Mark Pov:

"Marky…. oh, Marky…." I felt something gently prod my arm, and for half a second, it seemed as though I was back in the loft, safe and sound with Roger. Maybe it was all just a dream? I seemed to bask in the lie for a minute, and smile spread across my face.

"Mmm… R-og?" I asked slowly. A hand caressed the side of my face, just like he usually did, and tears welled up in my eyes. I slowly blinked them open, but before I had time to see anything, I was slowly lifted off the ground, and my face was buried in someone's shoulder. I nuzzled closer, Inhaling his familiar scent-

I stopped short. This wasn't Roger. I wasn't home. This wasn't a dream. My eyes shot open, and I pulled away to see Jason's lopsided smirk staring back at me. With a scream, I began to thrash and writhe in an attempt to get out of his arms.

I had made a terrible mistake. One thing I forgot about Jason was his short temper. Before I had time to even speak, I was slammed onto the hard concrete floor with a sickening crack. My world went dark for a second. Then came the agony, and the next hit.

I wasn't sure how many more times he landed sledge hammer kicks to my sides, but shortly after I had puked, he bent down, close to my ear.

"Marky, Marky…." He murmured, stroking my hair. "You should know better than to squirm… we were having such a nice time!"

"No-t… you… w-ant… Rog…" I managed to spit out, before coughing up the rest of my bile. He hauled me to my feet once more, and brought me over to the chair. Tying me back down, and forcing a bright light in my face, I squinted as he started looking me over.

"Oh, honey! You got sick!" I let out a whine as he rested his hand on my forehead. It was too cold, and too rough, and I just wanted Roger, and my scarf, and to never ever think about this creep again.

"D-ont… to-uch m-e…" I groaned, trying to swat his hand away weakly. A stinging slap greeted my resistance, and I couldn't find it in me to verbalize the pain. Instead, I lowered my head, panting heavily, begging whatever force watching over me that my cheek wouldn't be burning for much longer. Jason's hot, alcohol laced breath hissed in my ear.

"Mark…." My chin was tipped up, and I began to cry despite myself. I guess he got some kind of satisfaction from that, a grin spreading across his features. "Listen to me…" I learned my lesson, instead of resisting, I met his gaze. "I tried sending you to your room… that was me being nice… every time you resist, you're gonna get hit.. that's how things work around here… You're Mine now. You belong to me, and you're gonna learn your place…."

When I had first come to the city, I remember Roger lecturing me for twenty minutes each time I was ready to go out and film.

"Don't be a fucking jackass. This isn't the movies. If you're gonna get mugged, give up whatever the fucker wants. Your life is worth a lot more than four bucks and crappy camera. Nobody likes a hero."

To which I had nodded, and gasped nervously. He obviously knew how much of an easy target I was. Nobody ever abducts a rock star who look like they belong in prison. That was my first impression of him, anyway. He should have taken his own advice, I recalled a time where some goon tried to swipe his guitar when we were walking home from the life, a few weeks before April's death, and I watched him beat the living piss out of this guy, tooth and nail. He got a few bruises himself, but I'll never forget his response once the poor sap was out cold on the concrete.

All I said was "Why did you fight back?" after we had seen a seven inch switchblade slip out from the robber's pocket when he went down. Rog could have easily been killed, but the villain never got the chance.

He met my gaze, stood tall, flashed me that smirk of his, and said: "Mark, that guitar means so much to me. It got me my first gig out here, it reminds me every day why I keep trying to make it big, and it's a part of who I am." He then picked it up, slung it over his shoulder, and tossed a few more words back in my direction. "Who you are…. THAT'S something you fight back for. That's why I risked my neck, and I dont regret it."

And with Jason inches from my face, feeding me lies, I felt something in me ignite. I belonged to Roger, and Roger only. Roger was my sunshine, my reason for waking up. Roger was mine, just as much as I was his. Roger was who I am…. and I would be damned if I let Jason take that away from me. I would be brave, just like my boyfriend. I let out a snarl, adrenaline coursing through my veins. Jason must have thought I was pretty weak from the beating, because he made the knots too loose. I spit blood in his face, and he yelped as it stung his eye. He stumbled back, and I took this opportunity, standing up, and spinning around, slamming the chair against him. He went down, and I got the knots out with my teeth, dropping the chair behind me, and standing over him angrily.

"You're gonna get it…." he muttered, wiping his eyes. I felt rage blazing through me, and I landed a kick to his head. A yelp escaped him, but he managed to get to his feet.

"Lets get something straight right now…" I growled dangerously, clenching my fists. "I don't belong to you. You have no right to claim me as yours. I'm leaving here, calling the cops, and going home, and don't think i'll ever remember you. Roger is who I am, and you'll Never take that from me!" I lunged forward, landing a solid crack to his jaw. His head snapped back, and he stumbled, but instead of hitting me, he rubbed the bruise, and locked eyes with me.

"Oh, Mark…. you make me laugh…." I went to punch him again, but he caught my fist in his massive paw, and twisted it behind my back. I let out a yelp as he brought me to my knees.

"Wha-what's so funny!?" I snapped, struggling. He grinned.

"You're so bent on getting back to Roger, as if he actually loves, or cares about you…"

"Don't pull this shit Jason, i'm not gonna listen."

"Why do you care so much!?" he yelled. "He's a nobody! he's a washed up musician! a drug addict! he's got HIV for Christ sake! I bet he'll be dead two or three years from now, you never know…" that remark took the air from my lungs, and Jason dropped my arm. He began circling me.

"Don't… say that.." I managed, watching him with a glare.

"You honestly think he's gonna come rescue you? he's NOT. Nobody is coming for you… who'd ever WANT to come for you? Face it Mark, you're worthless. You and I both know that. Roger's gonna be able to die happily, not having to deal with you anymore…"

I looked down. I agreed about the worthless part. Maybe Roger would be better off without me, but I wasn't better off without him.

"Piss off, Jason."

"Aw… that's cute…"

"What the fuck are you talking about!?" I snapped, glaring at him.

"You actually think he's gonna come running in here, and bust down that door, right? You think he's gonna rescue you, like some knight in shining armor? well, answer me this, Mark. Does he have any clue who I am?"

I looked down. Roger had forgotten Jason years ago.

"Does he have any idea where you are?"

I didn't even know where I was.

His dark laugh echoed throughout the room.

"That's what I thought." I was about to speak again, but a solid whack to the back of my head, and I was out once more.