"Mark? I'm, um, I'm all packed," Maureen said, setting the suitcase on the ground.

"Benny should be on his way."

Maureen sat down on the couch, fidgeting. Mark put a hand over one of hers. She looked up at him, holding back tears.

"This is good, baby. This is a good thing."

She nodded. "I know, I know…I just…I'm just scared. What if it's like last time? What if I come out okay and then it happens again? Or what if I don't get better? Or what if I do and then—"

Mark put a hand lightly over her mouth. "Maureen, no what-ifs. This is good. If this happens again, then I'll help you again. And you will get better because you're strong and you're fiery and I won't let you go. I love you and I will always love you."

Maureen smiled through her tears and threw her arms around him. "I love you," she whispered.

They jumped when they heard a horn honking outside. Benny had agreed to drive her to the treatment clinic. Mark had called her parents that morning and they'd agreed to pay. Mark picked up her suitcase and held Maureen's hand.

"Where's Roger?"

Mark shook his head. "Not sure. He, um, he had…"

"He's using again, isn't he?"

"Baby, don't worry about Roger. Not now. Right now is about you. Okay?"

She nodded and let Mark lead her downstairs.


Roger returned home to find the loft empty. Weird. Middle of the day you'd think someone would be home. He saw a note on the table.

Roger,

Maureen's going to a treatment facility. Benny and I are taking her. Home soon.

Mark

"Whatever," he mumbled, striding into the living room.

Roger reached into the plastic bag and pulled out the newly purchased bottle. He set it on the table. One more thing to do. The note. Mark deserved that much. That much Roger could give him.

Roger blinked back tears and curled up on the couch to write.

Mark,

I'm so sorry. I know I've fucked up a lot. I'm selfish and a complete bastard. I don't deserve to have a best friend like you. If I stick around, I'm afraid I'll only hurt you more. You and Maureen and Collins. I know you and Collins say Maureen's problems aren't my fault, but they are. It's my fault that she went back to it. I know what sets her off and I didn't care. I can't do this anymore. I know you guys think I'm strong enough to beat this addiction, but I'm not. I can't do it, Mark. I can't. I'm…I hate who I am. I hate what the drugs do to me but you have no idea how bad it hurts without them. I don't want to be like this anymore. I don't want to drag you guys down with me. I don't want to hurt anybody anymore. I'm so sorry. Please forgive me for all the shit that I did. Please. I'm sorry. I love you. Tell Collins and Maureen that I'm sorry and I love them too.

Goodbye,

Roger

When he finished the letter, Roger was shaking. It had been hours since his last fix. He wiped away some of the tears streaking down his cheeks. The door to the loft slid open but Roger's tears blocked the sound. When he looked up, he saw Mark standing in front of him. The filmmaker looked tired, angry. He grabbed the paper from Roger's hands and read it, shaking his head. Roger was surprised to see tears in Mark's eyes.

"Roger, no. Please don't do this. Don't—did you…"

Roger's eyes drifted to the full bottle of aspirin. He expected Mark to throw it, to scream at him or hit him even. Instead, Mark sank down to the seat beside him and put his arms around Roger, pulling the crying musician into his arms.

"I can't do this, Mark. I can't. I can't."

"Please, Roger. Please. Everything's so fucked up right now. Please. You can't do this. You can't leave us."

Benny stood in the doorway of the loft, wondering what the hell was going on. Maureen going into treatment was a good thing. This couldn't be over that. A paper on the ground beside his friends caught Benny's eye. He stooped to pick it up and read Roger's scratchy writing. His eyes fell on the aspirin bottle. Without a word, Benny picked up the bottle and brought it downstairs to his car. He wasn't sure what was going on or what Roger was capable of, but there was no way in hell that Benny was going to leave that bottle anywhere near Roger.


At the clinic, Maureen sat uncomfortably on her hospital bed. She hated this place already. Still, she trusted Mark when he said this would be for the better, that everything would work out okay. When her clothes were folded and neatly slipped into the drawers of the white dresser, Maureen decided to go to the sitting room. She didn't feel like being alone. She hated being alone.

The sitting room was the hospital term for their lounge. Maureen noticed that, despite it being nearly mid-afternoon, the room was nearly empty. A couple of girls read in the corner. The rest, she'd been told, were in therapy, either individual or group. Maureen's therapy sessions would start in the morning. She went to the window seat and curled up, leaning her head against the window. It reminded her of the loft window.

"Excuse me?" a voice asked.

Maureen looked over, surprised at the voice. A young African American woman stood next to her. The woman seemed to have already asked Maureen something.

"I'm sorry. I—"

"You were daydreaming. It's all right. I just wanted to know if you by any chance know where I might find one of the nurses."

"Um, I'm not sure. Isn't someone at the nurses' station?"

"No and I'm supposed to have lunch with my sister."

Maureen shrugged. "I'm sorry. I don't know. It's my first day here."

"Oh! Well, um, good luck then. Are you all settled in?"

Maureen nodded. The woman smiled at her, her brown eyes sparkling. Maureen held her hand out. "Maureen Johnson."

The woman shook her hand. "Joanne Jefferson."