Author's Note: EEK IT'S CHAPTER FIVE! I know you're all so deathly excited for this oneeeeee. This is actually going to be a pretty long update, so enjoy it.Alright, begs for reviews as always. Reviews make me happy. And make me write faster.
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Mark's eyes were on me. I could feel them with each step we took. Despite the whipping winter wind tearing at me from the inside out, despite the aching of my bones from pacing this city earlier trying to find anywhere to be besides where I was supposed to be, despite my racing mind which kept falling on Roger and his words that were still exploding like rockets in my head, I could only feel Mark's eyes on me. They were burning me; my skin was sizzling. He can see through me, I thought. He can see everything I've never said, and every thought I never developed. He can hear what's inside me. He can see my scars. My entire being was on fire, just like the flames that ate the shadows of the loft not too long ago. And even with all these things going through my head, I could still only feel Mark's eyes.
"Stop."
He was startled. "Stop what?" He stammered.
"Just tell me what you're thinking. Your stare is killing me."
He chuckled nervously. He raised an arm to rub the back of his neck till it was red. But he didn't tell me.
"I'll figure it out, you know." I promised.
"No you won't." He studied the street as it passed beneath him.
"It's Roger."
No response.
"It's Roger, because it's always been Roger, because it will always be Roger, because it needs to be Roger."
Just the screaming wind.
"You thought you'd given him a reason, didn't you? You thought every moment of every day that you sacrificed for Roger was enough of a reason."
His breathing.
"It was, Mark. Roger just doesn't see it."
"You're magic." He muttered.
"What?" I asked in disbelief.
"Everything you say or do…it's magic. I don't know how you do it, but you've been a goddamn miracle worker since you stepped into the loft, muttering like you were insane."
I smiled down at the street. It was a compliment. I'd just ignore the last part.
"You did something to Roger, Mia. You got him to say things. I know you did, because that little outburst he just made wasn't nearly as explosive as all his other ones. Roger doesn't tell people what he feels when he feels it. So when he finally does, he spits fire and he burns. He really burns. Roger has stopped saying things that don't burn. Except tonight. Those things he said were real words, real feelings, real emotions. It's been so long since he's done that without telling me how much he wishes I was burning in hell."
"Does it hurt?"
"Of course it hurts. But it's not his words that hurt. It's not ever knowing what he truly feels. Because anger doesn't always speak the truth, despite how much people believe it does."
It was my turn to stay quiet. A bike's bell chimed. A meat truck roared beside us. My pulse beat in my ears.
"I've tried for six long months to do what you did in a few hours. And I was his best friend. You must be magic."
"I'm not. I'm really not." I assured him.
"Then how could you know what to say? What would break him? What was too much and what was just enough?"
I inhaled. "I just did."
For a long time, Mark and I just wandered the streets. We were heading for the lot, and I knew Mark knew where it was, but I think he needed to take the long way to get there. The city had settled a bit, in that break between the pulse of the early night and the pulse of the late night. Before the drunks and druggies owned the streets. Before the city became an awful, evil place.
"I think that you need a reason, too."
"What?" He asked.
"Because every moment of your life is owned by Roger, I think you need a reason to gain it back."
"Maybe." He admitted.
"I think you're waiting for him to find it."
"I am." He said through a sigh.
"He will."
"How- "
"Don't ask why. I just know."
He dug his fists into his coat pockets. I kicked a rock beneath my boots.
"I'm just tired. It's not as if I don't care about him, or I don't want him to be better. I just wish I could have my life back. I want to be creative again and…and I want to feel hopeful again. Because as little hope Roger has for a bright future, I have less."
I parted my lips to respond, but Mark continued.
"Roger won't get better with me helping him. I've been trying for six months, and there are just some things I can't do."
"You're right." I answered, convinced. He gaped at me.
"You can't do everything for him. You can't make him want to be alive, you can't make him make peace with his past, you can't make him see the same things you see. As much as you try Mark, and I know you try, you can't make him happy."
"Then what will?" He asked me, truly hoping I knew the answer.
"The same thing that made him happy before."
"Love." He spit.
"Is that a foreign concept?" I half-laughed.
"Yes." He answered sternly. "To both of us." I waited for him to elaborate.
"He won't trust love again," Mark explained. "Not after losing her. He can't forgive himself. He doesn't believe there will be a second chance. What he lost was it."
"We're not only talking about Roger here, are we?" I locked eyes with him. He breathed out through his nose.
"No, we're not."
"Well, I think both of the people we're talking about are going to get their chances. Because both of the people we're talking about still have time. The best things come when you're not looking for them, Mark."
"Stop always knowing it's me."
"Well, it must be. It can't always be Roger, can it?"
"Not if I'm going to survive any longer then he does." I smiled a bit. So did he.
"Just wait, Mark. Just wait."
"I can't, Mia. We've been waiting. Since we found out Collins had AIDS, since April died and we found out Roger had AIDS, we just keep waiting. We need to do something."
"You want something to do?"
"Yes." He spit.
"Let go." I breathed.
That was when we realized we were standing in front of the performance space.
"The lot." I breathed.
"Where a stage is partially set up." Mark narrated, and I wrenched my neck to the side to see his camera already plastered to his face.
"You don't waste a second, do you?" I asked, digging my hands into my pockets. He turned the camera to me and I divulged a shy smile.
"Me? Never." He tucked his camera under his arm and we waltzed in together. We both froze into the floor when we saw a dark-skinned, dark-haired women fumbling around the stage. Slowly, I turned my eyes to Mark, who was glaring right back at me. Together we murmured, Joanne.
"Mark?" Mark's head jerked away to see the graceful women facing us with a hand on her hip and a disheveled look to her.
"Hi." He gulped.
"You know, I told her not to call you…" She said, not really to us, because she was turning away in frustration to fiddle with a microphone stand that wasn't going to last the night in its condition. But Mark didn't catch on.
"Well, that's Maureen. Can I help? Since I'm here?" He began lifting his camera bag over his shoulder and I helpfully took it from him. He smiled gratefully.
"I hired an engineer." She spat, not even looking at us.
"Oh. Uhm. Okay, well we'll just be going. It's nice to have, uh -"
"Wait." She interrupted. She sucked in air and let it rest in her cheeks before spitting it back out.
"She's three hours late." Mark looked to me and smiled slightly.
"Alright then. Nice to meet you." Mark extended a hand to her. She took it hesitantly.
"Joanne." She looked past him and watched me quizzically.
"Mia. My roommate." Mark inserted and stepped away from her so I could walk forward.
"Hi." I cleared my throat. It felt like I was trying to chisel blocks of ice.
"Pleasure to meet you." The greeting rolled off her tongue without any emotion to it, so obviously over-used.
"The samples won't delay, but the cable -"
Mark's turn to interrupt. "Don't worry. There's another way." I watched him bend down behind some of the wires and fiddle for a few moments.
"Just say something. Anything." He instructed.
She cupped the mic in her hands. "Test 1, 2, 3."
It was then I knew why he cringed at the sound of it. The words crackled in my head.
"Anything but that." He groaned. I took a seat on a folded chair off to the side and assembled it at the base of the stage. I started fiddling with the zipper on my coat to ignore the silence.
"Well, this is weird." Joanne spoke quickly.
"It's weird." Mark agreed, as if she just said the sky was blue.
"Very weird."
"Fuckin' weird." He looked out from behind the equipment at me and put an index finger to his forehead and 'pulled the trigger'. I let out a small giggle.
"You know, I can't believe her. Leaves me here with all her equipment and shit to take care of, while I have no idea what I'm doing. Then she offers to call you, her ex-boyfriend, which might be sufficiently awkward for us, I ask her not to, and she goes ahead and does it anyway. And then disappears somewhere in the city." Joanne rambled and I grabbed another folded chair beside me and opened it for her. I patted the seat, and she came down and collapsed into it.
"Feel like chugging gasoline?" Mark asked without thought, currently trying to find a wire that remotely resembled the one he was now holding.
"Doesn't sound like a bad idea." She said, crossing her arms at her chest. I smiled at her and we shared a laugh.
"It's all an act."
"An act?" She wondered aloud.
"Yes, an act. Everything with Maureen is an act." I wasn't sure Mark was even aware that words were bubbling out of his mouth.
"Not with me."
"Yes with you." He insisted. Frustrated, he threw down the wires and grunted. Defeated, he scooted to the front of the stage and put his elbows on his bent knees.
"Care to explain?" She leaned forward and folded her fingers into each other.
"It's called, The Tango: Maureen."
"You're clearly the open one of the group." I said to Mark as we were making our way to the Life Support meeting. Mark had been silent since we left Joanne at the lot, where the two of them had swapped stories about Life with Maureen until Mark had patched the mics. His blue, blue eyes hit me now nervously and then he shook his head solemnly.
"Just when provoked." I saw a smile peeking out as he studied the street.
"Is that so?"
"Someone has to speak, I guess. Lord knows Roger doesn't."
"And Collins?" I asked, although I already knew.
"Eh. He's a funny one." Mark tilted his head, still watching the street. "He can talk forever, but he doesn't really say anything. Unless it's just the two of you. Collins has the ability to say things at the perfect moment." Oh. Didn't know that.
"How?" I prodded.
"Hm. Well once, Roger locked me out of the loft in one of his rages and refused to let me in, so I sat on the steps outside the door till Collins came home and sat beside me. That was the first time he admitted how he felt about Roger's withdrawal."
I didn't say anything.
"And another time, Roger was fiddling with his guitar strings on the roof in July, because it was hotter inside then outside, if it was possible. Collins went up and listened to Roger's most recent song and told him what he thought would make it more real. When Roger played it at the club, people begged him to play it again."
"A gift, I see?"
"Must be."
"Can I get Collins to tell me things?"
"The moment is key. If it's right, he'll tell you anything you want to know."
I planned to take Collins up on that. Mark kept checking his hand to where the address of the meeting was scribbled in his meticulous scrawl.
"She couldn't have been that bad." I said to silence the wind.
"Who?" Mark asked, confused.
"Maureen."
"Oh….no, she was," He said slowly. "And she wasn't. And she was."
"Awful lot of back and forth."
"It was bittersweet, to say the least. There were the moments where Roger and I were dirt poor, freezing, and hating ourselves for every heartbeat, that Maureen made worthwhile. I like to remember those moments best."
"Worth it?" I asked him casually. But I could tell Mark needed to really contemplate it.
"Yeah. I'd say so. Love's a pretty amazing thing when it works."
I nodded coldly. Colder then the wind gutting me from the insides.
"This is it." Mark nodded up at a recreational center tucked between two buildings. He shrugged his shoulders at me and we started up the steps. My pulse quickened. I just realized where we were going.
A support group.
For people with AIDS.
That hit too close to home.
"You alright?" Mark rested a hand on my shoulder. He can see through me, I was sure.
"Yeah. I'm alright." I answered, more convicted then I actually was.
Mark then cupped my hand in his, and the warmth melted me. Right then, I was defenitly alright.
Mark held the door open and I stepped beneath his arm. Voices bounced off the walls, increasing in volume as we walked farther into the room.
"Steve."
"Gordon."
"Pam."
"Sue."
"Hi. I'm Angel."
"Tom. Collins."
"I'm Paul, let's begin."
CRASH! Smooth, Mark.
"Sorry. Excuse me. Oops." Mark muttered, mortified.
"And you are?" A man with a clipboard asked. A clipboard? What use is there for a clipboard at a meeting for people who are dying? The answers they wanted were most certainly not on a clipboard.
Mark gripped his camera and his knuckles turned white.
"Oh, I'm not – I'm just here to – I don't have – I'm here with -"
"Mark." I answered for him, gripping his forearm. "Mark."
"I'm Mark." He garbled, a shade of violet seeping into his face from behind his ears.
Paul looked to me and nodded.
"I'm Mia." I answered, keeping my voice level.
"Sit down, Mark. Mia. We'll continue the affirmation."
"Paul?" A meek voice rose from the chair across from us. I tried to connect it to a body and saw just that – a body. A body with jagged edges and visible ribs. The body was also shivering madly.
"Yes Gordon?" Paul, the man with the clipboard, asked eagerly.
"I'm sorry but…this philosophy. I can't accept it." The entire room exchanged glances.
"What do you mean?"
"My T-cells are low, and I regret that news, okay? I regret it." He tried to raise his voice to a more audible level.
"But Gordon, how do you feel today?" Paul leant forward in his seat, eyes wide.
"What?"
"How do you feel today?" He repeated.
"Okay." Gordon whispered.
"Is that all?" Paul urged.
Gordon hung his head and exhaled more then air, but maybe some anxiety as well.
"Best I've felt all year." He admitted sheepishly.
"Then why choose fear?"
He looked up, his eyes wild. "I'm a New Yorker, fear's my life."
The room let out a hesitant chuckle, as if laughter wasn't permitted in a room full of dying people. I locked eyes with Angel, who waved her pinky at me and her dark blue ring glinted in the dim lighting. Angel, who was more living then anything or anyone I'd ever known.
She may have been dying, but she was alive.
"Look, I find some of what you teach suspect. I guess it's because I'm used to relying on reason. But…I've tried to open up to what I don't know." Gordon lifted his head from his lap and let his eyes settle on a point above all our heads. "Because reason says I should have died three years ago."
"No other road," Paul recited in a way that made it sound as if he were the first person to ever say those words.
"No other way," the room echoed.
"No day but today." I reached for Mark but all I felt was air. I jerked my head. His camera was rolling.
I realized that night why people hate the cold.
I found myself strolling the same streets for the fourth time that day, the wind ever-present and unforgiving. The four of us, an unlikely group with maybe nothing that tied us together, were alike if only that we were all praying for the wind to stop blowing. It whipped wildly and it whispered threats and lost dreams in our ears. This is what Christmas really is, I thought. Lost dreams and wind.
This is Mark and Roger's Christmas.
"Hey." Collins broke the silence. "Thank you both."
"For what?" Mark wondered.
"Showing up. Unlike some people." His eyes wandered down a few blocks to where the loft was. In this cold, a few blocks felt like thousands of miles.
"He's not ready." I spit out. I instantly regretted it.
"Is that so?" Collins asked. All their eyes on me made my skin hurt. I bit the inside of my cheek as I answered slowly.
"I just mean…Roger said some things,"
"He's let you in quite a bit." Collins cut me off.
"I know." I grunted.
"You're lucky. You're getting Roger on his best behavior."
"Lucky. Yeah." I repeated, and I studied the street at my feet.
And the silence settled in.
"How do you do it?"
"You're really one for outbursts, aren't you?" Collins asked me. If they came from anyone else, most of his words would seem incriminating. But when he spoke, he spoke with affection.
"I'm sorry, but I've wanted to know since we stepped into that building." It had been longer, actually. But they didn't know that. "How do you go on knowing your days are numbered?"
Collins heaved and shook his head to the ground while Angel half-smiled and laced her arm through is.
"What other choice do we have?" She asked me. I remained silent.
"You don't 'go on'. And you don't 'get through it'. It just happens." Collins said wearily.
"But how do you keep living just as you always had?" I prodded.
"Well that takes courage." Angel spoke. "Fear is easy."
"It's hard. It's gripping. It hurts. And then time passes and you realize that any ordinary day of your life could have in fact been your last. But it wasn't. You realize what a gift time is when you don't have much of it left." Collins' voice was suddenly less over-powering.
"I don't understand." I moaned helplessly.
"Mia, don't get us wrong," Angel tried, "No one wants to wake up one morning and then realize they only have so much longer to live."
"But you don't want to stop living before you actually die." Collins added.
I looked to see how Mark was internalizing this. His eyes were glued to the ground.
"What makes you want to keep living?"
"The same thing that made us before."
Their words weren't penetrating with me, and I looked at them bewildered.
"You can't control your destiny," Angel said softly.
"Our only goal is just to be." Collins rested a hand on my shoulder.
"There's only now," I whispered.
"There's only here," I heard Mark mumble beside me.
Angel stood in front of me and stopped the four of us. She put her thumb on my cheek and lifted my head. She placed a lock of billowing hair behind my ear and smiled honey-slow. I swear I heard a bird sing.
"There's still time, you know." I said to comfort her, but I think I really wanted to comfort myself. She kissed my forehead.
"Sweetheart, there's always time." This was Angel. Not the person I saw dancing on stage several times, not the voice I heard bursting from speakers. This is what she was, and I would have never really known her if I hadn't met her.
It sounded so obvious. But in truth, it wasn't when the line between real and make-believe had been so blurry.
We were at the loft. Mark fingered his pocket for the keys.
"Shit," he mumbled. "They're in the loft."
"Nice going, boy. Anyone got a quarter?" Collins nodded towards the phone booth.
"Wait…" Mark's voice trailed off as his eyes scanned the loft windows. A figure was pacing back and forth. A woman.
"Someone's up there with Roger." He said softly.
"So?" Collins' asked coolly.
"A woman."
Collins paused and strode away from the phone booth. "We'll take the fire escape."
"The fire escape?" I gaped incredulously.
"Come on, don't you want a little more adventure in your life?" Collins hollered as he pulled down the ladder.
"My lady." He offered a hand to Angel, who gladly scurried up the ladder in her pumps. Something told me she'd done this before.
Collins started up and I glared at Mark. He shrugged his shoulders.
"I'll be right behind you." That was convincing enough. I started up.
"It's fucking frozen!" Mark howled as his fingers wrapped around a rung.
"The joy of Christmas." Collins said sardonically.
We were halfway up when we heard voices bouncing off each other, ideas being thrown around.
"It's Roger!" Angel shrieked, recognizing the deeper pitch.
"Mark, who was that girl in there?" Collins questioned down the ladder.
"I dunno…" He bit his lip. "Never seen her."
"Mimi." I let out without realizing it. I blinked and looked up to Collins. "Her name's Mimi."
"Mimi Marquez?" Angel's voice perked up.
"Something like that," I half-answered.
We could make out their words, "I can't control -"
"Control your temper."
"- my destiny. I trust my soul,"
"Who says there is a soul!"
"My only goal is just to be!"
"Just let me be!"
"It IS Mimi Marquez!" Angel exclaimed.
"You know her?" Collins interrogated. "She clean?" He asked protectively.
"No better than Roger was." I spat.
Collins whipped his head to see me but I looked away. He glanced at Angel for conformation.
"…to say the least." She finished sadly.
We had reached the loft. Angel first, then Collins, I behind and finally Mark. The four of us huddled in the cold and peered into the loft with the Peter-Pan window sprung open and voices competing against each other.
"Who do you think you are -"
"There's only now, there's only here,"
"- barging in on me and my guitar?"
"Give in to love, or live in fear."
"Little girl hey -"
"No other path,"
"- the door is that way."
"No other way,"
The four of us watched the entire battle, Mimi who was kneeling on the metal table now grabbing hold of Roger's forearms and making his eyes meet hers.
"No day but today."
"The fire's out anyway!" He spat in her face. He stormed the other direction.
"No day but today." She persisted, leaping from the table.
"Take your powder, take your candle-"
"No day but today." She seized his arm and turned him on his heels.
"Take your brown eyes, your pretty smile, your silhouette-" He broke free of her grasp again and strode even more towards the fire escape, our view of everything so undeniably clear.
"No day but today!"
"Another time, another place, another rhyme, a warm embrace…" He spewed.
"No day but today." She repeated. The two of them stood right in front of the fire escape but still didn't notice our presence. Roger finally turned to her and their eyes were locked on each other.
Roger spoke desperately, "Another dance, another way, another chance…another day."
The four of us, that unlikely grouping of mismatched people with disconnected pasts, found one more thing that we had in common. We knew what we had to say just then. And it came out as a chorus; a prayer.
We prayed.
"No day but today." Two heads whipped harder than the wind and our eyes settled on them unafraid. Mimi looked away; glared at Roger with every ounce of strength in her and demanded him in her stare. Roger pushed against his bottom teeth with his tongue. She looked away in fury, and then once more at us; a silent thank you. She darted out of the loft, slamming the door behind her.
Roger's footsteps were even louder down the hall. His bedroom door locked behind him.
"Mark, it's been an hour."
Angel brushed her hand against Mark's to get him to look away from the hallway.
"I'm still hoping he'll come out on his own."
"He hasn't come out on his own in months." Collins reasoned.
"Maybe today's the day."
"Maybe it's not."
The four of us huddled around the couch, the same places we'd been in for the past hour. Angel was seated beside Mark, who was still gazing hopefully down the hallway. Collins' face was resting on both his fists, his elbows propped on the back of the couch as he kneeled. I was on the floor at Angel's feet, my head against the arm of the couch. There had been no sound from Roger's room since he stormed off an hour ago, but I think we would have preferred the noise. Noise meant something was happening. Silence was deadly.
"We're gunna be late, Mark." I started, tilting my head back farther to try to look up at him.
"Someone needs to talk to him." He mumbled, still glaring down the hallway.
"Well, why didn't you get up an hour ago?" Collins smacked the back of Mark's neck.
"Alright. I'm going."
"Take Mia?" Collins asked, tilting his head towards me.
"Yeah. Come with me." He outstretched his hand to me.
"I think Roger might have had enough of me for one night."
"He's had enough of me too. That doesn't mean I stop trying." Mark's hand was looking even more and more appealing. I grasped it firmly. It had been surprisingly easy to take any of their hands since I'd stepped into the loft; easy to take their word and their advice. For some reason, I had placed more trust in people I'd just met tonight then I'd placed in anyone my entire life. It may have been because I believed them. Or maybe because I just wanted to believe them.
We stood at Roger's door and Mark took an exaggerated breath, rubbing his temples. He knocked timidly.
No response.
His knock was more firm this time.
Nothing.
His knuckles rapped wildly.
"It's open." A growl from the inside.
"I believe that's an invitation." Mark turned the doorknob and allowed me in first.
"Oh look, it's Mark and Mia here to save the day." Roger mumbled mockingly.
"How long were you planning on keeping yourself locked up in here?"
"Hadn't really thought about it. Till I die sounds pretty good to me." He sat on the bed, his back hunched; his knees spread with his feet on the frozen wood floor. Mark and I lingered in the doorway, exchanging tentative glances back and forth.
"Roger, what happened?"
"I think you've asked enough questions, Miss Mia Cordon." Roger spat at me.
"Hey, watch it Roger." Mark defended me.
"Why should I?" He snarled, his back still turned from us.
"Because she could be the best thing that's happened to us in months." Mark glanced at me and his eyes apologized for Roger. I placed a lock of hair behind my ear and beamed.
"Months? Feels like years."
"That's because you refuse to let time pass."
"Mark, get off it. Don't pretend you understand me, alright? Because all this condescending bullshit is beginning to piss me off."
"What do you purpose I do, Roger? Just let you sit in here and rot?"
"Now we're seeing eye-to-eye on this." He muttered.
I stopped Mark from saying anything else. Roger did burn, but I wasn't going to let him singe me. I took a seat on the bed tentatively.
"She was beautiful, Roger." There was a long time before he answered.
"Yes. She was."
Admission granted. I turned back and urged Mark to sit beside me. He crossed his arms and lent against the door, unforgiving.
I gave up and turned back to Roger. "She came back?"
"Just like you said." Roger said bitterly.
"Tell us what happened." I asked slowly.
"She said, 'Would you light my candle?' and she put on a pout, and she wanted me to take her out tonight."
"From the beginning." I coaxed.
He heaved slowly. "Alright."
From the moment Mimi stepped into the loft and Roger first set eyes on her, to the blowout they had and her dramatic exit, Roger told Mark and I everything that had occurred. Mark looked at me incredulously, his eyes wondering how I could pull this out of him. I shrugged, because even I was wondering the same thing.
"Will she get you out?" Mark asked after Roger paused and leaned back against the pillows.
"She was more then okay, but I pushed her away." He rested his forearm against his eyes and breathed. "It was bad, I got mad, and I had to get her out of my sight."
"You said she was sweet." Mark pointed out.
"I wanna eat. I'll just get fat. It's the one vice left."
Mark and I shared a timid laugh. I think Roger smiled beneath his arm.
"Roger. How come you push people away?" It seemed like such a ridiculous question, one where the answers were slapping Mark in the face on a daily basis. But it had yet to be asked. And most certainly yet to be answered.
"… Because I'm dying."
"So's Collins. So's Angel. But their arms are still open."
"What do you expect me to do, here? I don't even know what to do. I've been trying to figure it out, but it gets harder every day to reach an answer." I most certainly couldn't tell him the answer. I looked to Mark. His stare was blank. And then something struck me.
"Maybe, there is no answer. Maybe you don't do anything. Maybe you just keep living."
"For what?"
"For whatever you lived for before." Mark added, as we both recalled what Angel and Collins' had told us. He put one knee on the bed and rested a hand on my shoulder.
"I'm scared." It finally came out. Mark's eyes exploded in his head and I felt near-tears. Mark had been waiting for those words for months, years; for any sign of weakness in Roger. For him to finally admit it.
I reached for his hand. Roger removed his arm from his eyes. "What are you scared of?"
"I'm not scared of dying, if that's what you're thinking." Yes actually, that's what I was thinking. I could tell Mark was thinking it to. We urged Roger with our eyes for more. He looked to the window with the shredded, dingy curtains and past it to find something more beautiful. I don't think he did. But if he had asked me, I could have told him a thousand sights in one glance. And so could Mark. But that was what Roger was. He was always seeing different things, denying the beauty that surrounded him. I couldn't guess, but I imagined the world in Roger's eyes was an awful, ugly place.
Finally, he sat up and looked at us straight in the face.
"I just want to know… Will I lose my dignity? Will someone care? Will I wake tomorrow from this nightmare?"
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Author's Note: Hm, not sure how much I liked this one? But perhaps. What do you all think? ACT ONE IS ALMOST COMPLETE ! I've got good plans. Reviewwwwwww.