Chapter Six: Remember When?
Mark woke up to the shining light of a beautiful morning. His eyes shimmered happily as he turned over onto his side and tossed a hand over his girlfriend's sleeping form, snuggling closer as she awoke. Dark curls bounced as Maureen rose slightly to turn and land a smooth kiss on Mark's welcoming lips. Smiling seductively, Maureen grinned as she let her fingers wander up and down Mark's back, giggling as he tensed at her touch.
"Pookie…" Maureen smiled, turning slightly as Mark kissed her neck. "I really need to go."
"There's no rush," Mark whispered, trapping Maureen into a kiss as he felt her hands snake around behind his head so their kiss could grow even fiercer as they smiled against each other's lips.
Giggling lightly as Mark kissed her neck, Maureen placed her hands on Mark's shoulders and smiled. "Pookie, I wish I could stay, but I promised my friend that I would help her with this scene she's auditioning for tonight. She needs my moral support."
"Later tonight…" Mark argued, pulling back and rolling over so that his hand was propping his head off the mattress. "Come on Maureen, we haven't spent time together in weeks."
"Hang out with Roger and April," Maureen suggested. She pushed herself off the bed and carefully pulled her tight black shirt over her shoulders before slipping into her mini-skirt and placing on her sandals. "We haven't seen them in a long time either."
Mark rolled his eyes. "I'd really rather not get caught into whatever they're doing."
"Come on Pookie," Maureen ran her hands through his hair and played with his bangs as she leaned in and kissed his cheek. "My friend has been trying to get this part all month! I can't just walk out on her now."
"Fine," Mark said, kissing her lips. He hopped off the bed and pushed his glasses further up his face before following Maureen toward the living room of his loft. "Do you need to shower first?"
"Nah, it's okay." Maureen smirked, checking her watch. "I'm late meeting my friend at her house, so maybe I can get her to let me use her shower. It's no problem." She placed her hand on his cheek and kissed him softly on the lips. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay? It'll be a birthday you won't forget."
Mark smirked, tugging her hand as if he was a child. "Promise?"
Maureen pulled him into one last kiss, whispering into his lips, "Promise."
She turned dramatically and waved to him behind her back, sliding the door open before rushing out the loft. Watching the fleeing form of his girlfriend rush down the stairs, Mark slammed the door of the loft as hard as he could. Why he put up with Maureen Johnson was something that still needed to be argued about. Rollins his eyes again, Mark wandered into the kitchen to fix himself a bowl of stale Cap'n Crunch before walking back into the living room to press the button under the blinking red light on the answering machine.
Beep.
"Hey Mark, Roger, it's…Benny." Sleazebag. "Listen, I know you probably don't want to hear from me, but I wanted to tell you that I'm moving deeper into the city with Allison. Can you pass the news to Collins? I'm thinking of some ways to fix the loft up…okay? I- I've been talking to Mr. Grey, and he was telling me about this plan to knock down some buildings to build a studio -Cyber Arts. I'll get to run it and, of course, you two will be partners with me once it gets started. Well… I guess that's it. I'm sorry about how we left things. I'll talk to you later. Bye."
Mark shook his head, still eating his cereal he flopped down on the duct taped couch.
Beep.
"What's up bitches?" Collins. "Just callin' in to see how you two, or, rather, how the four of you are doing without me! I'm assuming April and Maureen haven't dumped your asses yet. Early call for a happy birthday Mark, tomorrow you'll be another year older! Heh, hard to imagine. Well, I've got my vacation coming up in two months, so I'll be back around Christmastime. Don't worry, Mark, I know you are, but I'm taking my AZT. Later."
Smiling, Mark tossed the bowl in the sink and began washing the few dishes that were stacked on the counter. It was Roger's night yesterday.
Beep.
"Hey Mark, pick up the damn phone!" Speak of the devil. "You and Maureen must be sleeping. Lazy ass, it's only 3 AM. Well, I can't get home tonight because my band got this last minute gig uptown that I need to do. Don't worry, I'm bunking with a friend so I'll be back sometime in the afternoon. Can you apologize to April for me? She keeps telling me she has something important to tell me, and I feel bad for blowing her off all week…"
Beep. End of the messages.
'Funny,' thought Mark as he wiped his hands on the dishtowel and placed the now clean bowl into the top cupboard. 'I wonder if April got home last night. She didn't say anything.'
Padding across the loft, Mark cautiously knocked on Roger's bedroom door as he called out, "April? April, are you in there?" Receiving no answer, Mark frowned. "I'm coming in!" He stuck his head in the door and peered into the messy room, looking for a sign of human life. Kicking clothes out of the way, Mark shook his head at his roommates cleaning habits, or, rather, lack of.
No sign of April.
Odd.
'Probably ended up staying somewhere else.' Mark dismissed the girl's absence. 'Collins and Roger are right. I worry too much.'
Letting out a small sigh, Mark pushed his glasses further up his face and walked back toward the living room. Such a slow day already. Mark wasn't sure whether to be thankful or bored. Still, Mark still had one thing he could do today-
"October 25th, eight a.m. Eastern standard time. Zoom in on the empty New York loft, once filled with six people now sunk down to one Mark Cohen. Seems as if Collins is having a blast at NYU, Benny's being his new slimy self with Allison, Maureen's actions are questionable, Roger's being busy with his band, and April's who-knows-where. Then there's me…alone… "
Mark shrugged, turning off his camera as he thought to himself, 'I might as well take myself up on that shower offer.' Hell, what else was there to do? Right after he could enjoy the nice slow day to wander into the city to look for some footage for his documentary. Nobody would miss him, anyway. Why waste a perfectly beautiful day staying in the loft.
Nodding at his agenda, Mark walked to the bathroom door-
Stop. Blink. Breathe.
Don't cry. Don't scream.
The camera fell from Mark's shaky grasp and, without care or thought, Mark didn't even flinch as his precious camera fell to the ground, evolving into nothing more but pieces of black and silver metal. The handle continued to crank endlessly- Mark didn't notice. Mark didn't care.
Don't cry. Don't scream.
Stay calm Cohen.
Don't think.
Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry.
Mark couldn't help it. He blinked through the multiple salt water tears flowing down his cheeks. Mark cried, falling onto his knees into the unwelcome crimson liquid that had stuck into the white tile. "Oh-"
There came a strangled sort of gasp burning up Mark's throat as he tossed himself foreword and promptly threw up into the toilet. Threw up into the toilet that was sitting right next to her. Right next to… her.
Eyes wide open. Mouth twisted into a sadistic smile. Blood covered.
April.
Dead April.
About a thousand profanities escaped Mark right then and there. He fell backward, trying not to listen to the disgusted 'splashing' sound of liquid pooling under his slipper covered feet. Mark was suddenly in a daze. There was no escaping it. Eyes had widened into that of worry as Mark turned to the blood-soaked sink and turned the water on. He looked up into the crimson mirror to find tears streaming freely down his cheeks and than… Something was wrong…
Was he reading it right? Was it true?
"We have AIDS."
Mark whipped around and turned to April -Dead April- eyes widening by the second as he looking into her lifeless eyes.
It couldn't be. Could it?
Poor April…
Shit!
Poor Roger!
"Gah…" More of a gurgle eliciting from Mark's throat as his breath hitched involuntarily.
His best friend had AIDS.
'No…' Mark thought rushing to the sink, blurry eyes ignoring the bloody message written in red as he washed the blood from his hands. 'Roger doesn't have AIDS. We'd know if he did. He'd have to have HIV first.' Mark checked his wet hands to see if any of the blood had gotten into his system. To his relief, he found nothing. However, he still needed to get checked.
First Collins and now Roger. The number of people in Mark's future had just gotten smaller.
No more April.
How could she smile like that? How could she smile at her own death?
Mark gazed down at her, still blinking the tears away. She'd slit her wrists, it was obvious.
"… She kept telling me she had something important to discuss and I feel kind of bad blowing her off all week…" That damned message.
Suddenly, Roger's voice: "Shit Mark, what happened to your camera?"
Did the loft door open? Mark turned around.
"Mark?" Roger was standing in the doorway looking down at the black pieces on the floor. "What happened?"
He hadn't seen April. Mark would keep it that way.
Mark all but tackled Roger in the chest, pushing the bigger man out of the bathroom and slamming the door in his face. He knew Roger had probably seen the blood, but, did he see April yet?
A soft knock. "Mark? What the hell, man?"
"Stay out!" Mark shuddered, his voice coming out in a shaky sob.
"Mark?" The knock was more forceful this time. "What's wrong? I saw blood! Is everything okay?"
'NO!' Mark wanted to shout, but instead he chocked on another sob. "Stay out! Just stay out!"
"Mark! Let me in!" Roger shouted, worried. "Mark!"
Mark, meanwhile, was frantically grabbing gloves and towels from under the cupboard and trying to soak up all the blood he could. Everything was so blurry though, Mark wasn't sure of what he was doing.
"Mark!" Roger shouted. It sounded as if the musician was throwing his body at the door. "Mark! Come on man, you're scaring me."
"Roger! Don't please!" Mark cried. "Just stop!"
"Mark? What's wrong?"
"Don't come in!"
"Mark, come on out. Are you okay in there?"
"Call 911!"
"Mark, stop it. Come out! Did you hurt yourself?"
"Call the number Rog!"
"I'm coming in!"
"Roger, don't! Please, stop, you can't touch her! She's… she… you… Oh, God!"
Roger flew through into the room with the door flying off the hinges breaking into pieces onto the blood-soaked floor. The brown-haired musician froze.
"APRIL!"
Rushing forward, Mark caught the taller man into an embrace as Roger fell to his knees. Mark ignored the infected blood as he held his friend in his arms, cringing as Roger let out a strangled sob that sounded like broken moan. His green eyes had fixated themselves on his dead girlfriend. Mark couldn't handle the weight, he blinked back his tears and leaned forward so that his face was buried into Roger's jacket, suddenly feeling comfort as Roger's arms worked their way around Mark's own body. They held to each other for all their lives worth, crying.
And then there was April.
Dead April.
CRASH!
Roger awoke with a jolt, the sudden sound of thunder making him bite back his tongue from screaming out. Sweat poured down his forehead as he attempted to steady his suddenly-erratic heartbeat. It had been a long time since he'd thought about that day.
"Roger?" Mimi's weary voice reached Roger's ear and a petite hand covered his bare chest. Roger shivered. "Love, are you all right?"
"Yeah. Yeah, of course," Roger said, feeling his breath settle down to a normal pace. He looked to the digital clock next to his bed and read 5 AM. "Shit, it's early. Go back to bed Mimi, we've still got a few more hours until we have to get up."
Mimi moaned, kissing Roger's cheek, "Are you sure? You sound horrible."
"Thanks," Roger said sarcastically, brushing Mimi's curly hair. "I guess I'm thirsty. I'll be back, love, I'm going to get a drink."
"Nightmare?" Mimi questioned, propping herself up by the arm as she watched Roger hop off the bed and pull on a shirt.
"Of course not. The storm woke me up."
"Liar. Are you sure you're all right?"
Roger nodded, patting her shoulder. "I'll be back in a second. Get some rest, you need it."
Mimi flopped back over onto her stomach and buried her head into her pillow. "You're just as bad as Mark sometimes."
"Wait-" Roger stopped; he looked down at Mimi and saw that she was all ready working her way back into the calm slumber he had disrupted her of. He let his protest die in his throat and smiled down at the sleeping woman. "I love you, baby. You know that, right?"
Mimi's reply landed on deaf ears as Roger walked from the room. "I love you too."
Letting out a deep sigh, Roger pushed open the door from his bedroom and wandered into the living room, immediately recoiling at the sight before him- Mark, sitting in the windowsill, looking down at the empty streets of New York.
Three weeks had past since Mark's therapy session and two more had followed the weeks after. It was the same deal usually, Mark would insist that nothing particularly meaningful happened and would change the subject as quickly as it came. The one day Roger did question Dr. Crow about it; all she could say was that she needed to respect her patient's privacy. Doctor-patient confidentiality.
"It's nothing new, Mister Davis," She had said, writing something into a file that had Mark's name plastered all over the front. Roger wanted to see it. "I'm sure, once he gets more into the sessions, Mark will start understanding everything a bit better."
"Bull," Roger had responded simply.
Mark was, since then, spending most of his time perched in the windowsill watching the world fly by him. He watched it slowly fade in front of his glaze eyes, now refusing to wear his bandages, as he ignored everybody who tried to talk to him. Mostly the other bohemians would give him his space, saying that all he needed was time, but Roger knew Mark better than that. So much was bottled up inside the young filmmaker and Roger was sure everything would spill out when they'd least expect it.
You
pretend to create and observe
When
you really detach from feeling alive
For some reason Roger thought those words stung himself more than they stung Mark. Mark had coped with the fact; Roger hadn't. Mark didn't deserve to have everything thrown into his face like that; maybe Roger did…
Walking forward, Roger squint his eyes through the darkness and observed his friend. Mark had taken quite care in placing one of the red velvet pillows against the wall where his back leaned against and had drawn his knees loosely against his chest. His right cheek that had the bruise, which had now swollen down to a red mark, was resting against the frigid glass. Eyes wavered slightly, staring down into the darkness as the moon bathed him in an ominous silver light.
Creak… Damn loose floorboard.
Mark's head whipped around. "Hello? Is somebody there?"
"Sorry," Roger coughed uncomfortably, rushing to his friend before placing two comforting hands on Mark's shoulders. "Sorry Mark."
"Rog?"
"Yeah." Roger nodded, moving to grab a blanket from the couch and quickly wrapping it around the thin man's shoulder. "Shit Mark, you're freezing."
"What're you doing up?" Mark asked. "It's pretty early, isn't it?"
"What are you doing up? It's 5 AM."
"That early, huh?" Mark smirked. "These days I can't tell what time it is. Most of the time you get up at around 8 AM and sometimes Benny or Collins comes up at about 7 AM to cook breakfast."
"Mental clock?" Roger questioned, pushing Mark over slightly so that he could sit across from his friend. "Here," he handed him a bottle of water that was in the cooler near the windowsill, "drink this."
"Thanks." Mark nodded, grabbing the water and cautiously placing the opening to his lips. "Having trouble sleeping?"
"Something like that." Roger smirked, tugging at Mark's shirt. "What about you? I mean, you've got my shirt and you're still cold? Why don't you turn the heater up?'
"I did once, remember?" Mark pointed out, sipping the water again and coughing as the liquid made its way down his dry throat. "You and Mimi woke up all sweaty. I don't mind it too much, really, I've still got your shirt and Collins loaded me up with some extra blankets."
"Yeah, you've got my shirt and thousands of blankets." Roger laughed. "Yet you still wake up in the middle of the night to come out here to freeze."
Mark laughed and shrugged. "Yeah, it's not really the brightest idea."
"So why do it?"
"Can't sleep. It's something to do." Mark sighed, reaching down to place the empty water bottle onto the wooden floorboard. "You had a nightmare, didn't you?"
Roger blinked. "How can you tell?"
"You seem a bit tense." Mark leaned his head back onto the cold glass window. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"No."
Mark nodded thoughtfully. "If you need to, I'm here."
"You never told me," Roger sighed. "What're you doing up so early?"
"I'm always up early." Mark shrugged. He looked out the window and watched a shadow-formed figure cross the street and huddle underneath a few objects that he held up, Mark thought they were newspapers, to protect himself from the rain. Another crash of thunder sounded from somewhere off in the distance. "Some storm.'
"Don't change the subject," Roger reprimanded. "Is there something wrong? You're a bit…edgy…"
Mark blushed. "I didn't know who it was, guess I got…I don't know. Nervous?" His eyes glazed over slightly. "Like I said, I'm always up early. Even before all… this. Usually I'm working with my camera, but I can't really do that now, can I?"
"Guess not," Roger whispered. "So, the window is the next best thing?"
Another thing to detach behind? Roger wanted to say. Something else to hide behind? To escape from reality?
"I guess." Mark answered. "I guess when I lost most of my sight I got lucky."
Roger stared. "Lucky?"
"I lost my sight and I'm a filmmaker," Mark elaborated, sightless eyes moving to look to Roger. "I got lucky. It may not seem like it, but the way I see it, I'm lucky to be able to understand something like this. It's been three weeks and I've learned how to see without my sight. Have you ever just listened to a thunderstorm before? It's incredible, Rog. I feel like I'm living this other half of my life, listening to things I should've listened to before." He shrugged and chuckled hollowly. "Didn't even need the damned cane."
"We were just trying to-"
"-help?" Mark cut off. "Yeah, and I appreciate that."
"Just returning the favor." Roger smirked, looking out the window. "It really is a nice night."
"Yeah…"
"Mark?"
"Yeah Rog?"
"Are you sure you're all right with everything?"
Mark turned towards Roger's voice and furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"
"I- I mean…" Roger trailed off. Why is this so hard? Why can't I just say it? "Listen…"
"Rog, I'm listening. I'm just not sure you are." Mark chuckled lightly. "Are you all right?"
"Stop changing the conversation!"
"Geez…" Mark recoiled slightly, holding his hands in front of him as if in a sort of peace offering. "Sorry, I really didn't mean to."
"You never mean to Mark!" Roger hissed, his voice loud enough to get a point across, but low enough that he was satisfied he wouldn't wake Mimi. "I'm worried about you! I know you care about me and Mimi, but we're not the ones that are having troubles here. You said it yourself, you're a filmmaker! Listen, I understand-"
"I don't think you do."
"You don't want to think about what's happening so you're running away." Mark turned away at Roger's words. "That's it, isn't it? You don't want your emotions to get the better of you, so you're becoming numb-"
"How can you say that?" Mark questioned, eyes glazing over sadly. "Do you want me to hurt because of the possible thought that I might be losing my sight? I know I don't want to. It hurts… I'm trying, Roger. Sometimes it's hard. It's only been three weeks and it's hard."
Roger shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. "Three weeks isn't a long time-"
"You're right, though. It's like I'm running away because I don't want to think about what's happening," Mark said, voice breaking. "That doesn't work for this, though. My mind is blocking everything off and I don't know why."
Roger suggested, "What about the film?"
Mark lowered his head. "What good would it do?"
"Maybe if you listened to the tape than you'd probably remember what happened." Roger shrugged. "It's probably just a knock on the head -nothing too horrible. Besides, maybe if we watched it together than your mind would stop blocking everything and you'd get your sight back." Roger placed a hand on Mark's shoulder and used his other hand to guide Mark's eyes up towards Roger's own green eyes. "You aren't alone in this."
"I know." Mark nodded. "You'd watch it with me? Describe everything for me?"
"Of course," Roger whispered, squeezing his friend's shoulder. "How about it?"
Mark sighed. "Give me one more week?"
The bohemians knew Mark wanted his memory to come back on his own. He hadn't wanted to "look" at the footage from that day because he'd figured his memory would just come back on his own. Mark didn't want to rely on anything.
"Sure." Roger moved himself onto the windowsill and Mark let out a yawn.
Mark grinned; he let his eyes drop so suddenly that Roger nearly jumped to catch him as he fell asleep in Roger's arms. Sill so damned skinny, Roger thought with a smile, patting Mark on the back and carrying him over to the couch, too tired to carry him all the way into his room. As Roger placed Mark onto the couch and fell asleep in the lone armchair in the living room he barely noticed Mimi smiling softly from their bedroom door.
"Good night." She whispered into the air.
XXXXXXXX
XXXXXXXX
"Roger told me you're having some trouble sleeping at night."
"Not you too Collins." Mark pushed his sunglasses further up his nose. "I told him last night it's nothing to be worried about. There are just these times that I wake up early, it's nothing health-related or anything."
"Step," Collins ordered, squeezing Mark's arm softly. "I'm just saying, that maybe if you took some pills. You're not working or anything, so you don't even have to be waking up so early. Sleep in! It won't kill ya." He pushed open the door to the clinic and led Mark through the various hallways.
Mark shrugged. "It's not that easy. I really wouldn't feel comfortable taking pills."
"Sleeping pills," Collins reassured. "You won't get addicted. Space the use of them out and you'll be golden."
"Golden?" Mark shook his head. "Where have I heard that before? Just forget it Collins. Geez… You really worry too much."
Collins laughed.
"What now?" Mark questioned.
"You realize that Roger says the same thing about you?" Collins pointed out, opening the oak door that would lead to Dr. Crow's office. "Seriously Mark, if you think you saying 'Take your AZT' isn't worrying then there really is something wrong in that head of yours."
Collins sat him in one of the plastic chairs. "You're really being a bastard about this, you know?"
"Proud to do it." Collins grinned. "Any idea why Roger isn't here? I mean, no offence, but he's been attached to you like a ball and chain."
"Yeah." Mark sighed. "Well, Mimi had some problems this morning and he didn't really want to leave her, and at the same time he wanted to come here with me. Took me about two hours to convince him that I'd be fine with you here."
"Really now?"
"Mm-hmm." Mark nodded. "Eventually Benny came over and we double teamed him."
"So, he's finally listening to Benny?"
"Well, after all the shit Benny did for us and the loft…" Mark shrugged. "Roger's just too proud to say anything horrible about him now. Sure, they'll get into it sometimes here and there, but, other than that, it's like before Benny met Allison."
"That good?"
Mark nodded. "Yeah."
"Mark Cohen?" Mark raised his head towards the feminine voice of the secretary. "Doctor Crow will see you now."
"Thanks." Mark nodded. He allowed Collins to lead him toward the door to the office. "See you in an hour?"
"I'll be waiting." Collins smirked. "Early dinner at the Life Café afterwards, on Benny?"
"When is it not on Benny?"
"Good point." Collins patted his shoulder. "Have a good session."
"Right." Mark wandered into the room and stealthily found his way to the leather chair. It was easier now; Mark could almost perfectly picture the entire room from just his point sitting on the black leather chair. It wasn't hard, really.
"Good afternoon Mark." Dr. Crow, cheerful as always. "How has your day been so far?"
"Fine." Short replies seemed worked better.
"Did you pick your camera up today?" She had been trying to get him to get into the normal routine. What was normal for a filmmaker when he doesn't have his sight? "Perhaps tried to shoot some footage?"
"No…" Mark shrugged. "The camera is fragile. I don't want to pick it up just to drop it on the floor."
It was going to be a long session.
"Ah, well, I see you don't want to talk about that. How about something else? Is there anything specific you want to talk about today?" Crap. The scribbling returned so suddenly that Mark nearly jumped. Thank goodness Dr. Crow didn't notice. "Well?"
"Nothing particular comes to mind." Why would I tell you anything? Mark thought. Evaluate me all you want. It doesn't prove anything.
"Tell me a little about your family." She continued hurriedly, "Now, I know you don't like to talk about your immediate family, however, I think it would be good to get into some of the details. You only have one more session left…"
"Do I?" Mark questioned. "You determine if something else comes up."
"Well, I could." Dr. Crow scribbled into the folder some more. "Unless you want to talk about it now?"
"Blackmail." Mark scoffed.
Dr. Crow seemed to shrug and Mark could almost see her smile. "I'd call it friendly advice."
"Fine!" Mark leaned down and placed two shaky hands on his knees. "What do you want to know?"
Dr. Crow folded the file closed and patted it on her lap contently. "Sibling. You have an older sister?"
"Cindy," Mark confirmed. "She's six years older than me and still lives in Scarsdale. According to my parents she's the perfect child."
"Does this upset you?" Mark shrugged. "Okay. Do you resent your sister because she is called a "perfect child" by your parents?"
"Of course not. Cindy is the only person in my family that I can actually stand. I won't say her family is perfect but I also can't say that they're horrible, Cindy really did well with her life."
Mark tilted his head, a new habit he picked up to better his hearing, and heard the soft squish of Dr. Crow's seat as she scooted herself closer. Her shadow-form seemed to hover above him.
"What about your mother and father?"
"My mother, she was -geez, how do I say this? She was protective. Thoroughly. Always told me I was her little baby and nothing would happen to me because she'd always be there. Heh, what she said when I told her I dropped out of college and moved to New York…" Mark shook his head at the memory. "I couldn't get hold of her until about four months after I dropped out of Brown, there were…phoning complications, I guess. Anyway, after she yelled at me for dropping out, she went back to call me her little baby boy, it didn't matter what age I was at the time. When I tell her how broke I am she just waves everything off saying nothing can happen to her baby boy."
"Where is your mother now?"
"Scarsdale. She'll never leave, she belongs there."
"Okay. How's about your father? Does your dad live with your mom?"
"My father died." Mark coughed, looking up to where Dr. Crow was sure to be sitting. "He died when I was nineteen, just a year after I came to New York."
"I'm sorry."
Sure… That's truthful. Mark scoffed, "Thanks."
"What was he like?"
"He was an alcoholic. Not abusive or violent, believe it or not, but he was an alcoholic. Drank all day and night, woke up with a hangover and used his beer to drown all the pain. After all his years, I don't think he even knew what a hangover was." Mark chuckled, his laughter not making his eyes. "When he got drunk it was the exact opposite of what you'd expect-"
Dr. Crow cut through his words. "I would expect abusive and violent, as you said. What was it?"
"Depressed… That'd be one word for it." Mark nodded. "My father sure was a screw up, though. He had an abusive childhood, my mother told me that, and because of his own father he didn't want to turn up like that with me. He didn't want to turn on me. He still drank though, but nothing ever happened."
"You weren't abused?"
"No." Mark shook his head. "In that sort of…cuddly environment, I'm surprised if anybody in that house got abused."
"Did you get along with your father?" She spoke softly, calmly, almost as if she was urging him on. Mark hated it. "Was it a hate-hate relationship?"
"It's not something to get in to. Our relationship was the same thing I have with strangers. There was nothing there." Mark shrugged. "He even told me that doing nothing was just as worse as being abusive. In a way, I guess he's right." He shook his head, trying to move onto the next subject. "Cindy is the only one who I keep in contact with, and that's just exchanging letters. She understands what I'm doing here in New York. Doesn't question it-"
"And what are you doing in New York?"
Mark paused for a moment. "In New York…"
"Yes?"
"I'm making a difference."