Thank my infected punctured eardrum for this chapter, without it, I probably never would've posted again.

This chapter signals the beginning of the end. And if you think Collins is OOC later, he is, but not really. He's under duress so forgive the poor guy.

Chapter 13: Lying, Just Laying Part Two

But I'm sleeping I'm so deep in
So much more real to me closer than reality
It's always cold always day always here
Always say I'm alright I'll be okay
If I can keep myself awake (keep myself awake...)

-Keep Myself Awake, Black Lab

When Roger reached the loft again he had barely walked in before the phone rang. "Speak!" his and Mark's voices cut through the apartment, reminding Roger of better times.

"Hey guys, it's me." Even through the phone Collins' voice was unmistakable. "Just calling to check up on you guys since you seemed a little frantic yesterday…" he trailed off a little. "Look Roger, I know you're there. I know you won't answer the phone but…just call me okay? Let me know everything's okay?" Giving one last exasperated sigh, Collins hung up the phone.

Part of Roger wanted to reach out towards that phone and assure Collins that yes, indeed, everything would be just fine. No, Mark wasn't around at present, but he'd soon be back and better than ever. He couldn't lie to Collins like that though. Everything wasn't okay, it would never be okay.

Like Judas he'd sold his friend, his best friend out for nothing but his own gain.

If Collins were here…

Maureen never would've…

Benny could've helped him…

Even April might've…

Roger shook his head forcefully.

They weren't here. So they didn't matter. Yeah, maybe if they were around things would've been different…but if they'd been around maybe Mark wouldn't have turned to drugs.

Or maybe he still would've.

Rubbing his eyes, Roger settled down onto the couch and laid back, letting his guilt wash over him.

MRMRMRMRMR

Collins hung up the phone, his actions bleeding frustration. He wasn't stupid, he knew somethignw was going on. Normal people didn't call in the middle of the night wondering how to cure hypothermia. Of course, he never had classified himself or any of the other people he hung out with as normal.

What worried Collins so much was the fact that Roger had called. That meant that Mark had been in danger, an unanticipated turn of events. Mark had always taken care of Roger, whether it was something trivial like a cold or a hangover to the big things, like the HIV and withdrawal. Collins was confident in Mark's ability to take care of Roger, it was what he was good at. But Roger had never had a caring bone in his body.

He supposed it was his own fault, for leaving Mark and Roger alone. He'd forced Mark to be the one to help Roger and left him in his not-so-trustworthy care. It was his own fault he hadn't remembered that they would have to have a give-and-take relationship, something Roger wasn't quite capable of yet.

Collins glanced over at his school calendar. It was almost time for another vacation…and he knew just what to do with it.

MRMRMRMR

Roger couldn't sleep.

I don't deserve to sleep, he thought bitterly.

It had been…a week? He didn't really know. He hadn't really left the loft. Rather he'd stayed holed up, occasionally eating but mostly just lying on his back wishing for sleep. Everytime he closed his eyes though he just saw Mark, pale Mark lying on white sheets like he'd been that time Roger found him inside the Catscratch Club…

Through his daze, Roger thought he heard something but he couldn't be sure. It had probably been his imagination, running away with him. But when he heard the door open, he knew that it had to be real.

"Mark?" he called out tentatively.

"Try again," a deep voice growled from the door.

"Collins?" Roger asked, surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"Nothing," he said picking his way through the apartment. "No food," he muttered, opening the cupboards. "No AZT," he said, his voice coming from the bathroom. "Shit man! No toilet paper!" He came back into the living room looking rather disgusted. "Lemme guess, no money?"

Roger gave a nod and failed to mention that even if there had been money, he wouldn't have gone out to the store.

"Okay," Collins sighed. "Where's Mark?"

Roger reluctantly sat up. "I was hoping you wouldn't ask that."

"I get two calls from you in a week, both of them in which you're concerned for Mark and you expect me not to wonder?"

"He's not here," Roger mumbled.

"Do you know where he is?"

Roger refused to answer.

"Roger, I love you and all, but if you don't tell me where the fuck Mark is I will beat the shit out of you, friend or no," Collins threatened, his voice deadly serious.

Though he had tried his hardest not to, Roger's gaze flickered over to the refrigerator. Collins' eyes followed Roger and then landed on the pamphlet. He went over to it.

"Rehab?" he asked, confused. "But Mark didn't put you into rehab. He hadn't even thought of putting you in rehab-"

"It wasn't for me!" Roger burst out. Calming himself, he opened his mouth again. "It was for him."

"I don't understand," Collins said plainly.

"Remember when I called you to say that Mark had been acting weird? That was why. He was on smack."
"He was doing heroin? How bad was it?"

"I found him fucking a guy for money so he could buy more. How bad do you think it was?"

Collins sank down to the floor. "You've gotta be shitting me. Mark?" His gaze returned to Roger. "How the fuck did you let this happen?"