Roger mumbled and joked the whole way back to the loft. Mark ignored him, glancing back every few seconds to make sure Maureen was coming. He managed to haul Roger up the stairs and shoved him into the loft.
"We found him," he called out.
Collins smiled in relief, but frowned as soon as his eyes fell to Roger. His eyes narrowed. "He's—"
Mark nodded. "We found him in an alleyway. There was an empty bag at his feet."
"Fuck."
"I knew this was too easy."
"What?"
"When he came home from the hospital and didn't relapse, I knew we were lucky. I knew it was too good to be true. I knew—"
"Mark, shut the hell up," Maureen said as she slammed the loft door.
Roger giggled from the couch. "Ooh, Marky's in trouble."
"Roger, shut the hell up too."
Collins put a hand on her shoulder, but she shook it off.
"Maureen, baby—"
"Don't. Whatever you guys have to say, any of you, I really don't want to hear it. This is bullshit! Collins and me were gone for, like, five fucking minutes! You can't be civil for five goddamn minutes? And Roger, you can't be sober for five fucking minutes?"
"I was sober! I was sober and you guys all got pissed."
"We got pissed that you went back to that shit!"
"I said I was sorry! What the fuck do you want from me?"
"I want you to stop this shit! How are we supposed to believe you're sorry when you keep doing this?"
"Fine. I'm the asshole. That's how you want it, isn't it?"
"What?"
"You've all got this all figured out, don't you? You get the drama that you love and Mark gets to be pissed and Collins gets to play hero. So fine, if that's what you want, then fine. I'll play along. I'll play the junkie-loser you have to save just like you want."
Maureen crossed the room to the couch in two steps and slapped Roger across the face. "Don't you dare try to blame this shit on us you selfish, self-centered son of a bitch."
Roger stared at her, stunned back into reality by the slap. Collins stared at him in disbelief. Roger sighed and looked to Mark. The filmmaker stood staring at the counter, his back to Roger. Mark glanced over his shoulder, waiting until Roger went back to ignoring him before turning and starting to film. Collins noticed and opened his mouth to speak but stopped himself.
Maureen stood in front of the couch, angry tears dancing in her eyes.
"What? Now you're gonna cry? God, Maureen, isn't this what you want? The drama? The heroics?"
"I want you to stop doing this shit!"
"Why? Why the fuck should I? I'm dying anyway, what fucking difference does it make?"
"It makes a difference to me!"
"It's just all about you, isn't it?"
"Fuck you," she said, wiping at the tears falling down her cheeks. "I'm trying to help you!"
"Maybe I don't want your help. I was just fucking fine out there."
"Yeah, stoned out of your mind? You could've died! Do you realize that?"
"Maybe I wanted to!"
"Fuck, Roger! It's not all about you either! Would you think about someone else for two goddamn seconds?"
"Look who's talking! Pretty fucking ironic that you of all people would tell me to think of someone besides myself."
"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"
"It means look at you! You constantly have to be the center of everything. You get people wrapped around your fuckin' finger and the second they stop paying attention to you, you throw 'em away like trash!"
"Go to hell."
"Why? Because I'm telling the truth. The truth that everyone here fucking knows and doesn't have the balls to tell you! You know I'm right. You're a selfish, dramatic, slutty little bitch and the only reason you're even with Mark is because he puts up with your shit!"
"Enough!" Collins shouted.
Maureen stared at Roger, her tears now streaming down her cheeks. She shook her head at him. Collins looked back and forth between them.
"Mo, you okay?"
"I need some air," she said. "I'll be on the roof."
