Chapter Twenty-Eight: Orchestras on Sinking Ships
The stars go waltzing out in blue and red
And arbitrary blackness gallops in.—"Mad Girl's Love Song", Sylvia Plath

"I can't believe you're actually going to MIT," Mark said quietly, staring down into his tea.

"I can't believe you're actually going," Benny added, giving Collins a pointed look across the table.

Collins sighed and looked up at the two of them. "It's not like I'm going far. You know I'll come back to visit."

"It's still not the same," Mark mumbled, not quite looking up at Collins. "You won't be here."

"Aww, is Marky gonna miss Collins?" Roger asked mockingly.

Mark glared at him. "Stop being an ass, Roger. Of course I'll miss him. You won't?"

"Well yeah, but I'm not gonna whine about it. It won't change anything. He's still leaving." Roger looked to Collins and smiled, lifting his beer in a gesture that could be considered a toast. "Congratulations on getting that job, by the way. Even if it does mean you have to leave."

"Thank you." Collins returned Roger's smile before glancing to the other two. "Come on, we're supposed to be having fun, remember? Last boy's night out before I have to go… We ought to be enjoying ourselves."

Benny watched him for a second, then smiled. "You're right. I'll yell at you for abandoning us later." He glanced over at Mark, sitting beside him, and elbowed him gently. "You sure you don't want to drink anything stronger than tea?"

Mark wrinkled his nose. "I'm fine, thanks."

Later, after they left the restaurant and started walking back to the loft, Collins hung back a little and gently took hold of Mark's arm to keep him back from the other two. Mark looked at him curiously, but didn't say anything until Collins explained what he wanted. "Mark… can you promise me something before I go?"

"Like… what?" Mark asked. Had it been one of the others asking, he would have been suspicious, but given that it was Collins… His motives were far less questionable than those of any of the others.

"When I'm gone, will you look after April for me?"

Mark looked up at him with a frown. "Well… yeah, I'll try, but I'm not sure I can…"

"Please Mark, April listens to you. And if anyone can take care of her, it's you. I just need to make sure someone's looking out for her. You know I worry about her."

"Yeah," Mark said softly. "We all do. I'll do my best, okay?"

Collins nodded and squeezed his shoulder briefly. "That's all I'm asking for."

Hey April Shower. Going to miss you while I'm gone. Take care of yourself, and don't be afraid to talk to the others if you need to. They all care about you just as much as I do.
You're stronger than you think you are.

Love,
Tom

April really hadn't felt like leaving the house today, had wanted nothing more than to just stay in bed because the world was just too much to face, but today, of all days, she couldn't. Any other of Roger's gigs she might have been able to skip, find some excuse to get out of it, but the night his band played at CBGB's? Not a chance. They'd all been dragged out, actually—Benny, Mark, Maureen and April, though the group still didn't feel complete with Collins not there. But nevertheless they were there, together.

It almost reminded April of the first time she'd seen Roger play. They were together like this then, as a group. She didn't remember him having quite so many harsh angles to his face back then. Nor had he seemed this closed off, this distant. But he'd look up at her every now and then, and his eyes would fix on only her… She could remember, then, what he'd been like two years ago. Beautiful, talented, perfectly sure of himself. He still was now, but somehow darker. Harsher. Not quite the same.

She closed her eyes and had to look away from him after that. She'd seen it in him when they first met, she remembered. That edge. Dangerous, a fallen angel… It made him sexy as hell, true, but she should have known. Too little, too late.

"I should have loved a thunderbird instead," she murmured under her breath, daring to look back up at the stage only when Roger wasn't watching her, so she wouldn't have to risk meeting his eyes.

Sitting next to her, Mark must have heard, and frowned. "What?"

"Oh, it's… nothing," she said softly. "Quoting poetry, is all. Lines just… pop into my head. 'I close my eyes and all the world drops dead.' Mad Girl's Love Song. Sylvia Plath. It fits."

He watched her for a second before answering. "You're not mad, April."

She didn't even look at him, eyes riveted on Roger as she murmured, "Sometimes I think I must be."