Chapter Four

"Eat your dinner," Benny tells me softly, setting a plate down in front of me. I don't respond, instead staring forward at the painting I hung on the wall the other day. He sighs. "Meems, take all your medicines." He sets all the pill bottles in front of me.

I finally reach forward and open the bottles, methodically taking them with the ginger ale he always feeds me. "Baby, how long are you going to ignore me for?" I repress the smirk that's trying to spread across my face. I got through to him.

He sighs and bends over, tenderly kissing my forehead. I flinch and try to pull away from him. "I'll see you tomorrow morning with your breakfast, babe." He refills my ginger ale glass, then pulls on his jacket. "Don't go anywhere, sweetie. Don't run away again. I'll call." He pauses at the door. "I love you."

My eyes squeeze shut at this point. The door clicks. "I'm not gonna go anywhere, Benny." He's gone. I sit there, obediently eating my dinner as I think about Benny. I do what he tells me to. As much as I hate him for it.

He's keeping me alive. For the past month, every day. He brings me my food, makes me take my medicine, pays for cable. But he won't stay with me. He won't fucking stay and I won't ask.

I hate him. Why won't he just let me go, instead of making me stay in lonely emptiness? He doesn't even let me leave the apartment, brings everything to me. He even bought me a whole bunch of new clothes. Nice clothes, warm, not remotely slutty, nothing like me. Expensive too… he forgot to cut out one of the price tags.

I'm climbing out my window, a blanket and notebook in my hands. I'm not running away. I just like to be here. Being able to look and people and think. It's not even thinking about me and Roger and Benny and Mark. It's just… thinking. About life and people and everything.

I'm trying to write a play.

I have to do something. It's a pathetic excuse for human contact but… at least it's something.

Sometimes I think I miss human contact. But then I see someone who looks like Steve walk by or I watch another girl get yelled at by her boyfriend and I realize that I'm better off up here on my fire escape, being babysat by Benny.

There isn't any of that in my play. There's conflict, sure, but it takes place in a better place—Spain. I know that I know enough about it and it's all exotic and beautiful. It doesn't take place in any cold slum. I don't even want to see a cold slum and I live in one, why would anyone else?

It's getting colder too. I don't even know what month it is, but I know winter's coming. I think that unless I get less skinny, it's gonna get too cold for me to go outside and write. I don't know what I'm gonna do to run away from the loneliness then.

Maybe I'll have to start talking to Benny again.

As it stands, I'm too cold to write today anyway. I'm going to blame that on the fact that it's after dinner and just pray that it's not at that "too cold" point. I'm not ready to go back in yet—not until sleep time—so I just tuck my hands into my sleeves and try to hold the blanket tightly around me. Maybe someone interesting will—

"Hey Meems."

That was my name. I swear to God, that was someone saying my name. I twist around desperately, trying to figure out where the voice came from. It wasn't Benny's voice which means… I have no clue who it can… no one even calls me "Meems" anymore. Maybe I just imagined it.

"Sorry I haven't talked to you for a long time."

Dios, that's the voice again, I didn't… It doesn't make sense why I can't see him though. I can't be imagining it, I'm supposed to be getting better and healthy people don't imagine things.

There's a clatter above me, followed by a brief rough sob. Shit, that's why I couldn't figure out—suddenly, my worries about imaging things are completely gone and the blanket is pooled around my feet as I'm up and gripping to fire escape ladder. It's Roger. I know it. He's wearing the same plaid pants as the first night.

I can hear him laughing a little now, even though I can see his legs shaking the way they always do when he cries. I've only ever seen him cry a few times, but I know he is right now. And I can't even begin to think about what it means that he's crying because all I can focus on is the fact that it's my Roger up there.

"Nothing really new is going on with me… I picked my guitar up the other day and you should have heard Mark go fucking nuts. It's like I told him I won the lottery or some shit, instead of me picking up an out of tune broken-down guitar. I guess you didn't know he bought it back from the pawn shop after you… left. Well, he did… guess he hoped it would bring some snapping me out of it action… or some such shit. I should tell you I still haven't talked to him. He thinks I don't talk at all anymore.

"Anyway, I put the guitar back down—wanted to see Mark get his panties all in a knot. Maybe if he plays nice, I'll play a couple of chords in a week or something."

There's a pause and I can see Roger shuddering and I know he's still crying. MY knuckles are turning white from gripping the bars so hard. My arms are beginning to shake and my shoulders are freezing because they're uncovered but I won't sit back down. Roger's talking to me and I know that he doesn't know I'm listening and I still can't miss a word. If I sit down, I don't know if I can not run up and hug my crying Roger. My grip tightens in intensity and I bite down viciously on my lip to stop myself from calling out his name.

"I hope you're doing okay, baby." His voice is getting all rough now and I know that he's just barely hanging on. All I want is to hold him. "I know you're not, but I want to hope that you are. And I want you to know that I'm sorry. Um… I know I never said it before, but I am. Things were so much more wrong than I knew and… god, I made you kiss Mark. I made everything get bad and you get pushed to that point. I made you throw away your AZT at that first fight even. Jesus, Mimi, I am so sorry. I'm sorry I never trusted you right and I'm sorry for all the times I pushed you around and I'm sorry I killed you. I never meant to make you run away. I'm so scared that now you're—"

He turns around now and I can hear the fire escape clang. I think he heard something. "Mother calls," I can almost hear him mutter bitterly as he wipes at his eyes. "Before we know it, I'll be bundled up and dragged inside. I'll try to talk to you again soon… I… I love you, Meems. Still. Always."

As soon as he's done, I can hear a window open and suddenly there's another figure on the fire escape. "Rog, why are you out in the cold? You're gonna get sick."

Mark. The bastard. Roger wanted me… wants me… and he…

"Look, I made some soup, so you've gotta come in and eat that and take your cocktail. Your doctor is still going on about your weight so we have to make at least some pretense of eating until pay day next week."

I stand there, numb, until Mark leads a silent Roger back into the loft. I then slowly bend down and collect my things and climb back into my apartment. My gaze almost immediately lands on the carefully lined up shelf of pill bottles as my phone begins to ring (Benny checking up on me) and for once I'm grateful to Benny for all this.

I have to stay, to not give up, to fight against my body and disease for the first time in months. At least until I see my Roger.