Disclaimer: I don't own Rent.
Chapter Six
Mark sat awkwardly on his couch, isolated from Roger. He was scared, feeling strangely vulnerable as his mother sobbed and his father screamed. Roger was in the kitchen receiving an earful from Mr. Cohen. Mrs. Cohen was on the loveseat, sobbing and muttering incoherently. Cindy, who had arrived earlier that morning, was beside Mark, trying to get him to talk. He responded by staring at his feet. They seemed to be a favorite body part of his, as he had looked at them so many times in lieu of recent events.
"Can you make him stop yelling, please?" he finally acknowledged his sister's presence.
She nodded and stood up, walking into the kitchen. There was a soft voice, the yelling ceased, and bodies emerged. Roger was first.
"You sit on that chair, boy," Mr. Cohen screeched.
Roger blatantly ignored him, sitting where Cindy had been. He leaned back on the couch, his arms folded across his chest.
"I said sit-"
"Dad," Mark begged, "let him stay here."
"I didn't realize that I raised two daughters," his voice was dry, almost hurt, as he sat down next to his wife. Mrs. Cohen buried her head in her husband's shoulder, staining his shirt with her tears.
"Dad!" Cindy cried, angered. "Mark is your son. How could you just turn on him like this?"
"My son? My son doesn't like boys."
"Well, apparently he does," Roger's temper was getting the best of him. No one talked about Mark – his Mark – like that.
"Don't you take that disrespectful tone with me," he warned.
"Then don't disrespect Mark like that," he shot back.
Despite the tears that had fogged his glasses, Mark smiled a little. It made him slightly giddy that Roger would stand up for him.
"Boys… can't… we stop… yelling," Mrs. Cohen sobbed, pulling out of Mr. Cohen's shoulder. "Mark, why would you do this to us?"
"Do what? Is it such a crime that I'm happy?" he raised his voice a little. "I am so incredibly happy being with Roger that even when we can't afford food or AZT and when there is no heat, I'm perfectly content to lie in his arms trying to get warm. Is that so horrible?"
"Mark…" Roger whispered, the beauty of Mark's confession hitting him. His hand slinked over to Mark's grasping it tightly.
Even Cindy let out an "aw" as she watched her baby brother endure the torture of having a confrontation with their dad.
Mr. Cohen opened his mouth to reply, but he could utter no words.
"Please, Mr. Cohen," Roger looked the old man in the eye, "don't deprive me of the one little bit of happiness in my life."
"Get out."
"What? Dad, I…"
"I said get out," Mr. Cohen stood up, grabbing Mark by the shirt. "Pack your things and get out of my house. Is your goal in life to disappoint me? Majoring in art, dropping out of college, and now you're a queer? I don't even want to know any of your other secrets."
"You don't deserve to know anything else," Mark sneered. "It's not like you would care if I died tomorrow."
"You're right," he replied, "I wouldn't."
Roger couldn't help but feel guilty as he lay in bed that night. He had really fucked Mark over – worse than usual. He couldn't see why Mark would risk all of that for him. He gave up his health and his family… what was next, film? No, Mark would never give up film, not even for Roger. He knew Mark would give up something else if it required Roger.
"Mark?"
"Mm?" Mark asked from the other side of the bed.
"Did I wake you?"
"No, I wasn't asleep yet," came the reply. He rolled over to face Roger, barely seeing him in the dark.
"I'm sorry," he said, "for fucking everything up." Roger looks at him. He seems confused. "I didn't really mean to make your dad hate you."
Mark shrugged. "We never really got along anyway."
"I hope I didn't fuck anything else up for you," he kept going, "like get you cut out of their will."
"It's not like I'm going to outlive them." His voice was cynical, a little regretful, but more upset.
Roger didn't know what to say to that. He was about to scoot over to take Mark in his arms, but the blond's voice stopped him.
"I'm going to sleep."
"Good night," Roger said, rolling over to face the wall. "I love you."
For the first time that Roger could remember, Mark's reply was nothing more than an "Mmhmm."
