II
He felt betrayed mostly, mainly because he felt that Mark going to rehab meant the film maker did, or couldn't, rely on him, which ever it was first. His feeling was with much justification; Roger himself had let Mark help him through his withdrawals. It took trust, almost an unlimited amount; that he wouldn't be left in his pitiful state, in his pain, and the trust that Mark wouldn't mention what went on when he was down like that to anyone.
But Mark left for rehab, back to hide. He was always hiding, behind his camera, detached from life, a hypocrite to his own advice; not being numb to the world. And now he was hiding behind the white walls of the hospital.
That, to Roger, was Marks addiction. Hiding. Behind what ever he could find, behind his camera, behind the letter left, behind the rehab bleached white walls.
But, as Roger stood in the empty apartment, he realized how hiding may have felt, how it may have helped. …Or if it was hiding at all.
He'd once read that some people retracted themselves into their minds, as a defensive mechanism, from all sorts of things; from anything, from emotions, from sights, from sounds …even people.
Did Mark… did he really leave for more than just the cutting and the drinking? Did he leave because of… other things? Did he leave because he couldn't handle the pressure of his own mind? Is that why he cut,and drank, because the pressure of his mind, his hiding place, became too much?
Roger's head start to hurt. It was too much to think about at one time. He gave a small sigh as another question drifted into his mind, what was he going to tell the other bohemians? More importantly, how, how was he going to tell them that the only one of them that wasn't (outwardly) troubled and seemingly perfect, was a cutter, and disappeared to rehab?
It'd be impossible.
"Shit," he muttered as his head gave a painful throb. He had to stop thinking about things to much. Roger sighed as he flopped onto the couch, holding the note above his head and rereading it. "Marky-Mark Mark-Mark, what have you done?" he murmured before folding the note and stuffing it in his pocket. He then rolled over and tried to sleep. It'd been six, seven hours maybe, since he found the letter from his little cutter.
He'd worry about telling the other bohemians later.
(End Chapter)
I know it's short, and a little late, but thanks. I kinda hurt my head to write though.
Thanks MersMers, cameragirl, TheSilverbow, and plastikkk handcuffs. Cause you all reviewed.