Chapter Four

It was still quite early when Maureen woke up the next morning to the sound of wind chimes that clanged happily in the morning's light breeze. She loved their sound, but hated when it woke her so early on weekends, so she just hung them outside on the fire escape so that their sound would bother her less. She was too lazy to take them off on weekends and put them back on when its over, so she still woke up to their sound but stayed in bed until she was ready to face the new day. That worked fine, so far. And also that morning.

It was still a little chilly from last night's rain but Maureen was not at all cold. On the contrary, she felt kind of cozy. She stretched like a cat and closed her eyes, stealing another moment of sleep. Something felt soft and warm against her naked body and she snuggled closer to it. It was pounding straight into her ear and she couldn't help but wonder when her mattress got itself a heartbeat. Then she realized there was something between her and her mattress. Her eyes snapped open when it dawned on her what was that something.

A chest. A male's chest.

And now, with her eyes wide open, she also realized that she knew the small blonde hairs on that chest. Yet she couldn't understand what was MARK doing in her bed. She raised her head from his chest to take a better look, which only confirmed her suspicions. It WAS Mark. He was sleeping peacefully, like the wind chimes didn't even bother him. She loved watching him sleep when they were still together. He looked even more childish and innocent than he usually did. It always made her smile. It made her feel protected, for a strange reason. Even now, when she had no idea what he was doing there. She silently observed him, as if for the first time, with a critical eye. His blonde hair was falling softly on his closed eyes. He needed a shave, she told herself. One of his arms was burried in her hair, his other arm was draped around her waist, holding her close.

What the hell was going on?

Maureen sat in bed, pulling the sheets with her as she did, and looked around the room with utter confusion. Suddenly she was wide awake, and slightly panicked, for she couldn't remember a single thing from the night before. There was a trail of their clothes that started near the closed door and ended at the foot of her bed with Mark's blue shirt. She stared at them but they told her nothing. She remembered fragmets of things, like being dumped by Joanne… the Wicked Witch of the West… an aspirin bottle that wouldn't open…

Oh, shit.

She bent to pick up Mark's shirt from the floor since it was the closest, and put it on. She tried to ignore the racing rhythm of her heart as the familiar fabric of Mark's shirt made contact with her bare skin. His aftershave tickled her nostrils. It reminded her of soap and rain, and so many other things that were Mark, and as much as she tried to deny it, it reminded her of them.

Carefully, so she wouldn't wake him, Maureen crawled out of bed and padded to the bathroom, yawning. Her headache was still buzzing in her ears. A quick glance in the mirror confirmed her suspicions again- she looked like the devil's wife herself. Her face was clean with make-up by now, but her eyes were red and puffy as a result of long hours of crying. She splashed more water on her face to make the puffiness go away, and tried to do something with her hopeless hair that fell on her face in long uncontrolable curls. Coffee, she thought. I need coffee. That was the only coherent thought she could manage to have at the moment, as she walked down the hall.

She made herself coffee and headed for the living-room, for she didn't dare going back to bed. What she had seen made her stop dead in her track. Her living-room was totally messed up. She looked around her, completely shocked. The TV was still on, and there was broken glass everywhere. She maneuvered her steps carefully between broken china and tables of unknown medication until she got to her couch and dropped herself on it, coffee mug in hand. She leaned back, staring at the mute cartoons on the screen. She tried to recreate the previous night's events by what she had known so far. The clothes, the broken china, the medication… she couldn't decipher their meaning. Nothing fit with anything.

She sipped her coffee but it was still too hot and burnt her tongue. She cursed silently and put the mug on the coffee table.

Why was Mark Cohen, her long ago ex, in her bed?

From the corner of her eye she suddenly caught the flickering red light of the answering machine. She snorted. She remembered THAT part, she thought bitterly as she clicked the 'erase' bottom to wipe the memory of Daisy-what's-her-name from Legal B off her answering machine, her mind, her life. Okay, she encouraged herself. So that message, and the message you left Collins on his answering machine. How the hell was Mark part of that picture?

Maureen sipped her coffee slowly, thoughtfully, as if doing it would help her remember. Why this hangover all of a sudden? Do I even have any alcohol here? Whatever it was, she knew that hours of crying over Joanne didn't do much help either. Yet even though she had that massive headache that wouldn't let go, in a strange way Maureen felt strong, complete, at ease with herself. The initial shock of her and Joanne's breakup had subsided, faded within her with the rest of the alcohol.

Yes, she decided. She felt better than she did the previous day. For a moment, she wasn't even bothered by the very bothersome fact of Mark sleeping in her bed.

"All right… I'm trying not to panic, but… what the hell did you do to me last night?"

Maureen's calmness disappeared the second she heard his voice, hoarse from sleep. She turned to face Mark, who wore nothing but his Charlie Brown boxers. She was silent for a second, taking his appearance in. His blonde hair was still tousled from sleep and he ran his fingers through it, as if he knew that. His expression, though only half waken, was as confused as his tone. Reality hit Maureen back when she suddenly realized that he was still waiting for her explanation. She didn't miss the accusation his tone carried. She could feel her calmness fading away. Her eyes narrowed. Now she was annoyed.

"What did I do to YOU?" she repeated, slowly. Mark nodded weakly. "May I remind you that it was YOU who was found in MY bed?" She was becoming more furious by the second. The only thing she could think of was, how dare he blame ME for that?

"Then what are YOU doing with my shirt?" Mark shot back, his eyebrows raised.

"I was a little cold when I woke up," said Maureen defensivly. Why the hell was he answering a question with a question? That was the oldest trick in the book, that was HER trick! And he was stealing it! Mark just gave her a skeptical and irritated look, as if he didn't believe what she had just said.

"There's coffee in the kitchen, if you're interested," she added dryly. He didn't deserve to be treated nicely, but he was obviously as wasted as she was, if not worse.

Mark nodded. "Don't you have your own clothes to strech out?" he mumbled as he walked to the kitchen. Maureen thought that she was probably not supposed to hear it but she did. She frowned but said nothing. She followed him to the kitchen and watched him as he took some coffee. For a split second, it felt like old times again.

"Shit… it feels like I was hit by a Pepsi truck…" he closed his eyes in frustration and leaned against her fridge.

Maureen couldn't do much but agree with him. "Yeah, tell me about it…" she chuckled. He opened his eyes to look at her and she found herself drowning in them. She couldn't let herself do THAT, she had to figure out what he was doing there. She turned her gaze away.

"What… exactly… happened… last night?" she asked carefully. The situation was clearly embarrassing for both of them. She couldn't control the blush that rose in her cheeks. She hoped Mark would be too confused to even notice it.

He didn't. "How should I know?" he spat hastily and closed his eyes again, as if in pain. "This is your apartment," he remarked, "why don't you tell ME?" It was so unlike Mark to speak to her like that, but she didn't have much time pondering over that at the moment. Instead, she had to fight back.

And thank goodness, a piece of a memory was finally in her favor. It was an image of Mark leaning drunkenly on her doorway. She shot him a glare that was both accusing and victorious.

"One thing I DO remember is you, Mark, coming in here drunk in the middle of the night, so maybe it's not up to me to give the explanations here!"

He looked horror stricken by what she had said. He closed his eyes again and his forehead wrinkled in concentration as he tried to remember. Few moments later he opened his eyes and let out a desperate sigh. "Honestly, Maureen, all I can remember is having a few drinks at home… everything else is blank," he said quietly. He took his coffee mug and headed back into the living-room. Maureen quickly followed. She was about to say something when he turned to look at her, his expression serious. "I don't even want to think about what might have happened…" his voice trailed off. He looked away. He moved to sit on the couch and carefully sipped his coffee. Maureen stood there for a second, trying to interpret why he stopped.

"What?" she asked eventually as she moved to sit beside him. She didn't trust herself to sit too close though. It seemed like they both needed their distance. "Mark, what might have happened?" she repeated, in case he missed it in the first place.

"Maureen, don't act stupid, don't act like you don't know," he snapped at her.

She stared at him, confused. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm in my fucking boxers, Maureen!" said Mark, his tone raising irritatebly. "It's simple addition, put two and two together! What do you THINK happened last night?" He looked at her as if she was a five-year-old. She hated that arrogant look. Joanne used to have that look sometimes, as if she knew everything about everything. It made Maureen feel so small and superficial. She felt like slapping him. Slapping?… Did I…

"Is it before or after I slapped you for being an asshole?" she asked coldly. She shook herself mentally for not remembering that before. It was practically her winning card in that fight. She saw it so clearly before her now. Her eyes were drilling into his, burning with anger. She was satisfied to notice that fear took hold on his expression, joining his confusion. He couldn't remember. Maureen snorted. As more and more glimpses of information were coming back to her, she was certain that what happened the previous night was not her fault. It wasn't much, but it was enough. "YOU came here, YOU were drunk, and YOU were in that fucking bed when I woke up!" she shouted.

Mark was still staring at her. He looked so pathetic, she almost felt sorry for him. "When did you slap…" he started, but soon his voice trailed off, probably because he realized how useless it was, since he couldn't remember it anyway. He let out a frustrated sigh and moved to sit on the coffee table so he could face her. "Maureen, I don't remember shit, I really don't." By the look in his eyes, she knew that he meant it, too. She guessed he was embarrassed, probably upset as well.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" he added suddenly, sounding terrified. He looked deeply into her eyes. Maureen felt herself drowning in them again, so she looked away.

"Your words did, a little," she admitted, glancing at him. His expression was serious and concerned. It made her features soften, along with her tone. "How is it even possible that we both can't figure yesterday night out? I mean… look at this place!" she looked around her. She turned off the TV and went over to the other side of the room, where the broken china was. She bent to collect the remainders of what looked to her as a small plate.

Mark laughed softly and went over to help her. He took a piece and looked at it thoughtfully. "How did we get from this…" he said, showing her the piece, "to this?" he ended, gesturing himself. Maureen nodded her agreement.

"You see, that's a really good question! Now find a good answer to go with it and maybe everything will be damn normal again!" It made perfect sense to her. Obviously, Mark wasn't thinking the same, he was frowning the moment she had said that.

"ME?" he asked miserably. Then, as if transformed somehow, he became serious all over again. "Why do you always do that?" Maureen detected accusation back in his tone.

"Do what?" Suddenly she felt very tired from arguing with him. She didn't feel like they were actually getting somewhere. They still didn't know what happened.

"You always… expect someone else to rescue you! You gotta do things on your own, Miss Johnson, figure out things yourself! Because you're the one who seem to know more about yesterday than I do!" Confusion made him aggressive, and Maureen didn't like aggressive Mark at all. Her eyes narrowed. She was furious. How DARE he speaking to me like that!

"What makes you think I know more than you about…" a familiar object caught her attention and made her voice trail off. She moved closer to the couch and picked up the empty vodka bottle from the carpeted floor. She stared at it as several other memories started to sink in. "Oh, shit…" she muttered.

Mark stared at her as she stared the bottle. Her protest had such an abrupt end, he didn't seem to understand what was wrong with her. "What?"

She ignored him, still staring at the empty bottle. "Oh, shit, oh… DAMNIT!" She didn't even remember that the damned bottle was in the fridge! What the hell was she thinking yesterday, finishing it… all by herself?

"Maureen, what? What is it?" Mark asked again, a little impatient that time.

"I was wondering why this hangover popped over me just out of the blue, oh shit!"

It seemed to irritate Mark but she couldn't care less. She picked as much broken glass as she could carry and threw them away along with the empty bottle.

"Hangovers don't come out of the blue, Maureen, they always come from alcohol," remarked Mark cynically and gave her that annoying arrogant look again. "So tell me something…" he went on as she came back to the living-room. "How the hell did you lure me in here anyway? Now that we know that you drank the devil's drink, we can finally figure this all out," he added nastily.

She shot him a murdorous glare. "Lure you in here, Mark?" she hissed, "As far as I know, you just SHOWED UP on my doorway WAY after midnight! And though it's none of your fucking business, actually I did have a reason to get drunk last night but it had nothing to do with you! Stop putting yourself in the middle of the whole fucking universe, stop behaving like a victim all the time!" He just stared at her silently, without protesting, so she just went on, encouraged. "You're not a kid anymore, Mark, start fighting for your own! Wake up! Start living as an adult! Stop hiding behind your goddamned camera!"

"I'll stop hiding when you quit your fucking role as damsel in distress!"

Maureen wondered how was it that none of her neighbors knocked on her door to complain about the noise they were making.

"And I'll remind you to give me my shirt back!" he added coldly.

She raised her eyebrow at that. "What, do you want me to take it off right now?" she teased, her tone as cold as his. She knew he would be embarrassed and she thought he well deserved that. She was about to take the shirt off when Mark's hands shot forward, as if to stop her.

"Don't! Keep it on…" his voice trailed off. He mumbled something, but she was standing too far to hear it. She looked at his reddening face with sheer satisfaction. She felt in control again. She was distracted, for she was trying to think about something else that might embarrasse him. That was why his next remark caught her completely unready and off guard.

"Where's your girl toy by the way?" he asked slickly, "Did she go off to work to support the two of you, or was there something kinky going on here last night too with that… that…" he stopped, as if he couldn't find the word he was looking for.

Maureen heard enough. Two steps forward and she was standing in front of him. She stared at him in shock. She could not believe Mark would go so low. So she did the only thing that seemed to be the appropriate respond.

She slapped him full force on his right cheek.

That caught him completely by surprise, he nearly lost his balance.

"Mind… your own… business…" she warned him icily. Her arm hurt, but she didn't have any intention letting him know that. He looked stunned for a moment, then he returned her icy glare.

"Maureen…" he said in a low voice, "I can't stand you."

She watched him walk away from her and assumed he headed to her bedroom to get dressed. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction to win that fight. Oh, no. She would say the last word.

"Well, guess what, Mark? I can't stand you either!" She heard him mumble something in response but he was too far away. "And get the hell out of my apartment!"

"You don't have to tell me twice, I'm out of here!" was his reply.

She snorted. He's pathetic, she thought. "Good!"

"And keep that stupid shirt!"

Tried as she might, Maureen could not find an appropriate reply to that, she dropped herself on her couch and closed her eyes. Remembering her coffee, she took the mug from the table and sipped from it, but the coffee was too cold already. She cursed. Could this day get any worse!

She knew that it would when she suddenly heard the familiar sound of a key turning in her door's lock. She jumped off the couch, startled. Someone was opening the door. And there was only one person who had the key to her apartment. Unfortunately, it was the only person, aside from Mark, that Maureen didn't wish to see.