Chapter Nine: Confessions

Mark skillfully wrapped his hand in a dishtowel as he picked up a wet beer glass from the dish rack and began cleaning the interior of it. He then placed it up in the rack along with the rest of the glasses and continued the process as he whistled the tune coming from Roger's guitar. Wiping his hands off and drying them off with the same dishtowel he was using, Mark threw the white rag carelessly into the sink before adjusting his glasses and letting out a long, tired sigh. He leaned forward and rested his elbows comfortably on the bar top.

A smiling Roger was sitting on the barstool across from him, on the other side of the counter. He was smiling to himself as he continued to strum chords on his old fender guitar as he wagged his feet out in front of him, black-footed feet propped on the counter. Roger adjusted the cigarette in his mouth and said, "So, what do you think? Pretty weird, huh?"

"I think you're still drunk." Mark laughed, letting one hand drop down to absentmindedly tap in tune with Roger's strumming. "What's all this about? I mean, no offence, but you don't seem the type to talk about shit like this."

"I was thinking about it. Collins had this book-"

"You were snooping!"

"Yeah, well," Roger frowned, "he's been gone for a long time tutoring that kid at NYU. I'm his roommate; I got curious."

Gingerly, Mark chewed at his bottom lip and stood straighter. "Are you sure you weren't looking for money?"

"Hell no." Roger glared. "Why would I be doing that?"

"Forget it," Mark said, sighing. He wasn't stupid; he knew Roger was snooping for money. They'd always caught Roger snooping for money these days; going out to who-knows-where with who-knows-who to do only-God-knows-what. Mark tried not to worry about it, it probably wasn't anything big.

"Come on, man, I asked your opinion. Don't think that'll ever happen again anytime soon, mind you, because you know I'm not one to discuss these stupid theories if it means having to…you know…talk about things." Roger laughed. "What do you think?"

Roger hadn't been around as much as he used to- at least, not since he had found April. They went out nearly every night now and never even came back to the loft. Mark thought April hated him anyway. Still, it had taken a toll on Mark and Roger's friendship and the two men had rarely spent the day together. Sure, Roger still walked with Mark to the bar and back, but April was usually there with them and Mark was cast aside. At the bar, Roger was usually too busy for Mark… It was different.

Change sucked.

At least, tonight April was busy hanging out with Maureen and that left Roger and Mark alone.

"Yo!" Roger waved a hand in front of Mark's eyes, chuckling lightly as Mark out of his strange stupor. "Are you sure you're all right, man? You're spacing today, and, I mean, more than usual."

Mark scratched the back of his head as a blush rose towards his cheeks. "I'm fine. It's nothing, really."

"Okay…" Roger gave him a funny look. "So, come on!"

"I don't know. It seems kind of farfetched, don't you think?" Mark blinked. "Chaos Theory… I've never really heard of it before."

Roger laughed. "It's not really a hard concept to grasp. Seemingly random events leading up to an even bigger equation. You know? Something small leading up to something huge. For instance: A butterfly flaps its wings and halfway across the world a hurricane forms."

"You are crazy," Mark deadpanned, pushing himself over the bar top. He grabbed a cloth from one of the tables and promptly began wiping the food and grime from it. "That doesn't even seem remotely possible."

Roger dropped his feet onto the floor and turned in his chair so that his back was leaning against the bar top and he was still facing Mark. "It's not that too hard to believe if you think about it a bit."

"Roger Davis thinks! Well, that must mean halfway across the world Albert Einstein is confused- Hey!" Mark laughed as he picked up Roger's guitar pick, which had just hit his eye, and tossed it back.

"It could happen! I mean, over time that butterfly's flapping wing changes something in the atmosphere. Or, how 'bout, a kid claps his hands in New York and Africa develops a big lightning storm."

"Why Africa?"

"It was just an example!" Roger slumped, frustrated. "Just forget it."

"No, come on, I'm sorry." Mark stifled a chuckled as he plopped down on the stool next to Roger. "It just doesn't appeal to me. I've always believe that things happen for no reason at all, our actions shape the future. Nothing happens for a specific reason, there is no fate, destiny, soul mates, reincarnation, specific talent abilities…"

"So, how do you see it?"

"We're born plain," Mark stated simply. "The environment in which we grow up molds us into the person we develop into. Our mind makes the decisions; it all depends on how you react to what life throws at you."

"All right." Roger said, smashing his cigarette onto the bar top despite the angered protests Mark shot him. "So, say you were going blind and would never be able to film again. How would you feel?"

"What does that have to do with Chaos Theory?"

"Nothing. It has to do with your belief." Roger shrugged. "Your action of being a blind filmmaker would be part of your character, right? So…How are you supposed to act?"

""Honestly?"

"Honestly."

"Well, I don't know." Mark paused, involuntarily turning to glance at his camera. "I'd have to live with it, I guess. What else would I do? Being a filmmaker is all I am, and there isn't much point to anything else."

Roger frowned. "It wouldn't be only your problem."

"No?" Mark sighed.

"Nah!" Roger laughed, "Because, ya see, you've got these things called Friends that won't let anything happen to you."

"Well, it is because of you that I'm here anyways." Mark laughed.

Roger let out a small hitch of breath. "What the hell are you talking about? You told me you left Scarsdale to come here and become this all-time big director. Aren't you still working on that damned documentary? Don't tell me you gave that up because-"

"No, I'm still working on it," Mark interjected, trailing off slowly. "When I moved to New York City I thought I wanted to be a director, and, I guess, I still do in a way. It's just that, well, when I first moved here I didn't know- You know? Geez, Roger… That night I left the bar I was going to…"

Roger blinked. "What?"

Mark froze suddenly, eyes averted. "I'm sorry."

Hopping off his barstool, casting his guitar to the side, Roger walked forward and placed to stern hands onto Mark's shoulders. "Do what, Mark? What are you sorry for?"

"I don't know," Mark stammered, glazed eyes becoming small and meek, "I don't know what was going to happen. All right?"

"Mark… Man, what happened?"

"I don't know. Honestly. I was alone in the city and you get lonely and you have your low days and then things start popping into your brain. You know, like a way out… People contemplate things, that's it. I wasn't going to do anything."

"Bull. Did you tell Benny this? Does Collins know?"

"No and I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell them."

Roger faltered, hands falling to his side as his head hung. "Why were you at the bar? That was your first day, wasn't it?"

"Yeah. Benny got me the job and I couldn't rightfully refuse it." Mark frowned. "I'd rather not talk about this. Please."

"Well," Roger turned sharply with blazing eyes, "you brought it up!"

Eyes still averted. Desperately, "Can't we just drop it?"

"Tell me Mark. How do expect me to drop this?" Roger fired back. "How do you expect me to just walk away and pretend you never told me this? You know what? I'll tell you! You are full of shit! Tell me, man. Tell me what the hell possessed such a thought to flow through that brain of yours."

"Rog…"

"No!" Roger yelled. He got up suddenly and forced Mark to stand taller by taking the front of his shirt in his fist. "Tell me!"

"I just…I don't know…" Mark frowned.

Roger growled, "Try again." He took his hands off Mark and placed them on each side of his cheeks before forcing his head up, blue eyes meeting his own green orbs. "This time, the truth."

"What do you want me to say?" Mark blinked back tears. "Benny was there, but he wasn't anything to me then. I'd only been with him for a few weeks and he wasn't as close to me as he is now. Plus he was barely around as it was. I didn't know anybody. It was a weakness, you could say. At the time I thought it was the biggest mistake in the world, moving here. Then I met you and–"

Roger frowned, hands falling limply to his side. "What's so special about me?"

"Come on, Rog. I found a familiarity in you. We both could connect on something and make each other laugh and smile. We could talk to each other."

"Could? Roger was confused. "Past tense, man?""

Mark shook his head. "I don't know. Change happens and it sucks."

"Man, Mark, listen to me." Roger said, eyes slightly glazed, "I'm not going to leave you."

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Roger tossed his head towards the sky and yelled out the most powerful yell he had ever shouted in his entire life. His lungs and throat began to burn suddenly and soon Roger fell to the ground, knees and fists digging into the mud below. Another scream elicited from his mouth, this one turning into a strangled sob, as his eyes screwed shut. He barely noticed the raindrops that fell down his cheek and meshed together with the teardrops that he could not even attempt to hold back.

Roger punched. Fists coming up and down, pummeling into the hard mud.

Left fist. Right fist. Left fist. Right fist. Left fist. Right fist.

Head turning upwards, towards the darkening sky. "I promised him!" Roger yelled, tears falling freely now, the rain masking it. "I promised him I wouldn't leave! I promised him I wouldn't walk out! What do I do now, though? All I do is walk!" He hung his head and thought; I'm such a damned hypocrite…

"Roger…" Mimi's petite hand covered his shoulder. She kneeled down next to him, uncaring that the mud would soak through her new skirt. "Roger, come back. Please?"

He shrugged off the hand. "Don't touch me Mimi."

Mimi frowned. "Roger-"

Turning his down up slightly, Roger gave a weak attempt at a smile. "See that? Mimi, I want you to meet April."

April Carson

1970-1989

"Is that pathetic?" Roger questioned with a voice barely above a whisper. "We don't even have an epitaph. Hell, I remember that night I asked Mark what we should put on her tombstone… What could we put on the tombstone of a girl who killed herself?" He laughed. "I mean, what's the point?"

Mimi said nothing. She leaned in closer and traced a finger across the name, the rough stone sinking in at the small etchings.

"I miss her…" He whispered. "Sometimes I think that if she didn't kill herself and just told me that we were HIV+ than we'd be together somewhere in New York City, not living at the loft. Maybe we'd still be with the Well Hungarians and I'd be a famous musician, you know?"

Mimi looked to him, brown eyes glimmering.

"Then, I got to think about it and I realized that, in some ways, April killing herself is the best thing that happened to us in a long time."

"How so?" She whispered.

"April was the reason I locked myself up in the loft and you were the one who found me, you found me and you got me out. We met because I was getting over April. If April hadn't died then I never would've gotten clean and you might still be on drugs. I should have been happy that I got out of the Well Hungarians, both those guys -Tony and Frank- are probably either in jail or rehab. Maureen would be gone too, Collins to MIT, Benny with Allison still, and Mark facing me, a druggie. He probably wouldn't have stayed if I kept getting high like that, or, at least, he probably wouldn't even be alive."

Suddenly Mimi was blushing, embarrassed at the thought of being jealous of Mark and Roger's relationship. Embarrassed of Mark getting all of Roger's attention. She hadn't known their past together that well…

"I really hurt him, didn't I?"

"Just come back to the loft."

"How can I?" Roger questioned, voice breaking. "After everything I said… Didn't you hear me? I promised him that I wouldn't walk out on him. I promised and I broke that promise even after I knew how much that meant to him."

She pressed her forehead to his back and wrapped her arms stealthily around his waist. "He needs you now. More than ever."

"After all I said…" Roger shook his head. "After everything I said to him…I can't take that shit back. It's all true. He detaches because he doesn't want to feel alive." He turned towards Mimi, her head now resting on his shoulder. "He detaches because he doesn't want to become too close to the people he'll lose. He will, won't he? He'll lose us all."

Mimi shook her head, tears falling onto Roger's shoulder. "We'll watch over him, even in death."

"It's not the same." Roger said. "It'll never be the same… Not now…"

"What about Maureen and Joanne? We still have Benny, don't we?" Mimi pointed out matter-of-factly. "Are you telling me that they'll leave him?"

Roger sighed. "Not on purpose, but they will. Maureen and Joanne have their own life, they'll get Mark out of his shell for a while but in the end they'll move on. It's not their fault, Maureen is Mark's ex, and it's just too much drama. Benny… He's redeemed himself for now but he's got a life too." He shook his head. "How do I know, though? I'm not a psychic."

"Mark will never be alone, he can never lose us." Mimi whispered, a hand stroking his hair. "You two are brothers-"

"In everything but blood," Roger interjected. "That's what's going to separate us though. In the end, blood is what will leave Mark alone."

Roger's voice cracked, he continued to blink back the tears that were beginning to form at the edge of his eyes. Something inside him was burning, something that made him weak in the stomach.

"Roger…" Mimi cooed. "It's not your fault."

"Yes, it is." Roger whispered. "Mark: My best friend, never did anything wrong, clumsy, worst luck in the world… I actually made him feel guilty for being the one to survive."

"You made him feel guilty, that's true, but there's still time to change." Mimi reminded him, "Forget regret. No day but today. Roger, make it today."

Roger looked towards her, tears falling down his face. "Let's get out of the rain, huh? Let's go back to the loft."

Mimi nodded.

"Mimi? Thanks…"

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Roger climbed the stairs with heavy steps, his head drooping downwards as a tight frown plastered his face. He held his fists buried deep inside his leather jacket and, at his side, Mimi's arm locked around his own as her head rested comfortably on his shoulder. They had little to say since their walk from the cemetery to the loft and it made Roger tense. He didn't know what to expect when he walked into the loft though; Mimi just told him that Collins was calming Mark down.

Good, Roger thought to himself. Collins is better than I am at these kinds of talks.

Pushing the large metal door to the side, Roger stopped in his tracks at the sight in front of him. Collins sat at the kitchen table, feet kicked up onto the tabletop, chair tilted back on two legs, cigarette poking out of the corner of his mouth, reading a newspaper -he looked positively content. Looking up with a small frown, Collins arched an eyebrow before wordlessly gesturing his head towards the windowsill, Mark's perch. Roger turned his head and found Mark sitting with his shoulders hunched as he sat with his knees drawn close up to his chest as glazed eyes looked toward the city below.

"I saw you two coming," Mark said suddenly, his voice barely above the whisper. "Mimi's long strides were a dead giveaway, but I also saw that Roger's posture was hunched too, another giveaway." He tilted his head towards them and chuckled. "Even in shadows you're too easy to see."

"Chill out, boy." Collins shook his head, kicking off his seat he folded his newspaper he was reading and tucked it under his arm as he walked towards Mimi and Roger in the doorway. Adjusting his cigarette in his mouth, Collins lowered his voice to whisper, "I talk to him and he worked himself a bit…confessing. Just don't ask him about it and you should be fine, it wasn't easy calming him down."

Roger blinked.

"Is he all right?" Mimi whispered, frowning.

"As far as I know," Collins sighed, "I don't know. There isn't much to tell?"

"Will he be all right?" Mimi questioned desperately. "He will. Won't he?"

"It's all Mark now."

"No," Roger shook his head, "it's not anymore."

Suddenly there was a great laugh.

"Hey guys! What's the door doing open?"

Maureen relinquished her hold on Joanne and turned to place her hands on her waist, lips puffing out annoyingly. Meanwhile Joanne, who seemed to recoil a few steps back at the boisterous yell of her girlfriend, looked to her with a glare of dislike. To their side, Benny wore the same look of distaste as his gloved hands that had covered his ears against Maureen's yell, lowered.

"Maureen!" Joanne hissed, grabbing the diva's wrist. "Lower your voice! Didn't we talk about this before?"

"Sorry Pookie-" Maureen pouted her lips. She stopped and looked towards the four inhabitants, three of which had a grim look on their face while Mark kept his blank stare. "Hey Mar- hhmrrmmm!"

Collins had to jump to place his two hands in front of Maureen's mouth, his newspaper fluttering uselessly to the ground. "Come on," he said in a forced joyous tone, "how 'bout I treat everybody to ice cream?"

"Sounds great!" Mimi said. Her own voice forced too.

Benny, however, furrowed his eyebrows. "What am I? Five?" Mimi simply elbowed his side and jerked her head to Roger, who had taken a few steps closer to the solemn Mark. Benny sighed and nodded, "Right. Let's get outta here."

"What about-" Maureen barely got the words out when Collins covered her mouth again.

Collins looked pleadingly towards Joanne and the dark-skinned lawyer quickly took the hint. "Come on Maureen!" she grabbed the woman's wrist and practically dragged her from the loft. "Remember how you told me that you liked Rocky Road?"

"Pookie! That's our-"

Joanne shot her a dirty look.

Collins rolled his eyes and shut the loft door.

The two men were alone.

Roger walked towards his friend cautiously, his hands climbing out of his pockets to wipe the sweat on his jeans. He wandered towards the windowsill, stopping to pick Mark's discarded camera on the couch, before continuing on his trek. Pushing his hand through his hair, unable to stop any kind of movement, Roger wordlessly plopped down across from Mark and delicately placed the camera between them. Mark barely looked at him.

How could Roger just walk back after that open display of emotion?

The words seemed repetitive now.

From facing your failure, facing your loneliness
Facing the fact you live a lie
Yes, you live a lie - tell you why
You're always preaching to be numb
When that's how you thrive
You pretend to create and observe
When you really detach from feeling alive

Why the whole damn thing gave Roger a headache, Roger did not know. The words haunted him… That voice that whispered the words into his ear seemed to grow colder over time. The voice was being more assertive… It was becoming more forced. Roger shook his head as the words came back to him:

Facing the fact you live a lie-
-When you really detach from feeling alive

"You all right?" Mark questioned, eyes glazed over slightly.

"Don't ask me that."

"Come on!" April's voice. Her head tossed back thick strands of red hair. "Maureen and Mark are going out tonight and we won't have anything to do. Let's go to Frank's party, baby. He promised us a good time. You said yourself that you wanted to try something new. Why not this?"

She meant smack. Roger knew that and they went anyway.

"See?" Later they were at the party. "It's not that bad. You were worried too! Frank's got some more in the back if we want some, and he told me of this guy at Tompkins Square Park who sells some."

"Roger? You all right?"

"What?" Roger shook his head. He hadn't realized the memories of his first high were rushing back to him. "What'd you say?"

Mark seemed to hang his head. "It's nothing… I was just… Worried about you."

"Yeah…" Words failed Roger. "I was just thinking."

"Oh."

"One more time Rog! Just once, okay? We do it one more time and then we can quit like we said we would. Remember, Tony said it would be real easy just to drop everything. You know, The Man is thinking of giving me some for half the price… Please Roger! Just one more!"

Roger couldn't back away. That was when April threatened him with breaking their relationship off.

She said one more, but two years passed.

"Hey Roger, baby…" Desperate voice, almost sad. She had to talk to him on the phone. "We've got to stop for a second. I need to talk to you. You've been blowing me off for the entire week to go out with the Well Hungarians and I've got…well, I've got some bad news. Just…listen, Roger, I'll be at the loft later tonight, okay? Promise that you'll be waiting for me?"

Roger hadn't been there. He'd promised April but the Well Hungarians had dragged him off to a gig.

Last minute.

The last message was bloody.

"We have AIDS."

A fingerprinted message on the bathroom mirror.

When you really detach from feeling alive

Roger detached. Grieving for April, facing the fact that he fell in love with Mimi, facing Angel's death, facing the fact that Benny was there to stay, and, now, Roger was facing Mark's pain. He couldn't take it.

Facing the fact you live a lie

It made sense. Didn't it?

Roger lived a lie too. He hadn't wanted to believe it, but, he couldn't help it. Roger felt like he was to blame for April's death because he thought he could've prevented it. Just one time. Just one time Roger had to say "No April" and maybe it would've all been over-

Wait… No more "maybe." No more "what if."

"Forget regret. No day but today." Mimi's words. "Roger, make it today."

Mark was talking still. "Roger, you're scaring the shit out of me."

Roger blinked, jumping out of his train of thoughts. "Hell if I hadn't scared you before."

"Well…wait, what?" Mark shook his head, clearly confused. He tried again, "Listen Roger, it'd be better if we just-"

"Talk."

"Excuse me?"

"Talk," Roger said, his voice forceful. "We'll figure this out together." He pushed the camera into Mark's hands and nodded confidently. "Film me if you want."

"What?" Mark questioned again, recoiling slightly. He held the camera in his hands as if it were going to bite. "I can't see anything…I- I don't want to break-"

"You won't break anything," Roger said sternly. "Do what you do best, Mark. Listen to me and film me. Trust me."

Mark ran a hand through his camera and took in a deep breath before placing it over his eyes, focusing it on Roger's shadowed presence. His fingers moved skillfully over the black and silver metal as he pressed an odd number of buttons, cranked the camera' handle, and nodded. "All right."

"Zoom in on Roger," Mark narrated, his voice cracked. "Things are changing, aren't they? We're different now."

"Yeah, but," Roger smiled slightly, "we're different in a good way."

"Forgive me for being an ass?"

Roger gave a small laugh. He couldn't help it, the statement did sound pathetic. "That should be my question. Do you forgive me for being a hypocrite?"

"You aren't a hypocrite." Mark sighed.

"Well, you aren't an ass." Mark laughed and Roger felt he was making some progress. "Listen, about before…those words that I said. They were-"

"Absolutely correct and over the top?" Mark frowned. "Yeah, I know. It worked out for the best though, didn't it?"

"How's that?" Roger blinked. "Those words have been nothing but hell ever since I said them to you last year."

"Maybe, but, they sure put a lot of things to perspective. I do detach Roger-"

"Wait now," Roger interjected, "this isn't about you confessing. I'm the one at fault here."

"No," Mark said, a small smirk plastering his face. He put down his camera, sightless eyes looking into Roger's green eyes. "We were just too stubborn to notice that before, so we just placed all the faults on ourselves when it was all fifty-fifty." Mark frowned. "I just can't admit to actual faults because in a matter of weeks I've lost all control of my emotion."

Roger shook his head, placing his hands on Mark's shoulders. "You're not like that anymore, Mark. Just listen to yourself. Lost control? That means you're not detaching. Everything's rushing up to you and you don't know how to handle it, because you've never tried to handle it before. I've never helped you!"

"I was too afraid of getting you closer to me," Mark frowned. "You, Mimi, and Collins are going to die and there's nothing I can do about it, no matter what I've been telling myself. I push people away so I won't have to feel, so I hide behind my camera. Because I don't have my camera I have to deal with emotions."

"I detach too. Not in the same way, but I do. I am a hypocrite." Roger squeezed his friend's shoulder. "I'm dying and I don't want to let anybody in because I'm afraid I'll hurt them, like I'll eventually end up hurting you by leaving. Everyday I think about how I let April down, how if I just had enough courage to say it then maybe we would've stopped doing drugs and neither of us would've gotten sick." He shook his head. "I'm not wasting my life on regrets because I know no matter how much I think it nothing's going to change the past.

"Still, everything I said was the same thing as it is to you. We both detach because neither of us can afford to feel alive. We're afraid that our emotions will get the best of us and those emotions will kill us faster. Somewhere, over time, we've learned that not feeling anything is easier than feeling something. That's not true, though. Bottled up emotions do nothing."

"I'm sorry for not talking to you before."

"I'm sorry I yelled at you."

Roger let out a laugh and pulled Mark into a brotherly hug, the camera lay forgotten beneath their heads. Roger understood… Roger understood they all detached in one way or another.

"Roger?" Mark said, not bothering to blink back his tears as he backed out of the embrace.

"Yeah." Roger questioned, using his finger to flick away his own tears. "What is it?"

"I think I need to hear this film now…"