Roger sat on Mark and Maureen's bed, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do now. He wanted to go after her, but somehow felt like that would only make things worse. Besides, if Mark got home first, he'd assume Roger was out getting high.

"Fuck," he sighed.

Roger got up and headed back into the living room. He wished Mark would get home. The loft was completely empty. Roger shook his head and went into his own room. Sinking down to the bed, he felt around under the bed for his Fender guitar. He'd shoved it under there after April died. Roger couldn't remember how long ago that had been. Now he picked it up slowly, handling it like an ancient relic. He turned it over in his hands then set it down.

That notebook. That stupid notebook she was always scribbling in. Roger knew it was some journal or something but if she wouldn't tell him what the hell he'd done, he would find out.

In the living room, Roger found the notebook lying forgotten on the coffee table. He picked it up, feeling a moment of guilt before opening it. His hands flipped through the pages, looking for the most recent entries. His eyes stopped on the most recent entries.

Roger thinks I treat Mark like shit. All the crap he's put us through and he…fuck…maybe he's right. I know he's right about what he said before. Mark tried to tell me that he only said it because he was in withdrawals--that he didn't mean it. He meant it. He meant it and Mark didn't disagree. If my own boyfriend won't stand up for me when someone says that, it must be true, right?

What the hell had he said? Roger's eyes skimmed over the page, rereading it. Numbers were scribbled in the margins. None of it made sense. What had he said? Roger flipped back to the entry before. There. The relapse.

He tried to blame it on us. Collins, Mark, me. Tried to say that it was what we wanted. Now Mark could be mad and Collins could be the hero and I'd get the drama I wanted. I got so fucking mad when he said that. Doesn't he see that we love him? That we get mad because he's too good to fuck up his life like this? I don't understand…

I can't believe the shit he said…he…I can't believe him. And the worst thing was Mark and Collins. They didn't even try to defend me or argue with him. Collins just said "Enough" when he decided Roger had crossed a line. I can't do this. I can't…He's supposed to be my best friend. How could he say that shit? How could my boyfriend not stop him from saying it? Even later when we were alone, Mark didn't deny what he said, didn't tell me Roger was wrong…If just Roger had said it, I guess I'd find a way to deal with it. But Mark thinks it too. And Collins… None of them care.

Roger closed the notebook and set it back carefully on the table. Maybe she was just being dramatic. Maybe? Roger shook his head, knowing that this wasn't dramatics. It was too much like before. Like high school…


Roger followed her to the bedroom and sat beside her on the bed. "Baby, you okay?"

"I told you, I'm fine."

"Babe, you threw up. Are you sick?"

"No."

Roger saw the tears in her eyes. He swallowed and took a deep breath. "Are you—are you pregnant?"

"No, I'm not pregnant. Don't worry, I won't fuck up your life like that."

"Baby, that's not what I meant. I just…well usually people only throw up if they're sick or pregnant. Since you're not sick…"

"Yeah, well, like I said, I'm fine. I'm not sick. I'm not pregnant. Just leave me alone."

Roger stared at her. She sat on the bed, a pillow clutched against her stomach. Her eyes wouldn't meet his. Roger put a hand over hers.

"Did you throw up on purpose?"

"What?"

"Did you throw up on purpose?"

"Leave me alone."