12- Life's Forever Changing
They stormed into the building, exchanging fervent, passionate kisses. Mark pushed her backwards until he finally got what he was looking for as he got her pressed against the wall. She wrapped one leg around his waist as he leaned down to kiss her neck, her chin, her jaw, settling on her earlobe, one of his hands making its way up her thigh under her skirt. She moaned, burying her head in his shoulder to muffle the sound, pulling him closer. They could hardy make their way upstairs. She wasn't sure what was it in the movie they had just stepped out of, but they couldn't keep their hands off one another throughout the whole thing. Even Mark, who normally couldn't even take her hand in the darkness of the theater without blushing. But not that night. She had no idea how they managed to get to their building, but there they were, stopping every two stairs or so, kissing hungrily, touching, groping, caressing. The way upstairs never looked so long.
When they finally got into the loft Mark pinned her against the door, letting his hands drift under her shirt as his lips locked back with hers. She managed to take off his jacket and throw it across the room. He struggled with the clasp of her bra for a while, but eventually gave up. They were moving again, she suddenly realized, deeper into the loft. She tried to look back over Mark's shoulder, but everything was too dark. Then there was a noise of metal as her back was against something solid again. The table. Hmm. That might be slightly uncomfortable. Mark didn't seem to care. His hands drifted under her skirt again, up her thigh, about to rip her panty off.
"Bedroom," she breathed, wrapping her arms around his neck, sitting up. He obeyed and slid his hands to her back again, following her lead down the dark hall to their bedroom. They stumbled inside, still kissing, as Mark kicked the door shut. They fell on the bed in their frenzied attempts to get rid of each other's clothes as fast as possible. If she wasn't so eager to get him out of his clothes, she would have giggled at their situation.
At some point, when they were both half naked, Mark reached out his hand, feeling for the top drawer of the nightstand. He got it opened and rummaged in it the best he could with one hand, and then pulled away reluctantly. "Shit. We ran out of condoms. I'll check in the bathroom," he said, breathing heavily. Then he smiled and straightened his glasses, then moved a lock of hair out of her face. "Don't you go anywhere," he added, stealing one more kiss, and left the room.
She sat up, huffing in discontent. Trust Mark to kill off the mood that way. And still she thought she should forgive him because, well, in the year they've been together, she had never seen him like this. Maybe it was something in the spring air. She smiled to herself. Gotta love spring-time.
"Maureen?" She heard Mark's voice from down the hall, but it sounded somewhat different than usual. Kind of urgent and a bit panicked, if she hadn't known better.
"What? You can't find it? I bet there are some in Roger's-"
"Just… put some clothes on. And get over here. Hurry up."
Her heart sank. A sudden chill ran down her spine. Something was wrong. She could tell by the sound of his voice. And it sounded way too serious to be a rat or a cockroach. She reached for the first shirt she found on the bed, slipped into it and left the room hastily.
Mark was standing at the hallway, facing the bathroom door that was wide open. He looked up when she got there, and she was terrified by what she has seen in his eyes. Not to mention the fact that suddenly he was very pale. Paler than usual, that is. She was about to go into the bathroom, but as if he guessed it, he made one step towards her and put his arms on her shoulders to stop her. "Don't."
She gave him a look. "What's wrong?"
He looked extremely serious. So serious it scared her. "I don't think you should go in there but I know I won't be able to stop you. Just promise me you're gonna stay calm. I'm right here, okay? Whatever happens. And don't scream," he added, his face expressionless.
She walked past him. "Scream? Why would I-" A chuckle froze its way up her throat as she was standing at the doorway, finally witnessing what Mark had only minutes before. She couldn't scream. She couldn't do anything, but stare. Dizziness and nausea hit her full-force, paralyzing her. "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God," she murmured over and over, finally finding the strength to rush inside. Mark was soon to follow. She knelt on the floor, beside the figure who laid on the floor in a puddle of blood. "April? Honey, what have you done?"
The question stayed hung in mid-air, unanswered.
She reached out and touched April's neck. April winced as she did. She still had a pulse, but it was weak. She seemed to have lost a lot of blood already. Thoughts were rushing, panicked and incoherent, making her head spin. Roger. They must get him. Maybe they'd clean her up first so he wouldn't have to witness all that. They needed something to wrap around her wrists, where all the blood seemed to come from, to stop it. There must be a towel or a shirt around there somewhere… A razor… only a small distance away. Was that how she did it? But everything seemed to be okay between them in the past couple of months, why would she-
And that's when she realized April's eyes were open. Her terrified eyes met April's tortured ones. She looked in pain, but not just physical pain.
She turned and looked urgently at Mark. "She's still alive! Call 911!"
"I'm on it," he said and hurried off. She turned to look at April again. Something told her that the girl was slipping away. Waiting for help was useless. Her time was running out. All the color had drained from her face, yet her eyes looked surprisingly alert. She was trembling, probably as a result of blood-loss. God, so much blood…
"Why would you do such a thing, April?" she whispered, tears running down her cheeks without her even being aware to them. It's not like the two of them had been the best of friends, especially not after everything that happened with Roger couple of months back, but April was obviously in pain, and it didn't look like she could help her in any way, to make things better for her. Knowing that there was not much she could do made her feel so hopeless. April's lips moved slightly, as if she was trying to say something. She leaned down so she could hear her better. "What is it?"
"Roger… tell… I'm sorry… love…" said April, her eyes fluttering shut.
"April, don't! Open your eyes! Fight this!" Her nerves were running wild. She felt as if she was watching the scene from outside the body. It made absolutely no sense. It wasn't happening. It couldn't be happening. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. "Look, everything is gonna be okay. Mark went to call 911, they'll be here soon, we can work this out!"
"No… tired… can't… do this…"
"Why, April? Just tell me why," she whispered, choking with tears. April opened her eyes, but she seemed to be making great efforts to do so. Their gazes locked. "Why, April?" she repeated, a bit more persistently. She had to know.
And then, when April uttered that one single word, she wished that she hadn't. "AIDS."
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It wasn't happening, not really. It couldn't have been. This was what she kept telling herself in the couple of days following April's death. It was the worst of nightmares, that's all. April never committed suicide in their bathroom; they never had to face Roger with the note that informed him that he had AIDS; they were never there when a doctor confirmed he was HIV positive; they were not getting ready for her funeral.
She zipped up her black dress, the only thing that looked appropriate for a funeral. Silent tears ran down her face as she did. It seemed as if she couldn't stop crying ever since it all started. It amazed her that she still had tears left.
Mark walked into their bedroom, looking as grim as she felt. He pulled a sweater over his dress-shirt and then walked over to her and wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his face in her shoulder. Their eyes met in the mirror.
"You okay?" he asked quietly. His eyes were red and puffy. It was an unspoken rule not to cry in Roger's presence, since he was devastated enough as it was. Sometimes she did when she couldn't help it, but Mark never did. It was at night when he let himself mourn for the death of their friend. She always held him when he cried. More than once she suspected it was Roger's fate Mark was mourning on, rather than April's death.
She sniffed and shook her head. "Is Collins here yet?" There was no chance they'd be able to get Roger out of the house if Collins wasn't there.
"Yeah. He's in the living-room. And Benny said he'd meet us there." Which made sense, now that he was living with Allison, to whom he got engaged the month before. April used to call her Muffy behind Benny's back.
It just dawned on her that April would never be able to do that again.
A sob escaped her, and her silent tears turned into an actual crying within seconds. Mark was fast to react; he turned to face her and wrapped her in a tight hug, letting her cry into his sweater, whispering soothing words into her ear.
"It just seemed so wrong," she cried. "She's too young to go. Parents shouldn't bury their children like that, it's just so fuckin' wrong."
"Shh… I know," Mark murmured, rubbing her back.
The door creaked open, and Collins stepped in. "Ready to go, you guys?" he asked quietly.
Mark looked at her with the same silent question in his eyes. She nodded and quickly wiped her tears.
As she followed them out of the room, she was sure of one thing. Things would never be the same again.
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A week passed. She couldn't go into the bathroom without shivering. She kept seeing April's body sprawled on the floor, that tormented, pleading look in her eyes. That look seemed to haunt her. The bathroom was clean now, of course, but somehow she could still smell the blood. She and Mark tested for HIV because they both had contact with April's infected blood, but luckily they both came out negative.
Roger locked himself in his room. This was his way of mourning, Collins told them. Maybe it was better to just let him be for a while. Mark was the only one who was allowed inside, mostly trying to convince Roger to eat, but Roger hardly ever touched anything of it. She knew what he was trying to do. She knew he was blaming himself for her death, for not being the one who found her there. Maybe he thought he would have been able to stop her, she didn't know. She did know that he thought that having AIDS was his punishment. As such, he probably didn't see any reason to fight it.
The silence in the living-room was thick and tensed. Collins was reading term papers. She knew it was probably the last thing on his mind at the moment, but he had a really pressing deadline. She laid on the couch, her head on his lap, and he ran his hand through her hair as he read along. The movement of his hand lulled her to sleep. She couldn't focus doing anything else. She took a week off from work, telling her boss that she had to go back to Jersey because her grandmother had died. He didn't look like he believed her, but he gave her the time off anyway. She dreaded the thought of going back there the following day. She had no idea how she was going to handle the inquirings, the looks, the whisperings behind her back. Those were inevitable in a place where everyone knew everything about everyone else.
Mark stepped into the living-room, looking exhausted. He took a seat on the armchair across from her and Collins. He leaned back and closed his eyes.
"Did he eat anything?" Collins asked after a while.
Mark opened his eyes. "A little. It can't go on like this. We gotta go something."
"Do you want me to go in there and talk to him?"
"I don't think it's gonna help."
"It might."
Mark sighed. He looked completely drained from energy. It broke her heart to see him like that. It was so unlike him. "I don't know what to do."
"Look, we can't let him go down like that," she said, sitting up. "We can't let him blame himself for her death. He must realize it wasn't his fault. Anyway, this is not the thing that really matters right now. He has AIDS. He needs to take care of himself, he needs to eat. He must go out of that damn room and face reality."
"Maybe he just needs some time," Mark said quietly. First Collins, now Roger… she could only imagine what he was going through.
She looked at him sadly. "Time is just the thing he doesn't have."
"Maureen's right," said Collins. "We need to get him out of there or it'll be the end of him. We need to make sure that he eats, and more importantly, that he takes his AZT."
An involuntary shiver went through her. Roger and AZT were two things she never thought she'd have to put together. But then again, so were Collins and AZT, at the time.
"How are we going to do that?" asked Mark.
"Even if we don't yet know how, we must at least pretend we can handle things," said Collins. "Right now Roger's wrecked. Even if he doesn't realize it, he expects us to be the strong ones. Until we'll figure something out, we must let him believe in that."
"It's always easier to talk."
"I've never said it's gonna be easy, Mark. But if it's hard for us, think what it is for Roger. Think of what he's going through. Try to put yourself in his place."
Mark looked up at her, suddenly very pale. It clearly never crossed his mind. Their eyes met. For a moment, it was like she could read his mind. It could have been you on that floor, in that coffin, it said. It could have been me in that room mourning you. She looked away. She didn't even want to think about it.
Collins paused for a moment, as if to allow his words to sink in, and then continued. "We need to do this gradually. First we'll make sure he eats. Let him stay in his room if that makes him feel better. But he must eat. We need to be persistent," he said, looking directly at Mark, who was obviously the least persistent among the three of them. "Then after a while if he's not showing any sighs of improvement, we can start talking a bit about what happened." He looked at her. "He seems to trust you. I know for a fact he told you stuff he didn't even tell Mark."
She knew she should have felt somewhat flattered, but under the circumstances, she was more terrified than anything else. How was she supposed to talk to him about his girlfriend's suicide? About him having AIDS? Who said he'd be willing to say anything at all?
As if feeling her silent hesitations, Collins took her hand. "Even if he doesn't listen, even if he doesn't say anything about it, let him just know you're there for him."
She nodded. "Okay. Alright, I will."
"Good. Don't let it bother you now though. I think it's gonna take a while to get there."
Knowing Roger, she knew Collins was probably right.
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It turned out to be more difficult than they all thought. They all expected a struggle of course, but they assumed that at some point, Roger would tire out. Frequently Collins' voice echoed through the loft, loud and distracting, as he was screaming at Roger to get a grip, that they were doing this for his own good, that he should listen to them. Screaming seemed to be the only way to get to him.
She had to go back to work. Everyone at the Life wanted to confirm the rumors with her. She got so tired of repeating the story over and over again. It made things scarier, as if reminding her that it was really happening. Those who didn't turn to her just for the gossip of it were great and offered their support. The cook even packed leftovers for her every day at the end of her shift, so she could take it to Roger.
Mark and Collins had to handle Roger when she worked. Collins made some excuse for the guys at the MIT, so he was around quite a lot. She didn't think she and Mark could deal with Roger by themselves. Although he had moments in which he was so stubborn she could strangle him, Mark wasn't that assertive when it came to confronting Roger. And she wasn't assertive enough, it appeared.
By the second week, the three of them were worn-out. Nights were sleepless, which made them all drowsy and cranky the mornings afterwards. It was like their lives stopped still, and taking care of Roger became their sole purpose.
She got them some pizza for dinner. She was craving for pizza for a while now, and finally could afford it, as she got her paycheck that afternoon. She chose a place where she knew they had the best pizza, and made sure to top it with all of Roger's favorites. She got some chocolate ice-cream for desert. Then, feeling a bit more light-hearted than lately, she headed home.
There was a sound of running water when she walked in and locked the door behind her. She laid the pizza on the table, stuffed the ice-cream in the freezer and went into the living-room, where Mark was asleep on the couch. This left either Collins or Roger as the one who was in the shower. As she approached Mark, she noticed an open notebook on the coffee table. So he was finally getting back to work. She was glad he did. It would distract him from all the shit that's been going on. Her eyes wandered over the last lines, written hastily in blue ink. The music ignites the night with passionate fire. Her lips curled in an amused grin. She didn't know Mark was so… poetic.
She let her eyes linger on him for a moment. She loved watching him sleep. Even now, he looked so peaceful, even though it was probably far from being the case. She threw a glance at the hall, from which the sound of running water was still audible. Then she went over and laid on the couch beside Mark, placing a small kiss on his lips. His eyes fluttered open and he smiled at her sleepily. "You know, in fairy-tales it's usually the other way around," she said, returning his smile.
"I'll try to remember it the next time," he said, sitting up. "What's that smell?"
"I got us pizza for dinner."
His eyes lit. "Too late for Christmas. What's the occasion?"
"I got paid. I thought we deserved a decent dinner." She ran a hand through his messy hair. "How was today?"
"More or less like yesterday." Then he looked at her seriously. "We've got a problem."
Oh-uh. Now what? "What happened?"
"It's Collins. He got a call from MIT this afternoon. He must go back to work or he'll get fired. They're already pissed at him because some of his theories, so he's an easy target for them. We can't afford his getting fired right now."
She was afraid of that. He didn't show up to work for quite some time now. She figured that the people at MIT wouldn't be so thoughtful forever. "So… the game is down to you and me?" she asked, although she kind of knew the answer.
Mark nodded. "Looks like it."
"Do you think we're ready for it?" Honestly, she wasn't sure that they were.
"I think… that we don't really have a choice," he said, looking at her seriously. "They want him back by Monday morning. It'll give us some time."
"Yeah," she sighed, leaning her head against his shoulder. Suddenly she was so tired.
"Everything's gonna be okay," he said, his voice nearly a whisper.
She looked up at him. She wanted to tell him to stop lying, that things couldn't be okay and they never would, but there was so much hope in his voice, that she thought better of saying what was on her mind.
As if feeling her resentment for his false promise, Mark smiled and kissed her forehead. Their eyes locked as he slowly pulled away. It felt as if they were both thinking of the same thing. His next kiss was meant for her lips, meeting hers halfway. His lips brushed against hers, their kisses turning more passionate by the second. God, she needed that. It felt as if being so close to him was the only way to remain safe. The last time they kissed like that was… the night they found April, she realized, shivering slightly.
"What's wrong?" Mark murmured, trailing his kisses to her neck.
"Nothing," she managed to let out, with growing distraction.
"You're lying…" he whispered, but didn't stop. She didn't bother to contradict him. He gently pushed her backwards until she laid on the couch. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he leaned down to kiss her again.
"Ugh! You guys, don't do that here, you've got a bedroom for stuff like that!" said a deep voice from somewhere in the room. She pulled away, extremely unfocused, and looked behind Mark's shoulder to see Collins standing there, a disgusted yet amused expression plastered to his face.
"Where did you come from?" she asked breathlessly as they sat up.
"Uh… I think it was from the hallway," Collins joked. She rolled her eyes. He sniffed the air. "Is that pizza I'm smelling?"
Shit. The pizza. It suddenly dawned on her that she was starving. She got up and walked over to the table where she left it. "Oh, yeah, I forgot about it. We'd better eat it while it's still warm."
So they sat down to eat, and she heard from Collins the missing details about his upcoming return to MIT. It was clear that he really didn't want to go, but he didn't have much choice. They depended on his salary as much as they depended on hers.
She just reached for a second piece of pizza when a rustle made the three of them look up. She dropped her piece back to its place as Roger stepped into the living-room. He looked better than he did in the past couple of weeks. Sure, he still had that wrecked expression, and he still needed a shave and a haircut, but at the same time his eyes looked more peaceful and at ease. Her eyes met Collins and he did the slightest movement with his head.
"Roger," Collins said, gesturing towards an empty seat next to Mark. "Maureen got us some pizza for dinner. You hungry?" His tone was normal, his expression cheerful. He acted as if the last couple of weeks never happened.
Roger hesitated, but then slowly walked towards the table and sat down. "A little." He reached for a piece of pizza, but then put it down and looked at them. "Guys, I wanted to… apologize. For being such a pain in the ass in the last couple of weeks."
"Roger-" Collins started, but Roger gave him a look, as if telling him he still had some things to say to them.
"I had a lot of time to do some thinking in there. I know I made you guys worried, but I had to figure out what the hell I'm gonna do with my life now. What's left of my life," he corrected himself, smiling sadly. Then he turned serious again. "I wanna stop," he said. There was so much pain and desperation in his voice, it broke her heart listening to him. "I need to stop. I guess it's kind of late for that now, but-"
"It's never too late," she said softly, not even apologizing for cutting him off. She was so relieved he finally made the right decision, no matter how painful it was.
There was a pause. Roger seemed to hesitate, but then he said quietly, "I think I need help."
Mark nodded and looked carefully at Roger. "I know a place, a clinic-"
"A rehab," said Collins.
Roger shook his head. "No. This is just it, guys. I don't want to end up in a place like that."
"They can help you," Mark said, looking at him pleadingly.
"Mark, I know myself, I'll never last in a place like that."
Collins shook his head, as if he realized where Roger was going with this. "We can't do this here, Roger."
Roger looked up at him. She could tell this was exactly the thing he was hoping for. "Why not?"
"Because withdrawal is not that easy. It's painful, and who knows how violent you'd turn out to be. Do you really want it under your responsibility, knowing you might physically hurt one of us?" his tone was hard and serious. "There are people that this is their job. They know how to handle these situations. We don't."
"I can't go to rehab, Collins."
"How do you know if you haven't tried it?"
"Because I know myself. And I'm asking your help."
"I think you're doing a mistake," said Collins.
Roger shook his head sadly. "I've done a mistake before, Collins. Now I'm just paying for it." He looked around the table. When his eyes met hers, sad and pleading, something within her broke. "Are you with me or not?"
"That's up to Mark and Maureen to decide. I'm… leaving for MIT on Monday."
Shit. She forgot about that. There was no way they'd be able to handle Roger, especially if he'd go through all the symptoms of withdrawal. They'd simply have to refuse. They couldn't do it. Collins was right, there were people out there that this was their job. But before she managed to express her objection, Mark spoke out.
"Of course we're with you, Roger," he said. She stared at him. Was he out of his mind? Didn't he realize what withdrawal meant? They could never handle him alone! Glancing at Collins, he seemed to be thinking the same.
Roger smiled gratefully at Mark, and then turned his eyes to her. "Maureen?"
She felt completely torn. She couldn't possibly refuse him. There was so much trust in his expression, as if it was in their power to make him better. On the other hand, she doubted their abilities to do that. And then she thought there might be a way to compromise. "Collins is right. I don't think we're the right people to help you, Roger-"
"You're my friends!"
"Please let me finish." He looked down and murmured a quick apology. "Personally I don't think we should go for it, but if this is what you think best for you, maybe we should give it a shot. But you'll have to promise that if we feel it's not working, we'll try rehab." There was dead silence around the table. From the corner of her eye she saw Collins nodding his agreement. It was the best she could do, under the circumstances. But she'd have to say something to Mark later about speaking out for the two of them without even hearing her opinion. She looked at Roger. "Take it or leave it, Roger."
"If it doesn't work… we'll try rehab," he said very slowly, as if still considering this.
"Promise?" she asked. She felt bad to press him to the corner like that, but under the circumstances she knew there was no other way. He had to make up his mind, as long as he was able to do so.
"Yeah. I promise."
He never kept his promise. And it was the beginning of the end.