Hi. Cordyangel here, sorry for the long time in updating. Weird thing is, this chapter's been written for awhile, I just didn't feel like posting it. I don't really like it, but I know I have to get past it so I can go on to better things. But help! I have no clue where this story may be going. Help would be greatly appreciated.

Chapter 8: Lying Desperation

"I walk this lonely road
The only one that I have ever known
Don't know where it goes
But it's only me
And I walk alone,"

-Boulevard of Broken Dreams, Green Day

Roger had no clue where he was going. Collins was…not available. Benny was off living large with Alison in Westport. He had no place to go except to…

Maureen. He didn't want to go to her, but she was better than nothing.

"Honey bear!" A high voice came through the door of Maureen's apartment. "Oh yeah!"

Roger winced as he brought his fist up to rap on the door. This was desperation.

"Was that someone at the door?" Another woman's voice asked.

The sounds of mattress springs and the rustling of sheets were only barely muffled by the door. It creaked open and a pretty woman with brown curly hair and caramel colored skin poked her head out.

"Come back to me lover!" Maureen's voice screamed.

"Maureen?" The woman, shit, what was her name, Mark had told me…I hadn't really been listening but... Jane? Joan? "I think it's for you."

"Roger?" Wrapped in sheets, Maureen padded to the door. "Thanks Joanne." She opened the door wider to let him in. "What are you doing here?" She looked around him out the door. "Is Mark here too?"

"No, he's not. I actually came because…I have no place else to go."

Joanne, not knowing really what to do reverted to a Suzy Homemaker. "You want, I could make some tea?"

"That'd be great honey bear," Maureen said gratefully. "Let's go into another room Roge," she led him past the oddly placed bedroom into a living room.

"So," she said, after Joanne had brought their tea. "What brings you to Avenue A?"

"I was…walking…and I haven't seen you in awhile…and-"

"Cut the crap Roger, you were never good with small talk. What's wrong? Is everything okay?" Maureen lowered her voice conspiratorially. "Are you…clean? You're not back on heroin are you?"

"No," Roger said quickly. "I've been clean for awhile now." But though Roger had been the one to seek Maureen out, he still didn't want to tell her about Mark. He was the only one who knew so far, and Roger knew that's how Mark would want it. Maureen would only make a big fuss, call Benny and Collins and be the drama queen she always was. Besides, telling everyone that Mark was addicted to smack was just like telling a group of four year olds that Santa didn't exist. Roger wouldn't be the one to spill the beans; he'd save that for Mark, when he was better.

"Mark and I got into a fight," Roger finished lamely.

"A fight?" Maureen wrinkled her brow. "About what? Was it serious? You guys never fight."

"About…stuff."

She squinted her eyes. "Roger, I can't help if you don't tell me what's going on."

Roger stood up. "You know Maureen, you've been great really. But I don't think you can help. I think…I need to do this alone."

"If you need me, you know where I live," she smiled.

"Yeah…thanks Maureen."

An hour had passed since Roger had caught Mark in mid fuck with that stranger and he was in the exact same position, except now he was feeling guilty. Mark on heroin or not never would've abandoned him naked in the middle of a seedy nightclub. Further proof that even as an addict, Mark was the better man. But here was Roger's chance to help Mark, really help Mark and what was he doing? Running away?

Fuck that, Roger thought to himself as he walked down the lonely streets. He owed Mark and at the very least, he needed to help him in whatever way he could.

He would go back.

But not for a while.