I opened my eyes into direct sunlight and immediately squinted them shut again. I felt overly warm, most likely from lying under the blankets in the warm winter sun. And yet, I had no desire in my body to move.

As the events from yesterday came crashing over me again, I groaned and turned over, unwilling to face the world quite yet.

A dark shape moved in front of the blinding light. I cautiously opened one eye.

"Hi there, Honeybear." Maureen said gently. For some reason her comforting voice made me want to start crying again.

The events of the hours that followed the discovery of April in the bathroom were a complete blur to me. I dimly remembered being on the phone with the dispatcher at 911, then sinking to the floor again until the police and the paramedics arrived. Roger and I were both questioned while they took April's body out into the street and into the ambulance. I didn't remember much after that; but knew that whatever happened included being escorted back to our loft, where I found Maureen, who had gotten home while we were gone. I think she had started to berate me for leaving the door wide open until she saw us both—looking like zombies, Roger with blood still spattered on his clothing and hands, and me looking about ready to throw up again—followed by the police, who left promptly after—thankfully explaining the situation to Maureen, so that I didn't have to recount it.

Roger didn't stick around long. I collapsed on the couch and saw him escape into his room and never saw him come out the rest of the day. Maureen took me in her arms comfortingly, but I was still frightened and nauseous. The last thing I remembered from that afternoon was throwing up again and then retreating into our bedroom where I crashed until Maureen greeted me the following morning.

"Gotta get up. It's almost noon." Maureen said.

I groaned and turned over, burying my face in the quilt. There was no way I was going to get up quite yet. My body felt incorporeal, not right.

Maureen sat on the edge of the bed and I felt her hand rest on my side. I breathed in the musty scent of the quilt and sighed audibly.

"Why me?" I said, my voice muffled.

"What?"

"Why'd I have to see that?"

"Oh, Pookie." Maureen said as she leaned over me. I could feel tears slip down my eyelashes as my throat constricted. "Come on out. I'll make you something. Are you hungry?"

I really wasn't, but I nodded an "okay" anyway. Maureen leaned over and kissed the bit of my head that stuck out from the blankets and then rose, making her way out of the bedroom.

I lay there for a few more minutes and then turned over, staring at the ceiling. I flung off the blankets and sat up slowly. I found myself still dressed in everything I had been wearing the day prior, sans coat and glasses. I rubbed my eyes and swung my legs over the edge of the bed, fumbling on the table nearby for my thick, black-framed glasses. It seemed to be taking every ounce of willpower just to fucking get out of bed.

When I finally managed to stumble out into the expansive, empty living room, I found Collins sitting at the couch, newspaper in hand, and Maureen rummaging through the cupboards for something worth cooking for breakfast. Collins looked up at me.

"Hey man." He said. I could hear the difference in his voice—softer than his normally jovial, booming tone. I couldn't blame him. "Good to see you up."

"Thanks." I murmured.

Roger was nowhere to seen. His bedroom door was, however, open. I scrunched my face up in confusion.

"Where's Roger?"

Collins had returned to his reading. "Up on the roof. He's been up there all morning. I don't think he's coming down."

I slumped into one of the mismatched chairs at the table. Maureen was still searching in the kitchen.

I heard her murmur "Shit," when she obviously came up short. I sighed and laid my head on the table.

"Don't worry about it. I'm not hungry anyway."

Maureen turned and leaned against the counter. "You gotta eat something, Pookie."

In response, I rolled my forehead from side to side on the table: nuh uh.

Maureen sighed and sat on the counter top. So many thoughts were suddenly rushing through my head.

"What the fuck are we going to do?" I said suddenly, sitting up so fast that I got dizzy. Both Maureen and Collins looked at me. "Roger, and the AIDS, and…and, and April…funeral…what—what are we…what are we going to do?"

"Hey man, hey. Calm down." Collins said. He stood up and dropped his newspaper on the couch, making his way over to me. I couldn't help it, but my heart was pounding. I put my head back on the table as Collins dropped a hand onto my shoulder. I felt like crying, no, sobbing. I couldn't get the image of April lying on the floor, bloody and limp, out of my mind.

Don't cry, Mark. Don't do it.

I heard Collins say, "It's not as bad as it seems. The worst is over, man. Come on."

"Fuck!" I shouted at the floor.

"Yeah." Collins murmured dejectedly as he leaned against the table next to me.

I sat up and leaned back in the chair, blinking back rogue tears. Maureen was looking at me sadly.

"Well, look man." Collins said. "The cops called her parents, and they called us. They'll pay for the funeral."

"They called to tell us that?"

"No, they called to talk to Roger. But he wouldn't come out of his room."

"It was about eight last night. You were out." Maureen said. I nodded slowly. I was somewhat surprised that April's parents had actually bothered to call Roger. Better than him calling them, I figured.

"I should go see Roger." I said suddenly, getting up. Collins shrugged one shoulder half-heartedly. "I mean…you think? Just to…just to check on him."

"If you want." Collins said.

"Well, I…I do want to. I was there, too." I wasn't sure why I added the last sentence, but it hurt me more than I thought it would.

"Pookie…" Maureen whispered.

My coat was lying over the back of the couch, near which was my bag and camera. I grabbed the coat and slipped my arms inside, then headed to the door.

The roof was about three flights up, but it was reclusive enough that I didn't wonder at Roger's choice of a hideaway. I was surprised he had even left his room. When I finally reached the door, I pushed it open, flooding the interior stairwell with sunlight.

It was slightly colder than it had been yesterday, with a chilly wind blowing by. The heavy door slammed shut behind me as I stepped out onto the roof. I couldn't see Roger at first; he was hiding somewhere between the massive steam pipes and boxes.

It didn't occur to me until then that allowing Roger to be up on the roof by himself maybe wasn't the best of ideas. But Collins knew Roger, and apparently he figured he wouldn't kill himself up there. I wasn't so sure.

Roger was leaning against a wide steam pipe. He wasn't wearing a coat or a scarf; but like me, the same thing he had been wearing yesterday—with the exception that he had changed into a shirt that wasn't covered in blood. As I came around the corner, he turned his head to look at me. He said nothing, only took a drag on the cigarette he had in his hand.

I offered a slight, comforting smile. He turned his head back to his view over the city.

"Collins…told me you were up here." I said, thrusting my hands into my coat pockets uncomfortably. Now that I was up here with him, I hadn't a clue what to say. Maybe there wasn't anything to say. He didn't react in any way.

I took a seat on a discarded cardboard box that luckily held my weight. Below us, the traffic roared by.

Several minutes of silence went by. Roger finally blew out the last of his cigarette and flicked the butt over the side of the building. He dug his hands into his jean pockets.

"You just get up?" he said finally.

I looked up, surprised that he had said something. "Uh…yeah. Yeah, just a little while ago." I saw him nod. "Did you…sleep at all?"

He shook his head. "No."

I didn't blame him. I felt almost insensitive that I had slept through the entire night when he was next door, having the worst night of his life. I should have been there for him.

More silence. I was tearing apart my brain, trying to think of something, anything, that I could say.

"You heard that…you heard her…April's parent's called?" I managed finally. I didn't look up at him.

"Yes." Roger replied. "Collins was with me."

"Ah." The mention of Collins being with him to comfort him put me at ease, at least a little more than I had been. At least he hadn't been alone.

And then I was at the wall again. Nothing I could say would lead to anything productive. I started to shiver.

Finally, I blurted out, "What are you thinking?"

I think Roger smirked a little as he gazed out over the city. "What am I thinking…" he mused. "What am I supposed to be thinking?"

I couldn't tell if it was a rhetorical question or not. I stayed quiet.

"There's a post-it note on my front door telling me I've got AIDS." Roger said after a minute. "What am I supposed to think about that? My girlfriend offs herself in her bathroom, and here I am. Alone. HIV Positive. And not having a fucking clue what to think."

"I'm sorry." I said, truly regretting ever bringing it up.

"I'm dying, Mark. What am I supposed to be thinking?"

"You're not dying." I said. Roger looked away. "Everyone dies."

"Great. I'll just do it before everyone else." He said cynically. I bit the inside of my lip. God, what to say now?

"Well…I could go out on the street and get hit by a bus, and then…" I tried to smile, hoping that he would too.

"Shut up, Mark." He said. It wasn't cold or harsh, but it was obvious what he meant: Stop trying to be funny. You're not funny today. I nodded to myself. It was a stupid thing to say anyway.

I stood up and shrugged my coat closer. It was chilly.

"Well I…I think I'm gonna go back inside. Okay?"

Roger turned to me and nodded slowly.

"Are you gonna come down? Soon?"

Another nod.

"Okay."

I turned and started to walk away. I could feel my throat constrict as I walked. I didn't get far; I was soon followed by the sound of Roger's voice.

"Hey Mark?"

I turned back. "Yeah?"

Roger was looking out over the city, but he his head to me after a moment. "I'm sorry."

I blinked. "What for?"

"That you had to see that, yesterday."

I thought as though my mind had been wiped away. I could not think of anything to say to that. "Oh, it's….no. Don't worry about it. Don't worry about it." I stuttered. "At least you weren't…alone."

Roger managed a small comforting grin—really it was just the corners of his mouth turning upwards briefly—and nodded, taking out another cigarette. I swallowed down the sudden grief that had washed over me, and turned back to the door leading to the stairwell.

Once I had stepped inside, an immense wave of emotion rolled over me. I stumbled down the first two steps and then I caught myself, leaning against the rail. This couldn't be happening. I managed to fumble my way down the stairs to the loft and slipped inside.

Collins was gone; Maureen was absently filling in the crossword puzzle in the newspaper as she leaned on the table.

"Hi Honeybear. Collins went to get—"

But she stopped, realizing that I was not only not paying attention, but moving very fast into our bedroom and barely hiding the tears that were streaking down my face. I stumbled in the door and felt my knees buckle beneath me.

Maureen stepped inside the door to find me leaning against the wall, head on my knees.

"Honeybear, what is it? What's going on?" She knelt by me.

I felt the walls around my conscious collapsing in on me. Everything was falling apart. I could barely keep up with the frantic words that were falling out of my mouth.

"What am I gonna do, what am I gonna do? Roger's dying and—and April's dead and…oh god, what am I gonna do? Why did I have to see her? Why did I see that…oh god…"

Maureen put her arms around me and was making "Shh" noises, which only made me sob harder. I was gulping in air so fast that I felt nauseous again. I wanted to put my head through a wall.

"The worst is over, remember? Just like Collins said. Collins has it too! He isn't dying! Roger isn't dying. Shhh…"

I just closed my eyes and rested against Maureen, forcing the tears to subside. This wasn't right. I couldn't do this. I had to hold it together. Come on, Mark.

After a time I heard Maureen say, "There." I raised my head and leaned it against the wall. My glasses were completely fogged over and my face was bleary and red. Maureen laughed gently and took off my glasses, then ran a hand over my face. I closed my eyes, comforted by her touch.

"The worst is over. You'll see." She leaned in and kissed my cheek and I held her close. Her lips traveled to mine and I felt as though everything would melt away.

Maureen always had a way to make things better.