Hi all, sorry it took us forever to update, it's been a really crazy week, but here it is now- read, review, enjoy… thanks!
Chapter Eleven
"Thank God," said Mark as Roger entered the flower shop, tossing his wallet to him.
"Shouldn't you be thanking me?" he asked, grinning. Mark huffed acknowledging his antic, and fumbling the wallet before he grasped it properly. He was a bit jittery than usual. He took out a couple of bills and paid the clerk for a half a dozen dahlias. Roger eyed him curiously, as Mark embraced the flowers with one arm.
"How could you afford...?"
"Savings account. My mom still adds to it every month, but it's getting less and less. I add to it too, and I was going to save that money for a new camera, solely on a new camera... but I need the dough. Plus, I'm counting on the Johansen's so it's going to make up for it." Mark stuffed the receipt in his pocket, and started heading out the door.
"Mark wait, I have to tell you something."
"Can it wait Roger?" Mark was in a hurry. It felt as if time was racing him for some reason. He had scheduled something with Michelle, but he was afraid that he was going to be late. And then he forgot his wallet, which stalled more time... dammit, why do I do this? Mark thought miserably. He noticed Roger staring.
"What?" he asked.
"I have to tell you something... look, we need to talk."
"I really have to go, can we do this later?" pleaded Mark. Roger looked at him and rolled his eyes.
"Go. Have fun."
"Thanks. See you later." Mark hurried out as soon as he could. His head was spinning. All he could think of last night, as soon as he got to bed, was Michelle. He hadn't felt this way for a while, and that urge of pleasure coming about from his early years of puberty were finally emerging again. If he wasn't so embarrassed, he would have skipped to Michelle's apartment. Even the fact that Maureen lived so nearby didn't bother him as much. He only hoped that his hair was okay, or that he didn't have a stupid grin on. Speaking of stupid grins... Collins walked out of the apartment building, stopping in front him.
"Mark. Beautiful flowers. For a beautiful girl right?" asked Collins.
"Yeah. They're for Michelle." He could feel his cheeks turning red.
"Aww... really? I would have hoped that they were for someone else... anyway hey!" Collins plucked Mark's checkered button-down shirt, and shook his head disappointedly. "You cannot go in looking like that."
"Collins, I don't have time for fashion tips. We're going to a matinee show, then later tonight I have to pick her up for dinner-"
"Great, then I can go shopping and when you get home, you'll have ten ensembles to choose from for your dinner date!"
"You really don't have to do that."
"I know. That's what makes me so nice." There went that grin. Mark groaned, and bit his lip. "You're too pathetic to go out like that!"
"You never complained before."
"Okay then, I just want to give you a make-over, is that so bad?"
"I don't know- look Collins, I appreciate everything you want to do for me, but I'm already late as it is. I don't want Michelle to think that I'm a flake... more than I seem anyway. I'll talk with you later!"
"Sure..." he had this discouraged look on his brow, but Mark hardly noticed it. He ran up the stairs, slipping on a creaky stair, and stepping on some gum. Can it get any better than this, wondered Mark, meeting the door and knocked. Michelle answered, smiling. He held the flowers in front of her, biting his bottom lip, hoping she would like them.
"Aww, Mark... they're marvelous. You didn't have to," said Michelle, smelling the tips of the petals. "Mmm... here, come in for a minute."
"Do you need a minute?" Mark quickly glanced at his watch. "I mean, you look gorgeous, and if we hurry-"
"That's what I need to talk about. Here...come in." Mark pressed his lips together, a bit worried. Gee, he hoped he wasn't going too fast with everything. They did just meet, but he thought he was handling it pretty well. Then again, he thought a lot of things and they didn't turn out the way he wanted. Here we go, another rejection, another thing to add to my list of failures, thought Mark.
"I have a ton of studying, as you can see." And he could see. Papers and textbooks were sprawled everywhere, and she had that tiredness in her voice. "And I have to pass this exam, or I'll never forgive myself. But I still plan to go with you tonight."
"No I understand," said Mark slowly. "Look, if you need tonight..."
"I wouldn't think of it! I've been looking forward to it," she said softly, bringing her face to his and kissing the side of his lip. Mark smiled, but then he felt something tickling his nostrils. He screwed up his face.
"Is something wrong?" Michelle looked panicked.
"No... are you wearing any perfume by chance?"
"I'm not. I hope you're not allergic to me." Mark shook his head, trying hard not to sneeze. At the corner of his eye, a ginger cat crawled from behind the sofa, eyeing them cautiously. A cat. He was allergic.
"You have a cat?"
"Yeah, I thought I told you. He just got back from the vet yesterday, poor little thing." She started to call the cat forth by clapping her hands together.
"No... um that is, I think I'm allergic." He sneezed. Great, fuck. He couldn't stay in her apartment. They wouldn't be able to hold a decent, or lucid conversation.
"Oh crap, I'm sorry. Look I need to study anyway. Pick me up at six?" She said, lightly shooing away the cat. It didn't obey.
"Yeah, I'll do that," he said and walked out the door. She winked at him, and a loving gleam was in her eyes. Mark's heart lifted, and he felt better all of a sudden. Okay, so they didn't go to the matinee show. That was all right. He felt a bit abandoned at first, but she gave him hope. He began walking back to his apartment, noting to himself that he needed to call the Johansen's about that appointment. He started to analyze his wardrobe. He wasn't the best dresser that was for sure. He always wore the same stuff. Two shirts, always because he thought it made him look bulgier. He looked like a stick, but the extra clothing gave him a sort of meaty look. His hair was disastrous- he couldn't do anything with it. He believed it had a life of its own. His sneakers... well, he didn't have anything else.
As soon as he entered his loft, he called the Johansen's. At least he was working again, but he was still wondering about his video camera. He should find it soon. It couldn't be missing for long. It would turn up... or who knows what he would do. Don't fret, he thought to himself as he got off the phone, don't worry... mustn't mess up your disposition because of an inanimate object...
"Mark, you're back early." Roger came out of the hallway. Mark turned and shrugged.
"She had other plans, but I'm taking her out tonight."
"Can we talk now?"
"Uhh... sure." He didn't really want to. He was afraid that Roger would say something he didn't want to hear. He had that sort of tone that something was the matter, and he didn't want anything to ruin his day.
"You and Maureen-" Roger started, but Mark didn't let him finish. That word did it.
"There is nothing going on between me and Maureen," spat Mark, and stomped to his room. Sure he felt like he was thirteen, but he didn't want to hear that horrendous word, that dreadful name.
"I didn't say that," Roger tried to explain. "Look, can't we just talk about it?"
Mark slammed the door. Why was everyone assuming that there was something going on? Why wouldn't they just leave it alone? No one had ever asked about it until now, why is there such a big fuss all of a sudden? He's met someone else, and he was finally getting over it. He was finally getting a second chance. This time, he wanted to do it right.
His eyes drew to a shirt on his bed. He didn't remember leaving any clothes on his bed before he left. He wondered if Roger went through his closet... okay, even Roger wouldn't go through the rack of rejects in his closet. Who was in his bedroom? He picked up the shirt slowly, feeling the material as if for the first time. It was his flannel shirt. His flannel shirt that she said she would burn...
Mark threw open the door, and marched into the living room where Roger was looking out the window raptly. Mark cast the shirt at him, and it floated on top of his head. Roger turned around, the shirt hanging over his head goofily.
"Mark... is there something on my face?"
"You didn't tell me she was here... in this apartment, in my room!"
"Hey, I tried-" he pulled off the shirt, but Mark didn't let him finish.
"You could have tried harder! I don't want anything to remember her by, especially that stupid shirt."
"It's your shirt, man. And what is it between you two? I knew you guys had problems because... well because of that, but you two were always friends."
"We are not friends." Mark stated. There was no one else he wanted more to lose contact with. He was sick of her drama.
"You've been acting really... off lately. What's going on?" he asked seriously.
"I told you, nothing's going on."
"Not between you two... between you. You seem angrier."
"Who are you, my therapist?"
"A friend. We all see it. You've been acting like you're really angry with...with, you know. And you've never been angry with her. Upset, confused, yeah. Never this angry. What happened?"
Mark couldn't run away from it. He didn't tell Roger everything, but he told him all he could. He was too embarrassed to say what happened that night, but he did mention that there were several insensitive words, drunkenness, and an unexpected visitor. Roger was partly engaged when Joanne was brought in, but he didn't talk much. Mark actually felt a little better getting this off his chest.
"Why didn't you tell me before?"
"I don't know. I didn't want you to think... well, I mean I felt like shit, I just didn't want to talk about it. It was the worst night of my life."
"But is that worth throwing away a friendship?" asked Roger. Mark cocked an eyebrow at him as if giving him a what-do-you-think look. Roger just shook his head as if he was making a big mistake. "I still don't understand why you're making such a big deal about a few words."
"That's just it, Roger, you don't understand." Roger looked at him for a second, as if hurt, then glowered at him. Mark looked down, sort of shamefully, and Roger gazed at him peculiarly, then observed the shirt. He wrapped it into a ball, and tossed it back to him, and it landed on Mark's shoulder.
"And what's with the shirt? It's just a shirt." Roger shook his head again and turned his back at him. A familiar, rosy scent lifted from the piece of clothing, and Mark smelt its aroma. It was heavenly, almost a desirable scent of strawberries. He remembered only one person smelling that way, but he tried not to think about it. The material touched his skin. It was soft and for a split second, only a split second, all the memories of the past filled his mind. He tried to force back the sudden tears forming behind his eyes. He walked back into his bedroom, jammed the shirt under his bed, collapsed on his bed, and fell asleep.
He had been sleeping for a couple hours, and finally with some peace. It was hot, but it didn't matter much. He tried to not let it bother him. He actually felt kind of cool. A tingling sensation went up his right arm. It was a cool feeling, making him shiver a bit, but he continued to sleep. He didn't want to wake. Suddenly, the sensation shot up to the other arm, traveling throughout his body, down his legs, swerving back to his kidney, his bladder...
Mark awoke, a few giggles from above him. His right hand felt wet, and he wondered if he was sleeping in the bathtub or something. Oh God, he wasn't drunk again, was he?
He looked at his arm, which was hanging off the bed, almost touching the floor. But it wasn't touching the floor. His hand was dipped in a bowl of warm water.
"Did it work?" asked a girl's voice.
Collins face appeared in front of his eyes. "Did it work Mark?" Mark suddenly got the joke, and sat up, wiping his hand on the sheets.
"Very funny," he murmured as Roger, Mimi, and Collins laughed. It was the oldest trick in the book, and he couldn't believe they tried it on him. At least the sheets weren't wet... well he didn't feel wet...
"Sorry Mark, but you've always been our number one victim when it came to practical jokes," said Roger. He seemed to have gotten over their talk from earlier. Mark's nap had lightened his spirits too. A nice serenity showered him. At least he would be in a better mood before picking Michelle up for their date.
"Stand up Mark," said Collins. "We've got two and a half hours before you pick up your date, so we don't have much time."
"Two and a half hours isn't much time? It takes me two minutes," said Roger looking at Mimi. Mimi laughed.
"You obviously don't know much about women or fashion," she said giving Collins a low five. Collins nodded in agreement. Roger exchanged odd looks with Mark, and he smiled. He scratched his head.
"Let me guess. You have ten outfits for me to try on?" Mark asked Collins.
"Like I promised."
"You're as broke as I am," pointed out Mark.
"I didn't buy anything. These are old clothes from when I was a tall, lanky kid, and they all worked for me. But I figured it would work for a Caucasian, straight guy too," said Collins fixing a few of the clothes at the foot of the bed. Mark picked up a few things from his bed. They weren't the casual, colorful apparels Collins would be seen wearing at Life Cafe?. They were classy dress suits, but not really formal ones. One getup included a nice Journey shirt with spots of dark and light blue splattered all over the place. A greyish dress coat went with the shirt, and grey pants. Hmm... he couldn't picture Collins wearing that.
"Personally I wouldn't pair these items together but... seeing how you're trying to impress a woman, that called for some switching around. See I would add a bit of pink here, and here...and you didn't need to know that." Collins wiped the back of his head.
"Mimi and I will be waiting in the living room," said Roger. "We'll do a sort of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy thing...only this time there's only one queer, and I'm pretty sure he won't hit on you." Roger and Mimi left, leaving Collins and Mark alone.
"Finally. We need to talk," said Collins.
Oh great, and he thought the madness would end. "Collins, this isn't about her is it?"
"She has a name. Maureen." Mark felt his ears burning, and a tinge above his neck. Collins went on. "I think you two are being very immature about this, and I hate that you're making me the father of all this."
"Then don't. Just leave it," said Mark simply.
"I can't let you guys throw this all the way." His voice suddenly became a whisper, as if he was telling a secret. "I think she still likes you."
"You're crazy, Collins."
"Mark, I swear, this isn't the marijuana talking. My friend and I had parted a while ago. But you can't let her part from you."
Mark looked at him annoyed. Just drop it, just drop it, he wanted to yell. Instead he said, "Collins. Please?" He didn't want to yell, Collins was too good of a friend for that. He knew he meant well, he knew everyone did, but the friendship has already gone to the rocks. Why did they have to hold on? Why hold on?
"All right. Sorry Mark," he apologized, but it felt like it was more than just for bringing up the topic again. It was like he was sorry for something else to. Mark pushed the thought away. He focused on the make-over, hoping that it would help him get over it.
"I never thought I'd say this to you Mark," said Collins, grinning, "but... would you please take off your pants?"
Mark blushed suddenly, and hesitated. He never thought in a hundred years, that he would be taking his pants off in front of a homosexual… okay there was that one Poker night.. argh... the sad sort of thing was that it wasn't for pleasure... or was that the good thing? He slowly unbuttoned his pants, feeling regretful at every centimeter he pulled it down.
"Come on Marky, don't tease me, now off with the pants!" hurried Collins.
Mark took off his pants hastily and stood there, staring at Collins. What now? Collins tilted his head up and down.
"Don't just stand there clueless. You gotta finish the look. Take off your shirt."
WHAT? "Then I'll be naked!"
"No, you've got Snoopy boxers on. Nice touch, by the way." Collins winked at him. "It's not like I haven't seen you in your underwear before!"
"This is different." Mark covered his face, humiliated. Did he really have to? He pulled the shirt over his head, and straightened out his glasses. He could feel his face turning red. Okay, never in a hundred years would he have imagined himself standing in his bedroom, with nothing but his boxers covering his albino white body, while a gay man observed him two feet away.
Mark uttered a pain of discomfort. Collins merely laughed at this and threw him some pants.
"Let's try the James Bond look. I've always wanted to see you in a proper suit." Collins dressed him in the popular black and white suit, with even a silly tail tagging behind his dress jacket. Collins scooped up a glob of who-knows-what, and handed it to Mark. Ew.
"What's this?" asked Mark.
"Grease. Go ahead, slick it through your hair."
"Uh.." now how did the movie stars do this? Mark tried to figure out whether he was suppose to start from the back, the front, the sides, or just slap it in the middle of his scalp. He didn't even realize that he was staring into his hand until Collins spoke up.
"It's not going to bite you, just lay it on there. Mark, I can't be your hairdresser too." He swiped what he could from Mark's hand and plopped it on his head. Collins slicked his hair back, and it felt as if Mark was being shampooed by his mother. He pouted, feeling like a total air head about this whole fashion deal.
"There... here." He handed Mark a towel, and he wiped his hands with it. "Alright, let me take a look at you." He turned him around, and bit his lip from laughing.
"What?" Mark asked timidly. What did he look like? Too bad he didn't have a full-length mirror. On the other hand, he couldn't live with one, for he could have smashed it a thousand times, dreading the way he looked. And then he learned to stop caring.
"Let's bring you out," said Collins grabbing his shoulders and pushing him out the door. "Are you sitting? Here we come!"
"No wait, Collins, what..." but Mark couldn't stop him. He dragged his feet, forestalling the moment, but Collins was much too strong. He tried to hang on to a wall, but he was pushed and nagged into it. He entered the living room, as Mimi and Roger looked up eagerly. Luckily, they didn't burst into laughter.
"Mark... whoa..." Roger was the first to say something. "You look... God-awful. Almost... frightening."
"Collins what did you DO to him?" asked Mimi. "You were suppose to sexify him!"
"You can't jump that big, you have to start out small. I was just... experimenting. We'll get there eventually... I mean it can't get any worse, right?"
"Yeah, that's true," agreed Roger and Mimi. Mark puffed fecklessly. He wasn't a Ken doll to slap on some clothes, and call it a spectacle. Hell, Ken had a better body than him.
"He looks like a really bad body guard for the president. The type that would duck under the table instead of taking a bullet for the Man."
"He looks more like a geek trying to do a really bad impression of Antonio Banderas," interjected Mimi.
"Are you guys aware than I'm still in the room, and that I'm not a test dummy? I can hear you," pointed out Mark.
"We know," said Roger and sat back down next to Mimi.
"Back inside." Collins ushered Mark back in the bedroom. They ripped off the clothing, and Mark again was in his underwear. He quickly snuck to the bathroom while Collins was setting up his next outfit to check out his hair. Mark gawped at himself. His hair was oily and gross looking, and it looked as if he was an extra in Grease. He ran some water through his hair, and messed it up quickly, so that the grease would come off. He ran back into the bedroom before Collins could yell at him.
They tried on a few more outfits and made Mark model it for Mimi and Roger. There were massive amounts of laughter, even tears at one outfit that made him look like a peacock. Some of the pants Collins gave him were really uncomfortable. One was a bit too tight and was riding on him, and he walked as if he had a hitch. Roger didn't get enough of that one, but Mimi did compliment his legs. One good thing did come out of it, and Mark almost laughed himself to death because of it. They loved the hair. It was unruly, yet it had a dimensional, rocker look. They all liked it, and Mark was almost proud that he did something right... even though it was on accident.
"Okay, last one because I'm running out of outfits and patience," said Collins. "You are definitely the toughest person I ever had to work. Then again... you're the only person I ever had to work with. Let's face it Mark, you're a fashion disaster... and then there's Roger. But he pulls it off for some reason. Even I could never work it out. Hmm... But, I think I got you worked out."
"So, what's the diagnosis, doc?" asked Mark, almost excitedly. Well, he was excited that it was going to end. And he hoped that this would be the one Michelle will be seeing.
"Put this on," he handed him some very dark blue jeans, that looked like it would fit nicely around him. They weren't at all baggy when he put them on, they were actually a perfect size. Collins then passed him a collared, long sleeved white shirt, which looked like it was a bit too long for him.
"Don't tuck it in," advised Collins, "five outfits ago, I learned that you are NOT a neat, tuck-it-in sort of guy. You'll look like a nerd."
Mark did as he was told, and just buttoned it up. He then waited for Collins to hand him the next item. A belt, and a jacket. He wrapped the belt around him, and then put on the jacket. It was a black blazer, warm and Collins folded the wrist cuffs on the white shirt so it would be peeking out beneath the black. The shirt was longer than the blazer, but Collins said that was okay, and Mark trusted his word for it. They kept the shoes, and the glasses, only because he was blind without them. Collins then took out some compacts which looked like powder...
"What's that?" asked Mark.
"A little makeup," he answered, sweeping the brush on his hand.
"NO, no, no!" Mark backed away toward the door.
"It's not real makeup... well..."
"No, no, no, no, NO!" said Mark and closed the door on him. He sort of chuckled afterwards, but he drew the line when someone tried to put makeup on him. He heard Roger say, 'sounds like Collins tried the makeup,' and he rushed out to the living room. He paused in the middle of the room. Mimi smiled widely.
"Better. MUCH better!" She leaped up and threw herself at him. She wrapped her tiny arms around his neck, pulling him down. Mark was strangled a bit in her hug of death, but he was happy that his transformation was a success.
"Thanks Mimi..." he managed to say, but Mimi was so avid about the whole thing, she couldn't help but squeal, "Muy guapo! Sexy Mark!" She twirled his shirt collar, and looked at him dreamily. "En tu casa o en la mia?"
"Uhh... sure!" said Mark clueless. He turned a crimson color.
"Hey, don't say anything kinky to him, you're my girl, and he's my best friend... now if you can detach yourself..." said Roger tapping her shoulder, and looking at her sternly. He was kidding of course, but she flashed Mark a wink, and ran her hand down Roger's shirt. He shook his head and smiled at her, then turned his attention to Mark. He stood there modestly, awaiting for his friend's response.
"Not bad... not bad at all," said Roger patting his friend's back. "Collins, you do great work! How do you do it?"
"Secret," said Collins coming out from the bedroom.
"No I have to hand it to you, he looks really good," he said checking out his blazer.
"Yeah. Collins, you're Superman, aren't you?" asked Mimi.
"Part time. Because of the AIDS thing, I can't do it on-call... but I am..." He spread his legs apart and put his hands on his hips. "Superman with AIDS!"
"Not sure about the shoes, however..." said Roger looking down at his sneakers.
"Oh..." said Mimi following his eyes down to the floor. "Yeah, those...those..." She suddenly ran down the hallway and slammed the bathroom door shut. Mark looked up at Roger questioningly.
"My shoes aren't that bad...sure I stepped on some gum along the way, and..."
"I wonder what's wrong..." mumbled Roger, and he ran after her. Mark looked at Collins worriedly. Collins gave him a reassuring smile, as if saying not to worry about it. Mark nodded slowly. He hoped everything was alright.
-----------------
Later that night, Mark was able to be prompt for once, and picked up Michelle at exactly six for their dinner date. Michelle goggled for a moment before saying hello, and that made Mark feel a bit bashful, but he felt sort of good about it. She couldn't help but talk about how great he looked, and he did the same. She did look stunning. She was wearing a green sleeveless dress that enlaced around her waist snugly. Her hair was brought up in a tight style, with strands stringing around her face. Mark was almost proud showing her off at Heaven's Bistro.
The date went along nicely. Mark enjoyed her lectures; he didn't mind listening to whatever she had to say. He sort of was used to it. Listening was one of his strongest traits. She enjoyed his company as well, or so he hoped, for she laughed every time he did something goofy. He was clumsy all night, dropping silverware, almost tipping over drinks. She found it a sidesplitter though, and even said he looked awfully cute being clumsy.
"So who helped you with all this...this?" she pointed at his clothing.
"Collins. We spent a lifetime in that bedroom... I mean, changing clothes."
"Collins? Really..." she took a bite of her food. "I... I would have never known. I mean, I guess he has an easier time dressing you then himself, huh?"
Mark looked at her surprised. "Well Collins always had great style. I guess beauty is in the eye of the beholder."
"So true." He looked at her kind of indecisively. Well, it was just her opinion, and he should respect that. Not everyone's going to like Collins' style. But for a while, it had him thinking about how she felt about Collins. It was hard not to love him. He was Superman.
The rest of the date, however, was blissful. They had a wonderful meal, the service was great. Nothing could have made it any better. The only thing that worried him was when he took out his cash to pay for the meal. He was afraid that he was going to b short handed, and he didn't dare ask Michelle for some money. Luckily, he was just on the dot, and he was able to pay, but he couldn't help but brood about it.
The night drifted upon them as they walked down the sidewalks of the avenues. The moonlight glistened in the sky, and a breeze of cold air swift past them. Michelle continued to chatter away with Mark putting his two cents in now and then. Fortunately, he was able to think of witty responses to a lot of her statements, and she laughed nearly every time. She really made him feel better, like he wasn't invisible, like he was human.
A sudden tingling made him shiver. He didn't know what it was. He hoped it wasn't his past beginning to haunt him again. Perhaps it was his conscience telling him something... but he didn't do anything wrong. Unless that thing from this morning was coming back to torment him again. He shivered again.
"Are you cold?" Michelle asked. She noticed.
"No, no. Are you okay?"
"Fine." She had brought a sweater with her and had it around her tightly. A soft shuffling came from behind. Mark looked to the shadows down the alleyways they were passing. He didn't feel frightened or anything. It just felt sort of... strange. Again he heard the shuffling. He laid a hand behind Michelle, looking back for anyone who might have been following him. No one. Well... it always start off that way.
No, there was someone. A figure, a man. He leered at them carefully, tracing their footsteps logically, silently. Now Mark became a little frightened. The man stepped faster. Mark paced faster. He leaned near Michelle's ear.
"Walk a bit faster," he whispered.
"Why-?" but right after she was pulled away.
"Michelle!" he looked back, and saw the figure's arm was wrapped around her neck, the other around her waist. Near her neck, he held a knife.
"Don't hurt her." Mark was lead into a grim alley. His heart raced. Just don't hurt her, he thought desperately. He didn't know what to do. But he would oblige to anything as long as she was okay. He had never been mugged before. He'd heard stories from Collins and Roger though.
"I won't if you give me what you got," the man growled.
"All right..." He reached into his pocket.
"Hands up!" he growled. Mark did as so. He was thinking he had a gun. Mark didn't have a gun, that was for sure.
"Just getting my wallet..." he whispered. The man nodded, and gestured him to hurry. Mark reached into his pocket. Empty. Fuck... left it at the restaurant, he thought pitiably.
"Look... I don't have any cash on me..."
"That's the wrong answer," he said and tightened his grasp around her neck. She gasped, and Mark tried to think of a way out. He didn't have anything.
"I have nothing. You can even check." The man slowly loosened his grip, but kept one hand on her arm. He carefully checked Mark's jean pockets which were empty. He then checked the inside pockets within the blazer. He reached out into one pocket... and took out a fifty dollar bill. SHIT. Where did that come from?
"Fuckin' liar," he grumbled and swept his hand across his cheek. The knife sliced through his cheek, and diced across. Mark tried not to curse. Blood spilt, and a stinging pain came about. He turned his face around, and the mugger pushed Michelle before running off.
"Are you alright?" Mark said breathlessly, bringing his hands to his knees.
"Mark! I'm alright," she whispered, and hugged him. "I was so frightened, are you all right?"
"I'm fine," he said, and wrapped his arms around her.
"I was so scared," she said. "Nothing like that has ever happened before, not to me. I hate to admit it, but I've always been protected...thank you Mark."
Mark didn't say anything. He did realize a while ago that Michelle wasn't like anyone he'd kept in close contact with. She had always been locked up in her home, confined from the world of horrors, the world of reality. It was hard for her to get used to. Her parents always cared for her, always made her feel safe. Mark embraced her longingly, and rubbed her hair softly. It was now down, in tangles. He kept her warm by bringing his long arms around her body even tighter together. For the first time he felt strong. Like he was actually capable of taking care of someone, and it felt nice that someone depended on him like that. He wanted to hold her forever. He wanted their days to last.