lets me kiss her jaw line. She savagely kisses me back; Maureen kisses me like she needs me. I know that's a farce; she's probably already been with someone else today. She does not need a geeky filmmaker. I know that. It doesn't matter right now.

Her hands creep all over my body. Clothes are carelessly discarded; flesh meets flesh. Her pale skin is dark compared to mine. Maureen's lips are swollen and pink from her arsenal on my face.

She takes me into her mouth. It's been ages since I've had sex. I don't think anyone has ever taken the time to give me a good blow job; Maureen seems satisfied that she is making me moan. She seems to enjoy her ability to bring me to the brink and then pull me back. I'm her toy, and right now she wants to play with me.

The rest isn't so clear.

She lowers herself onto me. Our bodies move together in a savage rhythm. She screams someone's name; I like to think that it is mine, but I'm a realist. Then, we lay on the couch . . . our savagery gives way to something softer.

I hold her close to me. I listen to her breath as she falls asleep. It's beautiful. It's at that moment that I am certain I love her.

I woke up gasping for breath; the condom was missing from my dream . . . that is if there was ever one to begin with. No fucking condom. How could I have been so stupid?

"Mark, it's okay. It was just a dream," Roger says as he places a cool cloth on my forehead, "It's okay. I'm here."

"I'm a mess. I just had a dream about having sex with Maureen," I replied, "Only it wasn't the good kind of dream. My mind is replaying these reels in my head . . . trying to figure out when it could have happened."

"Okay, just don't tell me about having sex with her. I ate today," Roger replied with a smile.

"I'm serious. I remember getting stoned with her. I remember us having sex, but I don't remember if we used a condom or not," I said as I tried to search my memory for any clue.

"When the hell were you getting stone?" Roger asked suddenly becoming extremely mad.

"It was like five months before you tested positive. It was just some pot," I replied. The scenario was so much like the first time my parents caught me doing pot in high school. Roger was less likely than my parents to only ground me for a week. He was much more likely to kick my ass . . . verbally or physically.

"Just some pot? Didn't you see what I was going through? Dammit," Roger cursed.

"Can we not do this now?" I asked as I rubbed my temples, "Did the department of health call yet?"

"They did. You need to call them back this afternoon, you stupid stoner," Roger replied with a smile.

"I quit at the same time you did, moody bastard," I replied as I pulled myself to the edge of the bed.

"Okay, go call," Roger said as he stood up and left the room. I heard him grumble something about me being a stoner. It made me laugh; never did I think Roger Davis would be the one to lecture me on drug use.

Roger's POV:

I watched him dial the number I wrote on the wall. He fidgeted nervously as he made his way through the automated menu. Mark turned his back to me, so I couldn't see. I mindlessly strummed my guitar as I waited.

"Umm . . . sure. I guess I can do that. An appointment in three days. Thank you," Mark said politely to whoever answered his call.

My blood ran cold. An appointment . . . that could only mean. I shook my head and pretended that the results were different than I thought.

"Rog," Mark said as he slumped down on the couch.

"Mark," I replied. I wished he would tell me. You know, get over the hell over with.

"I'm negative," Mark said as a smile spread across his face.

"But you have an appointment," I replied.

"I have an iron deficiency. I'll have to take some pills and eat more meat. The appointment is just to see if I need to get a blood transfusion or not. No big deal," Mark replied.

"You should really eat more," I replied.

"Yes, mom," Mark said sarcastically.

"I'm glad you're not . . ."

"I'm sorry you are. We should celebrate my iron deficiency. Let's go get Collins. I'm sure he has his hands into something they aren't supposed to be in."

"I am not standing on the corner and playing my guitar while you two morons sing Italian love songs. That just wasn't cool."

"It was fun."

"It was fun."

"You think things will go back to normal?" Mark asked.

"I don't think they should. I don't need you to be my caretaker. Remember . . . brothers," I replied as I punched him in the shoulder.

"You should really bring your guitar . . . what Jewish songs do you know? I would at least know the words to those," Mark said as he bounced off the couch and gathered up his jacket and scarf.

"It would be better than the moon hitting your eye like a big infected sty. That just isn't right, my friend," I said as I stood up and packed up my guitar despite my better judgment.

"I don't know the words to love songs . . . never really needed to."

"It speaks volumes about your love life," I said as I followed him down the stairs.

"Oh, Roger . . . will you teach me?" Mark joked as he batted his eyelashes.

"Never."

I couldn't have been happier.

FIN