-1My respects to Mr. Larson, who created this world and owns the people. Much thanks for letting me borrow them for a while to play in mine.
Ready For The Fight
(Mark's Perspective)
"Hey- do you want to go to the park with me? It's really nice out." I said when Roger came out of the bathroom.
"Uh… No. I don't think so." He said, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Oh, ok." I put my camera bag back on the table. He saw me do it and cleared his throat.
"You go." He looked around. "I'll be ok." I rummaged around in my camera bag in order to give myself more time to think before I answered. Leave Roger alone here?
"Um…" I trailed off, unsure.
"Seriously." Roger said. "I kind of have no urge whatsoever to go out there. Not yet. Even with you. It's… not easy."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah." He said, and I believed him. After what happened last time we went out it was hard not to. He hasn't gone anywhere in weeks.
"Want me to have Maureen come over?" I asked him.
"Nah, it's ok. I'll be fine."
"Ok. Well, I'll be back in an hour." I picked my bag up again.
"Ok. See you then." And he flopped down onto the couch and assumed his normal 'nap' position: One foot flat on the floor, one arm hanging off of the couch, and his face smashed into the back of the couch. I laughed and shook my head, then walked out the door.
…Only I didn't go far. Once outside I kind of had an attack of nerves and decided to film around our street. I'm not saying I don't trust Roger, because I do… mostly.
Feeling guilty, I hid across the street and prepared to wait and make sure he wasn't tempted to go anywhere.
He wasn't.
(Roger's Perspective)
I stood in the doorway to my room watching as Maureen dictated to Mark where her stuff should go. Mark's elated that she's moving back in and to be honest, I'm kind of glad, too. Mostly because there'll be someone else around.
Part of me thinks that she's only back because this way she doesn't have to come up with rent money.
The only good thing about the rise (or demise) of Benjamin Coffin III is that we don't have to worry about making rent every month.
I shook my head at the way Mark is wrapped around Maureen's finger and retreated into my room, shutting the door. The heat of late summer caused my tshirt to stick to my skin as I sprawled across my bed. I did my part. I helped carry all of Maureen's junk back up here. Good deed done.
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"Roger, come on, lets go get some dinner." Mark said, coming into my room. Benny had come by earlier and gifted us some money and groceries, which we're broke enough to accept. I could see Maureen in the living room, decked out in her finest for an evening out.
"No, you guys go ahead. I don't want to intrude." I told him.
"What? You wouldn't intrude. Come on. It'll be fun. We're going to the Life." Mark said, throwing my shoes at me.
"I don't want to. Really." I told him again. He looked disappointed and his brow furrowed.
"Roger, you have to get back out there sometime." He said quietly.
"Mark? I said I didn't want to. Ok?" I said, annoyed. He keeps trying to get me to go places with him and every time I refuse. It's my life, my decision. There is nothing out there that I want to be a part of.
"Fine." He snapped at me. "See you later." And he grabbed Maureen by the hand and they left. I glared up at my ceiling, frustrated that I'd ticked him off. He understands so much about me. How can he not understand this?
I focused my gaze on the retired track marks lining my arm, flexing my muscles slightly and watching them shift.
Feeling the burning beginning at the back of my throat and behind my eyes, I furiously pounded my fist into the marks, then let one groaning sob escape my lips.
I'm dying.
I'm dying.
I'm dying.
Why can't he see that? I can't go out there. I can't walk among life with the knowledge that mine is numbered. I don't want that burden.
I don't want the doctor's appointments I know are looming ahead of me. I don't want the handouts Benny gives so freely. I don't want the shame of my mistakes. I don't want Maureen's sympathetic gaze. I don't want Mark's soothing words. I don't want what's waiting for me, lurking behind every door and window and slinking along with me in the shadows. I don't want the tears on my face or the memories of the life I used to lead or the pain of losing April or the anger in my heart or the torrent of emotions that I can't get a grip on or the fear that has closed around my heart like a vise.
I don't want to die.
I closed my hand into a fist and attacked myself once more.
(Mark's Perspective)
"Roger? What happened to you?" I asked, shaking him awake. There was a nasty bruise covering his arm.
"What?" He mumbled, half-asleep.
"Your arm." I said. He rubbed his face with his hands, then looked at where I was pointing.
"Oh. Nothing. It's not a big deal." He said, yawning.
"What'd you do?" I asked.
"Walked into the door handle." He said.
"Repeatedly?" I asked, not buying it.
"Repeatedly." He agreed. I looked at him archly and he rolled his eyes. "Drop it. It's nothing."
"Right." Pause. I sat down on the chair. We didn't say anything for a few minutes. "Some of my film got wet." I said, getting up to get my camera bag. "I'm going to see if I can salvage any of the footage." Roger snorted. "What? I'm fighting for a cause, here." I informed him, laughing.
"Nothing can be salvaged. Everything is doomed."
"Keep telling yourself that, Depression Boy." I laughed again.
"What the fuck did you just call me?" He snapped suddenly.
"It was a joke, Roger."
"Real fucking funny." He stood up and stalked over to me, yanking my film reel out of my hands.
"Hey! Give that-" I started to say, reaching for the reel, surprised and pissed that he took it like that, but he cut me off.
(Roger's Perspective)
"Why don't you open your fucking eyes, Mark, and look around you? Do you see anything worth salvaging here? Is there anything here that's worth fighting for?" I spat at Mark.
"Yes." Mark said simply. I waited for him to tell me what, but he didn't open his mouth, just looked at me, his hand held out, waiting for his film.
"Such as?"
"Everything. For me, everything is worth fighting for." He replied.
"That's self-righteous bullshit, Mark, and you know it." And I threw the film reel across the room.
"It's not bullshit!" He cried out, offended. "Is it bullshit to believe in someone? Or something? No. It's not. I believe in my work. I believe in the preservation, in the truth. Therefore I believe in everything. Therefore I fight for everything." He said, going to pick up his reel, the film mostly unraveled.
"That wasn't the question." I told him. "Just because someone fights for something doesn't mean it's worth it."
"That's up to the individual. You can't judge that." Mark said sharply.
"Oh fuck you. That's the easy answer. A total copout."
"I'm not having this argument with you. I've got stuff to do." He said, walking past me to the table.
"Fighting for something? Toothpaste, perhaps?"
(Mark's Perspective)
"Fuck you, Roger." I said, possibly the most pissed off that I've been in a good, long while.
"Yeah, well, fuck you, too." He shot back, then walked into his room and slammed the door, leaving me with a jumble of film spilling out of my hands.
"What the hell's going on?" Maureen asked, coming out of our room. She'd been taking a nap, too.
"Roger's in a bad mood." I told her through clenched teeth.
"Big shock." She replied. "Did he do that?" She asked, looking at the mess in my hands. I nodded. "What a prick. Can we save any of it?" She came and helped me lay it out, even as I told her that I didn't know. "Well, let's find out." She kissed me on the cheek, and rubbed my back gently. God, I love her.
"Maureen? How about we forget about this and go do something fun?" I asked her.
"Like what?" She smiled.
"Like anything that doesn't involve the apartment." I responded, pulling her close. She threaded her fingers through my hair.
"I can think of a few things we could do in the apartment that are pretty fun." She said suggestively. I laughed.
"So can I." She kissed me on the lips passionately, then said,
"But, I mean, hey- whatever you want to do."
"Honestly? I just want to get out of here." I told her. She looked into my eyes searchingly for a minute, then nodded.
"Ok. Where to?"
"Museum? Park? Movie?" I listed off. "I don't care. Just somewhere, anywhere, with you." Maureen smiled again.
"Deal." She kissed me again. "I love you." She whispered. Wow. She hardly ever tells me that without me saying it first. Or unless she needs something.
Maybe for the first time she's realizing that I might need something. She entwined her fingers with mine and led me out.
(Roger's Perspective)
When I heard Mark leave, I felt guilty and walked to the front windows, looking for him down on the street. He and Maureen looked pretty happy walking hand-in-hand down the block.
I glanced down at the bruise on my arm and sighed. I traced the track marks with my finger and whispered,
"My permanent tattoos of anger, sadness, and rage." I was startled out of a brief silence when the phone rang.
"Hey, it's me, don't screen." Came Collins' voice. I fairly ran to the phone, eager to talk to him.
"Thomas."
"Uh-oh. What's wrong?" He asked, reading me instantly. I smiled.