Disclaimer: I don't own anything. So deal with it.
Author's Notes: Thank you for all of the reviews, I'm glad you all like the story so much.
This is important. Italics are pieces of film in this chapter. Not flashbacks.
The next morning was different to say the least. Roger and Collins were up first, and then Mark got up. Mark was the difference. He was still shuffling and solemn, but for the first time that he would remember, he spoke of something other than medication. "I got drunk last night didn't I?" His hair that was almost back to normal was sticking in all directions. This added to their startled state when they looked up at the sound of his voice. Then neither spoke. "Uh, guys?" He tried again. "Did you hear me?"
"We heard you." Collins confirmed. "We were wondering if you did. It's kind of surprising to hear your voice."
"Oh." And Mark sobered quickly. "Right."
"But yeah. You got pretty drunk last night." Roger informed quietly, not meeting his eyes with the filmmaker's. The hypocrite.
"I figured. Since I don't remember anything." By now Collins and Roger were wondering what had caused the sudden change in their friend's attitude. He had been so mad at them the day before…and suddenly it seemed as though he was neutral. "I'm going to start watching some film stuff out here in a couple minutes." He told them this before walking back to his room. And that was the last of this encounter.
For a moment Collins and Roger could only look at each other. "Did he just talk to us?" Roger asked carefully. He didn't want to jinx this.
"That's what I heard. Maybe we're making progress." Tom suggested just as carefully. "I guess we'll have to wait and see."
So they waited. And it was later that Mark had set his equipment up and was starting to watch his footage. Roger was sitting on the kitchen table with his guitar, simply screwing around with it, while Collins had decided to go out and quote unquote, 'See if there were any minds to corrupt today.' Roger wasn't really paying attention to what was playing on the wall. He was more than satisfied that for one reason or another he and Mark were coexisting happily again. Now he planned to do what he could to keep the peace; this included not really paying attention to Mark's footage because he knew that Mark didn't like people seeing things before they were done. But a voice interrupted this concept.
"You're Roger's little bitch." Roger knew it was his old dealer, but didn't say anything yet. He only started watching. It didn't take long for him to realize that this was the footage from the night that Mark was attacked. The first punch was his main clue.
There was something oddly mesmerizing about this piece of footage. About seeing your best friend get beat up in the past, knowing basically what would happen, but not being able to stop it. Roger couldn't look away.
"You two finish him off. I have some business to take care of." The dealer turned and left. One of the other's reached into his coat, pulling out a gun, and placing it on Mark's forehead.
Roger hadn't known about this. It scared him a little, to realize how close to death his friend had been that night; it scared him more to realize how close to truth his own thoughts had been. Mark very well could have died.
"Please…Please don't…" Roger tore his eyes away from the wall when he realized that Mark had spoken. Mark, who was sitting on the couch just watching his footage, had said the words with the Mark on the screen. "Please…Please don't…" He repeated the words in a quiet, shaky voice.
Roger frowned and put his guitar down. "Mark?" There was no response. "Mark?" He stood and walked over. Mark was staring straight ahead, a glazed look over his eyes. "Mark?"
He was breathing shallowly and the breaths were accelerating in speed. Faster and faster. Inoutinoutinoutinout. His face was covered in a sheen of sweat, his cheeks were flushing. Inoutinoutintoutinout. "Mark." Roger reached out a hand towards his, but Mark withdrew it away quickly. "Mark…you're scaring me." His hands were shaking violently, a shiver ripped through his body.
Then it hit Roger. It was a panic attack. He had had his share when he went through withdrawal. It wasn't exactly the same thing he knew…but he was hoping that he could remember enough about how to deal with them to help Mark.
"Mark. Focus on me." He grabbed onto Mark's hands despite his friends avoidance. "Mark look at me." Roger positioned himself in front of Mark's eyes. "Mark, just focus on me. I'm here."
Inoutinoutinoutinout. "Please…please don't…" His voice was weaker, more strained against tears in his voice.
"Mark, listen to my voice OK?" Roger did his best to keep his voice calm and soothing. That was what Mark had always done with him. "Mark, I want you to listen to my voice. I need you to breathe with me OK? Listen to me Mark."
No response. Just the breathing. Inoutinoutinoutinout. Just the words. "Please…please don't…"
"Mark breathe with me. Nice slow deep breaths. In…and out. In…and out."
Inoutinoutinoutin and out. In and out.
"That's it Mark. That's good. In…and out. In…and out." The slowing continued. "That's good Mark. Just keep focusing on me. I'm right here."
In and out. In and out. In and… "What's going on?" His voice was still straining against emotions. His cheeks were flushed, the sweat was still there. "Roger what are you doing?" He pulled his hands away. They were still shaking. He was still out of breath.
"You were having a panic attack." Roger left his crouching position going to the crate across from Mark and sitting on it.
For a moment he didn't say anything. He closed his eyes briefly, trying to regroup.
"You scared me." Roger informed.
"I scared me too." Mark tried a lame joke. He was fighting the emotions still. But it would be easier if Roger left him alone. It was easier to fight when he was alone.
Roger watched as the color drained from his friend's face. "Mark, I need you to tell me what's going on with you." He started very quietly, as reserved as he could be.
"I don't want to talk about it." It was the weakest his voice had ever been when he had said those words. This wasn't a good time to be pressed for information…he was too weak. He wouldn't be able to hide it.
"Well, you're going to." He paused. "I know that I was wrong to just assume that because you said you didn't want to talk about it that you were OK. And if you ask me the past few days has been evidence enough that you're not."
"You don't know what you're talking about!" It had only been a couple sentences that had changed Mark's attitude, from quiet and lost to an emotional angry.
Roger did his best not to get mad again. Another fight wasn't what they needed. "You just had a panic attack because you watched a film. And you haven't been yourself for two weeks. You can't tell me that I don't know what I'm talking about because I'm watching you lose yourself."
"He raped me!" Mark shouted quickly, cutting Roger off. "He raped me!" Even as he finished the sentence he collapsed into wracking sobs, falling forward off the couch onto Roger's chest.
"What?" Roger caught the filmmaker easily, but the shock quickly set in. Three little words. He. Raped. Me. And the words were enough to shatter his world. The filmmaker was crying into his chest. He could already feel the tears soak through his shirt. It was one of the few times in his life that he didn't know what to say.
Mark pulled back quickly, wiping his eyes. "Two weeks ago, when he came up to visit."
And Roger realized what it all meant. "Your stepfather." He spoke it quietly. It seemed as though if he spoke louder than a murmur things would go badly. He didn't want that now.
"I spent ten years of my life trying to avoid him." Mark was fighting with the emotions again. "Ten years where I was safe. Ten years down the drain in five minutes. He raped me Roger."
He. Raped. Me. What does somebody say to those words? Roger didn't know. Just moments ago a things seemed so normal, like they would be OK. Now they didn't. "Mark, I…I'm sorry." If it weren't for the situation he would have laughed. He was just doing everything that Mark would have done. Mark would have handled the panic attack, Mark would have said those exact words.
"Don't be." He looked over. "There's no point in being sorry for me. It happened, it's over." Again with the complete personality switch. "I just need to stop crying over it and move on with my life." It was a personality switch, but he was still holding back tears. Roger could tell. It was as though Mark was trying to go numb, and Roger knew that he was.
Roger shook his head. "It's OK for you to be upset about this Mark. That bastard hurt you. It's OK for you to cry about things. Isn't that what you always told me, when you were trying to stop me from killing myself? When I went through the withdrawal?"
"That's different." Mark turned away stubbornly. His hands went into his jacket pocket again. It was too cold in the loft even with heat. The paper felt harsh against his hands, the plastic was smooth.
"Don't be a hypocrite Mark. I'm not going to let you do this to yourself. Just let it out."
"I can't just let it out!" The hand came out of the pocket and the plastic and crumpled paper were thrown across the room. "I have bigger things to worry about than what that asshole did to me."
Roger didn't say anything. He stood, and went to the fallen objects that had rebounded into the corner. One was a crumpled ball of paper and that he couldn't read. The other was a clear orange bottle with the white cap and label. The prescription was made out to Mark Cohen. Now it was his turn for his hands to shake. The bottle dropped to the floor once more and he straightened the paper. Once more it was addressed to Mark Cohen. It was crumpled again when he was done reading it. "Mark…how did you…?"
"I got it from him." He explained as though it would ease my own fears. "When he…when it happened." Now he was looking away again.
Roger still didn't know what to say. He knew that Mark had been going to say it again. He. Raped. Me. And now he could add to that. He. Made. Me. HIV. Positive. That was Mark had just said. His stepfather had gone so far as to rape him, and give him HIV. No wonder Mark hated his family.
There's this one. I should able to get one more knocked out today, but if not then we'll repeat the major updating drill at the same time next weekend.