Sorry for the shortness. But I don't know when I'll be back. And for a heads up, I know Mark is Jewish. I know the story of the Prodigal Son is a parable and therefore in the New Testament. But please, for all intents and purposes, Mark is going to reference it.

Disclaimer: Roger! Roger!

He didn't answer. Therefore, I don't own.

Chapter 3: My Lie Reflects Yours…And I Feel Sick

"I hate everything about you
Why do I love you?"

-Everything About You, Three Days Grace

Mark didn't get back to the apartment until 3 a.m. Stumbling through the darkened loft he made it to the bathroom before he retched in the toilet.

Leaning against the wall, drenched in his own sweat, Mark began to shake. How many times had April or Roger been in this exact same spot, doing the exact same thing? He didn't want to think about it, but the thoughts were coming regardless.

I am not Roger, Mark said, in his most unconvincing inner voice. Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out the little bag full of white powder. I am not April.

It was only while he was high he was able to believe himself.

MRMRMRMRMRMR

Dark purple bruises decorated Mark's neck; proof that the night before hadn't been a dream but a reality. Mark knew that if he opened his shirt to look at his chest, there'd be more, a trail of purple dots until they disappeared into the waistband of his pants.

With a heavy sigh, he reknotted the scarf around his neck, making sure all the marks were covered.

"Mark!" Roger called from inside. "What's taking so long? You've been in there…for a long time!"

"Oh," Mark quickly vacated the bathroom. "I'm sorry; I didn't know you had to go."

"I don't," Roger frowned. "But I was worried."

Roger worried? That was new.

"Where were you last night?" Roger asked with forced nonchalance as he flopped onto the couch.

"I was out." Mark said cryptically, before amending his answer. "I was out filming," he lied.

Mark watched as Roger's eyes landed on his camera, which was partly buried, by clothes and other debris. Oh well, it wasn't the first time he'd been caught in a lie. But Roger wouldn't comment on it, Mark was sure.

"Oh," he said in true 'don't ask, don't tell' Roger policy. "Well that's good. It seems like it had been awhile."

"Really. I hadn't thought you'd notice."

A look of pain graced Roger's face. "Hey man, I know that lately I haven't been there, but-"

"Lately? Roger, when have you ever been there for someone other than yourself?" Mark's voice wasn't his own; the tone was too caustic, too biting. And yet it was coming from his mouth.

"That's not fair!"

"I don't think you're the one to be talking about what's fair Roger! All the time we've been friends, it's been me looking after you. You've been the cool one, the one who was forgiven all his horrible sins because he was the Prodigal Son. You had everything Roger! And all I've had was your shit to take care of!"

It was like Roger had been slapped. "Are you serious? Are you saying you were jealous?"

"Who wouldn't be?" Mark yelled back. "Being roommates with Roger Davis, Sex God, Rock Star and Bad Boy?"

"Mark…I was a fuckin' junkie! You saw me during withdrawal! You honestly envy that?"

You only go through withdrawal if you get caught, Mark thought silently to himself. Realizing that Roger wouldn't understand though, no matter how much he tried, he gave up. "No, Roger I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. It's just…from afar, it looked like you had everything."

"Jeez Mark, you were scaring me. Don't ever say stuff like that again. I might have to kick your ass."

It was pitiful, that even now, Roger couldn't see two feet in front of his face and piece together anything. "And that would be bad," Mark replied.

"You're damn right it would be," he growled, before retreating back into his own room.