Chapter Seven

I've never really believed movies and books with all their romantic ideas and overly idealized story endings. I never believed that you could hurt so bad that you'd have to feel happy again. Or that you could cry so hard that you'd start laughing.

I sorta believe them now. Because that's where we are. Roger Davis can only cry for so long and I've apparently given up feeling sorry for myself over the last month. Roger refusing to hurt me back just proved to me that I shouldn't.

So we cried for as long as we could handle it. And then we started talking. Talking about us a little, but mostly about what we've been doing for the past forever-time. And now Roger's half-sitting against the wall behind his bed and holding me tight in his arms. And I'm leaning against him, my head on his chest and playing with the hair on his arms, twisting it and tugging on it.

And we're laughing.

Slightly hysterical, slightly on the edge of exploding back into tears, but laughing.

"So, I'm inching closer to the guitar and Mark's trying to pretend he's listening to what Princess Maureen is spewing off about, except he keeps glancing over at me. Sizing up how close I am to the guitar and crap. And I'm having fun watching him get all twitchy and listening to Maureen's voice get higher and higher while she tries to make him pay attention to her. I mean, I've got to do something to make me have fun every once in awhile, right, Meems? I'm not a total masochist." He gives me the puppy dog eyes he always uses when he's worried that he's coming across like a dick in whatever story he's telling me. So, simply to reassure him, I giggle and kiss his nose. Or I could be doing it because since I got him back, my lips have had some sort of crazy desire to be attached to him whenever possible.

Roger grins down at me, gently squeezing my waist before continuing his story. "So, I'm right next to the guitar and I reach out and touch it with one finger – longing and melodramatic-like. You would have been proud of me, Princess. And Mark's just staring at me, his mouth hanging open, not even paying attention to Maureen snapping her fingers in front of his face. Finally, she just freaks. I mean, she loses her tiny mind. She gets up and goes over to the window, climbs onto the fire escape, points at some guy on the street and yells 'Hey, you. My loser boyfriend's too occupied staring at his angst-ridden best friend and his lame-ass guitar to pay any attention to me and I just don't think that's cool. I mean, you think I'm hot, right? You'd pay attention to me, right?' And Mark's turning bright red, trying to make her stop."

And I'm laughing again. Helplessly giggling as Roger pulls me as tight against him as he can, while pressing kisses against my hair. "Mark and Maureen are back together?" I manage as Roger seems determined to squeeze every last giggle out of my body.

Roger nods down at me. "Joanne finally left Maureen for a change and she's sticking to her guns. I listened to Mark invent this huge plot to get her back for an entire freaking month after they broke up."

"And he did it?"

"He did. You know how Maureen likes to have someone she can get all whipped." That wasn't even that funny and I'm laughing. "It seems to work for them."

"Mark closed the door on me."

Oh dios. We're not laughing anymore. I open my mouth and stupid shit comes out and Roger's staring at me like… like I've been saying stupid shit.

"Alright, babes, maybe we should get you something to eat." He raises an eyebrow at me and as he shifts his arms around to be able to pick me up, I realize he doesn't get that I wasn't just rambling. "I'm not sure if we've got anything but soup – pay day's still not for a little while and soup's cheap – we might have some crackers – but it'd be good for you and—Ow! Shit, what'd you do that for?"

I bit down on his shoulder.

I had to get out of his arms.

"Rog, I'm serious. I cam up to see you when I was still sick—" When I was more sick. But he doesn't need to worry about that right now. One thing at a time. "—when I was sick. I thought I was gonna die and I wanted to make sure you were okay. To make sure I didn't break you. And Mark answered the door, then told me I shouldn't have come back. And then he closed it on me! Do you have any idea… I thought you were… he implied that you… I thought you were dead!"

Laughter has given way back to tears again.

They're streaking down my face (probably destroying the make-up I dashed on in an unconscious hope that looking pretty might trick Roger into forgetting my "badness"… I think). They're blurring my sight, but I can still see Roger's forehead wrinkle up the way it always does when he's trying to process unexpected information.

"Anyway," I mumble pathetically, sniffling a little. "I have real food in my apartment. If you wanna eat, we can go there – I know all you've been eating lately is soup." It was a pathetic attempt to make him smile. And it doesn't so much work.

"Oh Meems…" Roger suddenly leans forward and runs his thumb over each of my cheeks. Wiping away tears.

He never could stand it when I cried.

The wrinkles crisscrossing his forehead smooth away as he presses a kiss against mine. "Meems… Baby. Listen, I'm sure Mark didn't mean it like that. He's been through a lot of shit in the past year. After I got over being mad at you, I started being mad at him." His eyes close and he roughly runs his fingers through his hair.

His unbleached… natural brunette hair.

He may say he's over it, but the signs of how bad I hurt him are still all over the place.

"I haven't talked to him since you ran away. I'm sure he just… this is all my fault. I'll talk to him later. Fix this." He opens his eyes and they start intensity-flashing as he stares forward into mine. At some point I started facing him, sitting cross-legged between his spread legs, and he grabbed hold of my shoulders. His fingers are now digging under my collarbone. "I know he didn't mean to upset you, babes. We'll figure it out, okay?"

Not a single part of my body believes Roger, but I nod anyway, and let him press kisses all over my face. I don't have the energy to contradict him right now.

He can deal with Mark and Mark's secret inner jerk.

I have to push all my energy into being able to say what I know I need to say next. No secrets this time.

"I was with Benny when I was gone."

He's stopped kissing me and my breath catches in my throat, but I force past it. I'm not even crying now. If we're going to stop being jealous and fighting and hurting each other, it's going to have to start with me saying stupid shit and yet forcing through right now.

"Not the entire time," I add, hastily. This has to be done delicately. You always have to handle Roger Davis very carefully.

Normally, with bad news, I'd crawl into Roger's lap and play with his hair or stroke his chest or kiss his neck – anything to soften the blow. But that never worked with stuff about Benny. So I take a deep breath and stare straight forward into his eyes. "After Mark closed the door on me. I wasn't looking and… uh… I ran straight into Benny. And I almost fainted and started crying and… uh… he took me down to my apartment. He'd been living there."

Roger's hands let go of my shoulders, suddenly, and fall limply into my lap.

"And… um… he got me food and medicine and we spent two nights together. Two really lovely nights." I can see his jaw tighten and my hand automatically reaches out to sooth it. "And then I asked about you."

He looks up at me now as it suddenly clicks in that this isn't a story about how I fell back in love with Benny and can't be with him. I can still see in his eyes, though, that it's tormenting him to hear about another man when we only just re-found us. "He hurt me. He grabbed my wrists and dug his knee into me and yelled. I know he didn't mean to be horrible. He just couldn't handle it. He couldn't handle that he couldn't ever be you."

His arms are around me all of a sudden. I know he's never going to truly let go now.

Somehow I know that this time it's going to work.

"It has always been you," I whisper fiercely, staring up into his equally fierce eyes, "and you've got to know that. The whole time after Benny came to his senses and realized he hurt me, he's been coming to my apartment and feeding me three meals a day and making sure I take my medicine and I've been thinking about the things I would say if I ever saw you again."

"Are… are you with Benny now?" Roger finally manages.

I actually manage to laugh a little as I shake my head. "You know I'm not. And he knows he and I will never be romantically entangled again. He may end up being my best guy friend after all this nursing me back to health crap, but… you and I were always meant to be, Roger. I've never been able to stop loving you. And now that I've got you… I'm never letting you go."

At the same moment that my arms twine around his neck and my lips crush against his, his arms pull my body against his more fiercely than I've ever been held before.

And as I allow myself to sink into the two of us just being – no second guessing – I barely notice the third thing that's occurring.

Roger's bedroom door is being flung open and a very excited male voice is bellowing "Here you are, Rog, you'll never believe what Maure—Oh, shit, who's—Fuck, Rog. Her?"

Author's Note: Alright, so as I've mentioned in previous chapters, virtually nothing is mine. (Except for the actual words themselves… I suppose.) We're winding down towards the last little bit, but reviews would still be greatly appreciated… I always feel so awkward writing these things.