Disclaimer: RENT and it's characters do not belong to me.
Author's notes: Thank you for all the reviews and feedback, it really helps me improve my work and get more out to you.
Roger's head jerked up as the loft door slid open. In came Mark, walking in a sort of numb manner. The first thing Roger noticed was his face, one that was tired, and seemingly tense. The second thing he noticed were the crimson stains that were on his clothes, the drying flakes on his hands, the splatter across his face and glasses. It caused Roger to spring to his feet. "What the hell happened to you?" The question only came out as semi-accusatory, something that he was proud of. Normally he would have been quite angry at the way it appeared that Mark wasn't planning on saying anything about his absence. Mark didn't answer, so Roger took a step forward. "Are you hurt?" This question was answered with a slow and nearly tortured shake of Mark's head. "Where have you been?"
"There was a robbery." Mark suddenly found his voice. It came on quietly to the point where Roger was almost straining to hear it.
"What?"
"At the store…these three guys with guns..."
Mark trailed off, and Roger hurried forward, getting the feeling that his friend wasn't at his strongest at the moment. This was confirmed when Mark didn't fight him as he grabbed his elbow and brought him to sit in the kitchen. "They robbed the store?" He knew it was repetitive to say this, but Mark wasn't saying much to give him more to say.
"They tried." Mark's voice got a bit stronger, and it seemed that coherent thoughts were suddenly upon him. "They kept me in the store for three hours." He rounded up a little just to make it all easier. Besides, to him it had felt like forever, so adding a few minutes didn't really change much.
"Did they hurt you?" Roger sat in front of him, his eyes traveling back to all of the blood on his friend. He couldn't see any injuries, but he also couldn't see Mark going anywhere near blood. He hated blood.
He shook his head. "Just a couple of bruises." Mark didn't leave much time for Roger to respond. "They weren't very good at the whole thing…I think they got all of their experience from watching those lame movies." Mark made a very weak joke, as though he realized that he wasn't going to make much ground in getting through talking about it in his current state.
Yet for Roger it was still like pulling teeth to get the information out of Mark. "So the police got you out or…"
"It was the guys' own stupid mistake. They shot the other man who was in their with me, and decided to get him help. They put a gun to my head to try and make sure the police didn't try anything, but he got in front of the door, at this angle, and they shot him." Mark relayed this news mechanically. It was as though as time went on he became less and less like Mark. "After that I guess it was pretty easy to get the other two, and I talked to the police, and here I am."
For Roger it was almost hard to believe that Mark was in a state of almost calm about the whole thing. Granted Mark had always been good at keeping his head, most of the time, but even so Roger had to wonder a little. He knew that if he had just been held hostage, he would probably be at least a little freaked, not that he would admit it. Still, it was almost weird for Mark, the one who Roger had always seen as his naïve little brother, to be handling this so well, or at the very least recovering so quickly.
"So I should call the girls." Roger began, standing and starting towards the phone. "I'll reschedule our little dinner party."
"No don't bother." Mark started to stand as well. "I'm fine."
Roger looked him over once again, his eyes only stopping on the blood for a moment. Despite his vocalizations and assurances, Mark didn't look fine. "Are you sure? Because I'm sure it'd be fine with them and it's not like we were looking forward to meeting them anyways."
"Yes I'm sure. I'm fine." Mark repeated his earlier sentiment. "I just need to clean up a little." He glanced down at the hands that were an almost rusty color from the blood. He didn't wait for Roger to respond, he just went to his room and grabbed some new clothes.
Afterwards he went into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. It was when the door was tightly closed, and the lock bolted, that his hands started to shake, in a manner that was almost violent. His new clothes dropped to the cracked tile floor.
Along with his hands came the rest of him, although less tremulous. He stumbled over to the bathtub, not even bothering with checking the shower curtain, before controlling his hands enough to turn the water on. Then he half stepped in, half fell, his legs giving out beneath him as cold water started beating on his skin and through his clothes
The drying blood started to flow off of him in crimson rivers, and before he knew it he was just sitting in the tub, soaked to the bone in cold water, shaking. And before he knew it, he just started to sob.
He was moving to put his head in his hands when he saw it. More blood. Mark had to get it off. With his vision quite seriously blurred, from tears, and water, he reached blindly for the soap, fumbling with it for a few moments before he finally was able to start scrubbing furiously at his hands.
Roger glanced over at Mark from across the table at The Life Café. His friend seemed to have made an amazingly fast recovery. If he hadn't known, he wouldn't have said that anything had happened to Mark at all that day. There was a small bruise on his forehead, but nothing else.
When he had come out of the bathroom, Mark had seemed even further composed. His hands were a little red, but nothing else. It was as though Mark had come out of the bathroom on a different day where nothing bad had happened.
Currently Maureen was fawning over "her Marky". She had forced the entire story out of him when she had seen the bruise. And ever since then she had been hanging on him. Joanne had been concerned, but a little disconcerted at the behavior. Mark was trying his best to get the attention off of himself. So far the combined efforts of himself and Joanne weren't getting anywhere.
Mark's eyes met with Roger's, and Roger caught the hint of "help me desperation" that he had seen so often when Maureen and Angel had cornered Mark. Roger just laughed at his friends predicament, and took a sip of his beer, starting to forget why he had been worried in the first place. Everything seemed to be normal with Mark.
This was the way things were supposed to be.
Mark went straight to his room after he and Roger got back to the loft after their outing with Joanne and Maureen. He had told the guitarist that he was tired, not that he thought he could sleep. He wasn't even really tired. It was just that going to bed was a plausible excuse after such a day, and Mark didn't feel like hanging out with Roger, or anyone else for that matter.
He closed his door, and his stomach growled a little, reminding him how he hadn't actually eaten anything since that morning. This technically wasn't true. He had eaten at the Café. It just so happened that had to throw up just moments after he finished it. Thankfully enough, nobody had really questioned the trip to the bathroom, or noticed for that matter.
After the door, Mark tried to avoid touching anything. In all honesty it hurt. He had scrubbed his hands raw in the shower earlier, in an attempt to really get the blood off of them. He thought that he had finally gotten it, by the time that he was out of the shower, but after he had thrown up at the Life, he started to notice that it was still on his hands, so he scrubbed some more.
This left him hungry with hands that he didn't want to move. He didn't even want to think about what had happened in the shower, but just the thought of his hands seemed to send him back.
With the feelings resurfacing his hands started to quake again and he went onto his bed, face down, feelings of sudden fear and desperation hitting him. Mark pulled the pillow to his face, trying his very best not to scream.
There is that chapter. Next will be up soon as long as school doesn't get in the way.
Thoughts?