Okay, so…either people keep accidentally pressing the button to read my story and then realize that it wasn't what they were looking for…or people just didn't want to review. Not that I'm judging but…reviews mean love. I like being loved. Frequently. Just saying…

Chapter 1: Lies I Tell Myself

"Every time we lie awake

After every hit we take"

-Everything About You, Three Days Grace

"Why do you do that?" Mark asked Roger as they lay on the floor beside each other. Mark was still feeling the faint aftereffects of the heroin while Roger, though he had taken more looked and seemed completely normal.

"Why do I do what?" Roger asked innocently as he lit a cigarette.

"The heroin. Have sex with guys. All that crazy stuff you do."

Roger gave a shrug. It'd been a long time since he'd thought of that. He hadn't actually slept with a guy since he'd cheated on April early in their relationship. But she'd forgiven him, since they'd gotten a shit load of heroin out of the deal.

"You're only young once," he said finally, blowing out a stream of smoke. "And I'm a hedonist. Go figure."

"So you'll do anything?"

"If it feels good, hell yes," Roger said, his voice tainted with bitterness.

"But is that bad?" Mark asked, confused with his friend's tone. "Wanting to feel good?"

Roger thought before he answered, for once. "No. But I am hurting others. I'm hurting you," he looked at Mark hard. "And I know that. But…I can't stop and that's bad." He sounded as if he were reading off of a manual.

"So what are you going to do about it?" Mark asked breathlessly, amazed that Roger was so keenly aware of his destructive behavior. Their destructive behavior, Mark realized. It was no longer Roger's alone.

"Not think about it."

Two Months Later

"Fuck you Mark!" Roger's screams passed through the thin walls like sun through an open window. "Just give them to me, I know you have them!"

A loud crash could be heard from the bedroom. Mark winced, there went another lamp. He waited until the thrashings stopped, until he could almost hear Roger's breath becoming steady. It was only when he slept that Mark felt safe enough to shoot up.

But Mark was not addicted.

Heroin was his only escape, his once in awhile vacation. When he got fired, he shot up. When Collins moved away, he shot up. When he came home to find April dead in the bathroom, he shot up just enough to be strong for Roger. And then after he'd fallen asleep, Mark shot up until he passed out from the sensation of it all.

But after that first time, Mark was much more careful. He continued to using, but never when Roger was around. And never with anyone else's needle. He would admit to being stupid, but not that stupid.

April and Roger had been stupid. In Mark's mind, it wasn't the heroin that had fucked Roger up, it was his own stupidity. Sharing needles, shooting up in alleyways and at impromptu orgies, they were bound to have gotten something.

When Roger had come home to find April dead in a pool of blood, Mark realized that Roger was addicted. Mark understood that if not helped, very soon he would come home to find Roger dying in his own river of blood. But that was because, unlike Mark, Roger was addicted.

So Mark helped him through withdrawal. Tied him up when he got violent, held him when he was scared and left him to himself when he was paranoid. Roger had always been too caught up in his own life to notice anything Mark did, so the heroin use was easier to hide now. Through his fascination, Maureen and he became two peas in a pod, both of them struggling to live up to their imaginary personas. Luckily, after Collins left, no one was looking too closely at Mark. And when Maureen moved out because Mark put filming first, Roger second and her last, Mark breathed a sigh of relief. One less person around night and day to discover his secret.

But if he wanted to, he could stop. And he would stop. When Roger was better, when Collins came back, when Maureen stopped haunting his dreams. When everything fell into place, Mark would gladly give the heroin up.

Or so he told himself.