So, I had an incredibly crappy day. Someone spray painted graffiti on my school so I'm understandably depressed. But to make myself feel better…a double update!
Chapter 6: Broken Lies
"Every feeling that I get
But I still don't miss you yet…
only when I stop to think about it"
-Everything About You, Three Days Grace
Luckily for Roger, Mark was a lousy runner. In gym class, he'd always been the one reaching for his inhaler the moment someone mentioned laps. Lung capacity had forever been out of reach for him. He hadn't made it past Avenue A before Roger caught up with him.
"Don't you dare try to run away Cohen!" Mark's last name felt strange on Roger's lips. He never called him Cohen, ever. But he supposed this wasn't the usual circumstances anyway.
Mark stopped dead in his tracks. Though it was raining, Roger could still tell that he'd been crying. The raindrops did nothing to hide his tears. "Go back inside Roger. You'll get sick."
The anger Roger thought he'd suppressed came back with a vengeance. "Don't do that, don't you dare do that! Don't make this about me!"
A small laugh came from Mark. "It's always about you Roger. That's just the way it is."
"I'm not the one who's fucking addicted to heroin, now am I?" Roger challenged sharply. "I'm not the one who-"
"Go home Roger!"
"Don't fucking tell me what to do! And I'm not going anywhere without you!"
Mark's head turned slightly. "If I go with you, you'll go home," his question came out more as a statement than anything.
"Yes," Roger said through clenched teeth.
"Then let's go."
RMRMRMRMRM
They didn't talk the walk home. Mark coughed a few times, Roger slicked back his hair more than once, but they remained silent. It wasn't until they were both in dry clothes back at the loft that Mark opened his mouth.
"I'm not addicted, you know." He fiddled with his wet scarf, which was still around his neck.
"Like hell you aren't."
"I'm not!" Mark cried indignantly.
"Mark, don't try to fucking lie to me. I was on heroin too, if you remember!"
"Like I could forget," he breathed. "I've got the scars if I ever do."
Roger ran a hand through his still wet hair. He didn't know what to do, didn't know what to say. He had never been the type to take care of people and even if he were, there was nothing he could say to make this better. "You honestly believe you aren't," he said softly. "Tell me Mark, do you ever feel like you'd do anything, anything to shoot up?"
Mark shifted around uncomfortably and pulled on his scarf again without answering. Scared, Roger didn't even bother to ask what he'd already done to support his habit. "That's what I thought." Roger chose his words carefully
"I can go without it."
"No you can't."
"Yes I can," he insisted. "I can. I'll show you."
Roger shook his head. He didn't want to give in, but what else could he do? At least this way he'd have time to map out a plan and Mark would realize that he wasn't in control of his use.
"Okay."
MRMRMRMRMRMRMRMR
Roger wasn't able to sleep that night, he was still reeling from everything that had happened. Oh god, he felt sick to his stomach every time he thought about it. Oh my god. Of all the horrible ideas that had run through his mind about Mark, they all paled in comparison to the cold hard truth. Mark wasn't sick. He wasn't depressed. He was a fucking junkie. After all he'd been through, he had to watch Mark do the same. And what if he was positive for HIV? Had he ever thought about that?
Roger doubted it. As he remembered, when he was using he only thought about two things: shooting up and April.
MRMRMRMR
He lasted two whole days before he cracked.
The first night, he'd began to shake uncontrollably.
The next morning, his pupils were so dilated that they only had a ring of blue around them for irises.
He stayed up for a full 24 hours, refusing to eat or drink anything Roger gave to him.
By seven o'clock Tuesday evening, Mark was gone.
"Shit," Roger had been in the bathroom when he heard the door to the loft open and close. He knew he shouldn't have taken so long. He grabbed his coat and ran out the door.