Disclaimer – I still don't own it. Never will.

Chapter 4 – Half a Year of Withdrawal

I didn't have a funeral reception. After all, why would my friends gather to celebrate my life that I didn't want? Anyway, Roger was nowhere to be found. Everyone was really worried when he didn't show up all night. They thought that he had gone to get drugs, go on a drinking binge, or worse.

But I knew better.

The day he found my body, Roger had quit drugs – cold turkey. At least one good thing had happened because of my death. Roger didn't want to go to the doctor to confirm what my note had told him – that he had AIDS – but sweet, reliable Mark had almost forced him too. Sure enough, he found out a week later that he indeed have AIDS. The fact that Roger didn't show any emotion to this at all scared Mark more than anything else.

No, Roger wasn't out drinking, or doing drugs. He was in a dark alley, rain pouring, soaking his clothes. He couldn't stop shaking, and shivering. This was his third week without having any drugs. Roger was in withdrawal, and his body wasn't taking it well at all. His face had become gaunt; he had lost an unnatural amount of weight; and he still had eaten only what Mark forced him too. He hadn't gone to another doctor after Mark took him almost three weeks ago, because he didn't think he would get any real help there. Any rehab clinics were too expensive for him to go to as well.

No one knew what Roger was doing, not even Mark, who was keeping a close eye on his best friend. Sure, Mark had noticed that Roger was acting and looking worse than he had ever seen him look, but he figured that Roger was getting depressed enough about my death to start drugs again. Oh how wrong he was.

When the pains and shivers had finally subsided, Roger fell asleep. He woke up around five in the morning without a clear idea where he had been. He was pretty far from the loft – about 12 blocks – and pretty out of it as well. Thank God Mark had woken up early, scared about Roger, and dragged Collins out of bed.

"Collins!" Mark whispered to a lump on a gray futon. "Collins, wake up!" The lump groaned and shifted to the other side of the futon, but Mark wouldn't give up. "Collins!" the blonde filmmaker almost shouted, startling him.

"What time is it?" Collins mumbled, brushing at his eyes. "I'm so tired."

"Roger's still missing," Mark said urgently. "I'm afraid he's gonna get mugged or something. Collins, I'm really worried about him!"

"About what? Roger would kick anyone's ass if they mugged him." Collins replied.

"Yea, if he wasn't stoned or drunk out of his mind," persisted Mark. "He looks awful now, and he could get killed by the Man if he can't pay for his drugs! I mean, Roger just lost his job at Dave's, so he doesn't have any money. And none of mine's missing."

Collins stared at Mark, quite a bit perkier than he was five minutes ago.

"Man," Collins said, with a hint of a smile on his face. "Roger's not doing drugs."

"He's not?" asked Mark, confused.

"No. He's in withdrawal."

Now it was Mark who stared at Collins.

"And how would you know?" he asked.

"Well," Collins said, "I used to be on heroin, and some other shit, like Roger, before I met you guys. Then I got AIDS, and I decided to live life for as long as I could. I went into withdrawal cuz I couldn't pay for fancy doctors and their fancier drugs. Let me tell you, it sucked. But now that I think about it, I think that's what Roger's doing."

Mark stared at Collins, open-mouthed. But before he could say anything, there was a knock at the door.

Hope you like it! Review to give me some ideas! GM