Note: Sorry it took me a while to update! I wanted to get a Mark story up and this took a while. It's a bit longer than most of the stories, but once I started writing, I just couldn't stop. Please review! And, as always, much thanks and love to everyone who's reviewed, favorited and read thus far.
Warning: This chapter contains alcoholism, scenes of mild violence, and a very not-so-nice Mark.
Mark and Nikki had been dating for almost three months. She was, as far as Mark was concerned, the best thing to ever happen to him.
"You work tonight?" he asked, holding her to him.
"Nope. All yours tonight…Let's just stay in tonight," Nikki said, kissing his neck.
"I definitely like the sound of that," he laughed.
Nikki kissed his neck and then up his jaw until she reached his mouth. She kissed him slowly, teasing him, and walked backwards towards the bedroom.
A month later, Mark found an empty box. It was a pregnancy test kit. How the hell was this possible? He paced the living room of Nikki's apartment, the empty box sitting on the table. She unlocked the door and looked a little surprised to see him.
"Hey, babe. I thought you had to work."
"Got off early. What, uh, what the hell's that?" he asked, trying to stay calm.
"What's what?" Nikki's brown eyes fell on the empty box. "Shit…"
Mark sighed and resumed his pacing. "What did the results say?"
Nikki didn't answer him.
"Nik, what did the test say?" he asked, his voice raising.
She looked like she would cry. Mark went to her and pulled her into his arms. "It's okay, baby. Whatever it is…look, I'm sorry, okay? I just didn't, um, didn't plan for…"
"You think I did?" she asked.
Mark tilted her chin up, forcing her to look at him. Nikki tried to blink back her tears but a few slipped out. Mark reached a hand out and wiped them away. "I know you didn't, Nikki. I didn't mean it like that. I'm sorry, okay? We'll figure this out together."
"You're—you're not mad, then?"
"Mad? Of course not. Surprised, sure…I mean, we used protection. But I guess one of the condoms must've torn."
"Yeah…yeah…" she mumbled, looking away.
"Hey," he said softly. "It's okay. I promise, Nik. It'll be okay."
Two months later, Mark walked in and found Nikki in bed with Jordan. He was sound asleep. Nikki's eyes widened when she saw Mark. She slipped out of bed and pulled her robe on. Mark stormed into the living room. Nikki followed.
"Mark, I thought you had class."
"Yeah, I thought it'd be nice to surprise you for our anniversary."
"Our…oh fuck…it's six months…"
"Yeah and clearly meant a lot to you."
"Mark, I'm sorry."
"Is the baby mine?"
"What?"
"We used protection. Is the baby mine? Or his?"
Nikki stared at the floor.
"Tell me, Nikki! Is it mine? Is it mine or have you been fucking him the whole time?"
"Mark, just—"
"What's his name?"
"Jordan."
"Nikki, please tell me that's not Jordan, ex-boyfriend Jordan."
She nodded.
"When?"
"What?"
"When did you get back with him?"
Nikki stared at the ground. "A little more than a month ago."
"So is it mine or his?"
She blinked back tears and looked up at Mark. "The doctor told me the conception date."
"And?"
"The baby was conceived the weekend you went home to Scarsdale."
"The weekend…" he mumbled, shaking his head. "You know what? Fine. Nevermind. Goodbye."
"Mark, wait—"
"Don't, Nik. Goodbye."
Mark stepped into the cold February night and headed for a bar. He didn't leave until they kicked him out.
Two months after he left Nikki, Mark found himself in the bars more and more frequently. He skipped his morning classes to sleep off hangovers more often than not. He couldn't believe what she'd done. He missed Nikki. It still hurt to see her and Jordan around campus, her stomach now starting to show. Mark ignored and avoided her.
The first notices from the dean about his grades were promptly thrown out. Mark didn't care anymore. What difference did it make? He woke one morning to the blaring of his phone. "Who the hell is calling this early?" he groaned.
"Hello?"
"Mark Cohen! You are in big trouble!"
"Hey, Dad. Could I call you back? I just—"
"No! We're doing this now. What the hell is going on?"
"Dad, why are you shouting? What's—"
"The school sent us a notice. You're flunking out?"
"Dad, I can explain."
"You have three seconds to explain."
Mark sighed. "I've just been…busy."
"Busy what? Drinking?"
"Where did that come from?"
"This is the third time I've called your room. I got worried and called that friend of yours, Benny. He says you been spending a lot of time at the bars. That it, Mark? That what you've been doing?"
"Dad, it's not—"
"Have you been drinking or not?"
"Not this morning."
"Mark, if you think for one second that there's any way I'm payin' for my son to be in a school where he's doing nothing but drink, you got another thing coming."
"Would you just calm down?"
"Calm down? Have you not been listening? You're flunking out! That's it! No more!"
"Fine! So I flunked out! I ruined my life and I'm a failure. Is that what you want to hear?"
"Don't use that tone—"
"Dad, what else am I supposed to say? Nothing I say is going to fix this! I…I have to go. I'll call later. Bye." He hung up before his father could protest.
Crawling out of bed, Mark remembered the bottle of vodka he still had under the bed. He pulled it out and took a swig. Fuck, it was going to be a long day. There was a knock at the door and Mark quickly shoved the bottle back under the bed.
After the blowout with his father, Mark packed his things. His parents didn't like that he seemed to be giving up on school. His mother called, pleading with him to straighten up. Mark didn't want to straighten up. He liked his life the way it was going now. When his father disowned him, Mark felt something almost like relief. At least now he wouldn't have to lie about what he was doing and where he was going.
He moved into the loft after that. Benny found the place and they decided to move in with a couple guys from school. Roger, a musician Mark vaguely remembered from one of his frequently skipped classes, and Collins, Benny's friend that had tutored him last semester. Mark liked these guys. They drank with him, didn't judge him. Hell, Roger's band getting gigs gave Mark not just the excuse, but the opportunity to go to a bar.
Mark even began dating again. Roger's ex-girlfriend, Maureen. The two dated in high school but insisted they were just friends now. Mark didn't care if they had a history. He cared that Maureen was hot and available and clearly falling for him.
"Mark? Could I talk to you a minute?" she asked one evening.
"Sure, babe. What's up?"
"Let's stay in tonight."
"What? Why?"
"Well, we always go out and you always get drunk and I just thought—"
"I don't always get drunk, Maureen. Quit being dramatic."
She looked hurt. "Okay, fine. Well call it what you want but when you spend most mornings in bed sleeping off hangovers, I call it getting drunk."
Mark rolled his eyes and went to the kitchen. He bent down, pretending to tie his shoe. He needed the beer he kept in the bottom cabinet. Taking a quick gulp, he stood up and turned to find Maureen standing in the kitchen.
"Jesus, babe, you scared the hell out of me."
"What were you doing?"
"Tying my shoe."
She crossed her arms in front of her chest. "What were you drinking?"
"What? Nothing. I wasn't drinking anything. I told you I was tying my shoe."
"Yeah and I saw you holding a bottle when I came in."
"Must be imagining things, Mo."
He started to walk past her, but stopped when she reached for the cabinet. "What are you doing?"
"Looking for something." She pulled out the bottle. "This the shoe you were tying?"
"Fuck off."
"Don't talk to me like that!"
Mark stormed back into the living room, wishing she'd just shut up and let him be. Maureen followed him, her face a mix of worry and anger. She approached him slowly.
"Baby," she said, "have you been drinking this morning? Besides what I found?"
Mark glared at her. "You smell alcohol?" he asked, stepping as close to her as he could without touching her.
"I always smell alcohol on you, Mark. And to tell you the truth, it's getting really fuckin' old!"
"Oh give it a fucking rest," he sighed.
"Why don't you give it a rest? Go one night without drinking."
"What?"
"One night. Please. For me."
"Fuck off, Maureen."
"You need help."
"Excuse me?"
"You need help, Mark. I think…I think you're an alcoholic."
Mark grabbed her arm hard. "You don't know what the fuck you're talking about."
"Mark! Let go of me, now!"
He let her arm go. "Mind your own fucking business."
Maureen looked ready to cry. "Baby, please, I'm worried about—"
"Shut up, Maureen."
"Mark, no, we need to—"
His hand shot out, smacking her across the face. "I said shut up!"
Maureen stumbled backwards. Her eyes were now full of tears. Not sad tears, as before, but tears of anger and frustration. She glared at him. Mark took a step backwards, realizing what he'd done. Maureen went up to him and backhanded him just as hard.
"Pick up your hands to me again and I swear to God I'll cut your dick off," she said, jaw clenched.
"Mo, I'm sor—"
He reached for her arm but she shrugged it off. "Mark, don't. Don't touch me. Don't talk to me. Don't apologize. Get help or we're through."
Mark opened his mouth to reply but stopped when the loft door slid open. Roger stumbled in with a slender redhead. Mark seemed to remember her name was April. Roger had been bringing her home for months now. Nobody felt right about the influence she seemed to be having on Roger. He stayed out for days a time, his demeanor had changed, and everything about him seemed harsher, crueler.
Mark and Maureen watched them disappear into Roger's bedroom. Mark froze when he saw something fall from Roger's pocket.
"What the hell is that?" Maureen said quietly.
Mark bent down and picked up the little baggie. His eyes widened and he looked to Maureen. She eyed the contents of the bag, let out a small sigh and backed up to the couch. Mark sat beside her.
"What the hell are we going to do now?" he asked.
"Wait for Collins and Benny to get home. Then discuss it with them. Get Roger off the drugs. He can't throw his life away like this."
Mark nodded.
"Neither can you."
He looked at her and nodded again.
"I meant what I said, Mark. Stop drinking or we're done."
Three days later, Mark found April dead in their bathtub. He quit drinking then. Maureen never mentioned it again.
Note: I know Mark's confession implied no one knew of his alcoholism. Remember, Maureen only suspects alcoholism. Technicality, I know, but this is how the story came out.
