Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Roger and Mimi's relationship had become bipolar as she approached her seventh month of pregnancy.
Mark knew how his day would follow by what woke him. Good days began with breakfast-- Roger cooking pancakes or making toast and honey (strawberry jam, for Mark, who hated honey). Bad days began with Roger screaming, and Mimi screaming back. On those mornings, Mark rolled over and closed his eyes and tried to shut their angry voices out of his ears.
"Well if we fight over something this insignificant, I don't think we should have children at all!"
"We didn't plan to, you know that!"
"I should've had an abortion. It's not too late--"
"Oh, stop it, Mimi! I'm sick of this--"
"Pro-life asshole."
"No! I'm just sick of you using them every time you're angry with me! Is that how it's going to go, Mimi? Is this what our lives are going to be?"
"Thanks to you, we don't know what our lives will be--"
"Thanks to me? I didn't make the abortion fail, Mimi! It's all chance and destiny if you believe in that, but it didn't work and you have to accept that!"
"Accept? Accept bringing two children into the world just to watch them die because their daddy can't realize that bad things happen! And they do, Roger."
"Just decide if you want the abortion or not! Hell, Mimi, at this point, if you wanna have them out and go back to pole-dancing the next day, I wouldn't care just as long as you dedicated to it! But don't spend your life moaning about how you got screwed over, because that's a waste of your time and everyone else's. I should know!"
After he heard the door slam, Mark rolled out of bed. It was empty.
---
"I haven't gone out since Catherine. Not seriously since Maureen."
"Tell me about Catherine, you haven't mentioned her."
"Oh. About… six months ago, maybe, um, my… well, Maureen set me up with Catherine. She was nice enough, I mean I really liked her. I guess I talked a lot about myself, um, but she seemed interested. I liked this girl, a lot. And I couldn't believe… I mean, a woman with looks like that-- and she was!-- into a guy like me? Lucky. Too lucky."
"What went wrong?"
Mark sighed. His head jerked as he spoke, as though he might escape the truth of the words. "Catherine was an escort. Maureen paid her to take me out."
"What an awful thing to do."
"Well, you've never met Maureen. Maureen thought it was nice. She thought she was doing me a favor. I was so humiliated…"
"How did you feel about that? Were you angry, or upset?"
Mark didn't say a word. He pushed up his sleeve and indicated some of the darker scars. The scarring was inconsistent: in length, in depth; some cuts scarred darkly and some light. "I can't imagine what Roger would say," Mark said, his voice thick. He lost control and tears spilled across his cheeks. "First the lesbian, then the whore!"
"That was not your fault."
"Of course. Not my fault. I'm just so fucking pathetic I can't even land a woman, not one! You know that? After Nanette, nope. No one. Just Maureen and Catherine the whore. Markie-boy can't get himself a lay with paying for it. But it's never my fault! It's never my fucking fault! Maureen didn't know, I didn't know-- I am sick of having life happen to me!"
"Mark, put that down-- Mark! Mark, I can't let you do that!"
"I can do whatever I want! I'm not a child! I won't be treated like one. Life will not happen to me anymore! It will be my choices now, mine! And this is what I want!"
---
"I can't do this, Mimi."
She had dreaded those words since the beginning, every moment expected them: every second, since he found her in the clinic. It had only been a matter of time. She closed her eyes. Knowing could not have prepared her. "Okay," she said. A warm numbness began to flood her veins. Simplicity overcame her, and Mimi accepted. "I'll get my stuff out, and--"
"No." Roger stood and joined her by the table. "It's not that. It's just… all this fighting. It's not worth it. If that's all this is… I just want us to make a decision and stand by it, okay? Either… either we have the babies, or you do a D and E. And I'm by your side either way, I just… need you to choose."
Mimi nodded. Commit to this moment. Decide. If you do it, you do it, there's no going back and no complaining. Which will it be? Which is it?
Two scenarios flashed in Mimi's head: a baby. Life, twins, her and Roger. She wrinkled her brow. No AZT, she thought. Imagine such a life…Roger. That part was easy. Roger took cares, and though he did not live his life by caution his body was healthier than hers-- such that she almost forgot his illness, at times. Mimi could see Roger with their twins-- girls, in her mind.
Yeah… but can I belong to that life? Roger, and the kids, and love and happiness? Mimi's mind scoffed. She had never been in such a place, only in moments in her childhood, however fleeting.
Or… door #2. Continuation. The eternity of unchanging this until--
Mimi's spine straightened. "I'm not having a D and E, Roger."
His shoulders slumped and he smiled. "Oh, thank G-d!" Roger hugged Mimi, one hand in her hair. "I would've stood by you, Mimi. I swear I would have."
---
Joanne shook her head, one hand shielding her eyes with the thumb and middle finger resting over opposite temples. When she removed her hand, nothing in her expression betrayed any emotion. She was present, collected, of sound mind. Joanne was unquestionably in control, despite having no control at all.
"Is he all right?" she asked.
"Yes. Physically, he's fine, but I would worry about his mental state."
Joanne nodded. "Well, obviously." The words were out before she could stop them. "Um… do you think this will happen again?"
The therapist paused. "I… Well, I'm not at liberty to discuss Mr. Cohen's case with you, but this particular instance was, I believe, brought on by the exploration of a very sensitive subject. As long he's not under attack, I'm sure Mr. Cohen--"
"Mark," Joanne interrupted. "His name is Mark." This particular instance. So there had been other instances, this was only one in a set, a series. Did she mean to tell me that? Does she realize that she is speaking to a lawyer, someone who will pick up every hint she doesn't mean to drop?
"Yes," the therapist agreed. "Mark."
Yes. Mark, Joanne's thoughts echoed. Mark hurts himself.
Joanne's thoughts echoed.She listened as the doctors told her Mark would be wearing a splint for six to eight weeks, but the fracture was minor and no lasting damage foreseen. He would take painkillers-- yes, she could pay the prescription and the bills. No, he didn't have insurance. No, Mark couldn't stay overnight.
I can't afford that, Joanne reflected bitterly.
Joanne filled the prescription in the pharmacy before retrieving Mark. There were about a dozen beds, maybe half of them occupied. Mark was easy to spot. He sat on the hospital bed with his shoulders up by his ears and his spine curved. His hands rested on his thighs. A cast encased his left hand and wrist.
"Hey." Joanne touched Mark's bare shoulder. "You all right?" she asked.
Mark looked up. He forced a smile onto his face. "Yeah," he said. "I'm great."
"Let's get you home, okay?"
"Yeah."
Mark signed himself out, then headed to the subway with Joanne. "You don't have to walk me home," he said.
"I'd like the company," Joanne replied. "So what happened to your hand?"
"Oh." Mark hadn't considered that, but I smashed a lamp against it because I hate myself so much that the very thought of me induces vomit probably wouldn't fly. "I fell."
Joanne nodded. All right. If that was what Mark wanted to say, she accepted that. But deep in her mind, Joanne burned the knowledge that Mark's broken hand was no accident and neither, she guessed, were the scars on his arm.
TO BE CONTINUED!