Author's Note: Whatt? Chapter Seven? WHAT?! Hahah hey all, I'm back. Not gunna lie to you, I was so excited for this. Because a lot of this chapter is just my original thinking, not trying to push the story along like the other chapters. I really hope you guys appreciate the story, and I've gotten great feedback from people who thought it was going to suck and turns out they liked it. Makes me so happy! So tell some people, will ya? P.S. Noticed that on a few chapters the formatting was a little retarded. So, forgive me? Read and review all!
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The loft was waiting for us. It sucked us in like a vacuum and we succumbed, willingly. The night had taken its toll, and the remaining four of us collapsed on various items of furniture. I found my way to the couch; Mark, the coffee table; Collins, the floor with his head against the arm of the couch. Roger was downstairs saying goodnight to Mimi. For a long time, the three of us sat there taking in air and cycling it out, the sight of our rising chests enough to fill the moments.
"How do you guys live like this?" I finally asked.
"We live fine. We just don't function." Collins retorted. Mark let out a strained laugh; exhaustion plagued him.
"What time is it?" I asked groggily. Collins checked his watch.
"3:15."
Mark and I laughed at ourselves. Out wandering the streets till 3 AM on Christmas. So this was Bohemian life?
Roger wandered through the open loft door, stumbling as he hung up his leather jacket on a random hook in the wall.
"Room for me?" He asked, standing over us.
"Always." Collins tugged at his arm, and Roger splayed himself across the floor.
"Merry Christmas." He mumbled into the floor. The four of us doubled over in laughter. We laid there together for a good five minutes, just listening to each others breathing. It was the most calm, comforting moment since I got there. Mark was the first to move a muscle. He stood up slowly, stepping over Roger's arm and Collins bent knees.
"Where ya going?" I wondered.
"Making some tea. Then finding my mattress. You guys want anything?"
"I'm good."
"Same."
"Nah, Mark."
"Alright." I listened to the faucet trickle cold water into a mug. Mark stumbled around the kitchen, and Collins, Roger and I tried to see him with our eyes shut.
"Will Maureen be here tomorrow?" Roger asked after a long time.
"Probably." Mark called from the kitchen.
"I'm going to sleep." Roger stood up immediately.
"Gunna need your energy?" Collins asked, eyes still shut.
"Definitely. Night, guys."
"Night," we mumbled in fatigue.
"Shit, it's cold." Collins eventually groaned.
"Yeah?" I responded, half-conscious.
"I gotta find a sweatshirt." He murmured, getting up and trailing down the hallway.
The tea kettle whistled and I listened to Mark pour. He wandered over to me, placing a warm mug in my hand.
"I told you I didn't want anything." I said, confused.
"It's a thank you." I smiled and took a sip. "Repay anything?" He asked me.
"Everything." I said, graciously. "But you have nothing to repay."
He just smiled down at me, his eyes flickering, and he bid me goodnight as he disappeared into his bedroom. My heart felt empty for the first time that day; without any of my best friends surrounding me, I stumbled into Benny's room. I squinted once I flipped the light switch - I hadn't seen light for hours - and clawed for my overnight bag. Fishing out my sweatpants and my brother's old Penn State sweatshirt, I changed hesitantly, feeling all the fabrics against my body. Once in the sweats, I realized I wasn't ready to go to bed. As overtired as I was, there was something that wasn't finished yet. As usual, restlessness struck me. I tottered out of Benny's room and padded through the hallway, my tea mug still in my hand. The fire escape was the most appealing, so I braced myself for the late-night chill.
I folded myself into the cheap plastic lawn chair sitting out, watching the night. My mug was still cupped in both my hands, my only source of warmth. I sipped generously, listening to the wind screaming at me, club music bumping a block or two away – from the Catscratch, I assumed – and a few late-night travelers driving through the Village. I replayed the moments of my visit in my head, a looping clip in my mind. I didn't even hear the footsteps, or Collins breathing behind me.
"I see you found my hideaway." His voice startled me.
"Did I?" I asked.
"Sure did. I come out here to think a lot."
"It definitely clears your head." I agreed.
"Yeah, and sometimes I need a moment away from the Mark/Roger drama. Focus on my own life." He sat on the stairs in a sweatshirt, pulling out a pack of Marlboros from his pocket.
"You want?" He offered. I shook my head and took another sip of tea. The mug was chipped, so a little streamed down my chin.
He lit up, taking a few puffs and holding in his breath until he turned red. I watched the smoke cloud around his face.
"You fit in tonight."
"Yeah?" I asked.
"Yeah. Like you've always been here." He said, almost confused by his own words.
"Felt that way. I feel like I'm home."
"Where is home?" He asked me. I shook my head, looking out into the stars.
"Queens." I shrugged.
Collins took another draw on his cigarette, and then leaned forward.
"Tell me why you're here."
"I couldn't if you asked me." I answered him slowly, not turning to face him.
"Come on. How'd you get here?" He persisted. I let out a shaky breath, and then eagerly twisted my body towards him.
"Something ever happen to you that totally defied all logic and reason? That made absolutely no sense and went against everything you ever believed your life would be, and even when you told yourself it was real, you couldn't believe it?" I asked him. He waited for more. "Almost like… almost like…"
"Magic?" He offered. His cigarette went to his lips. I followed his movements, then nodded slowly.
"Yeah. Like magic."
"Yes." He answered immediately.
"What was it?" I begged.
"Tonight. Angel." I sat back, this not being the answer I expected. "You know, you wake up in the morning thinking it's just a regular day. That nothing out of the ordinary is gunna happen to you. You're gunna go through the same routines and same actions, and you're gunna be okay with it because it gets you through one more day. And then, boom, your life changes as you know it."
"Was that what it was like?" I asked him.
"Yeah, it was." He answered, sincere and positive. "There she was, drumming in the moonlight. I passed her when I called you guys from the phone booth, and I saw her, and I heard her, and nothing. I just kept walking. She was any other person on the street. But she comes to my rescue, and I really look into her eyes, and there it is."
"There what is?"
"There everything is." I thought about his words as he took another puff. "That's how you know. You look into their eyes and you could know nothing, but you see everything. My life is in her eyes, and I know that. I see it." We didn't talk for a few moments, the words escaping into the air.
"You never think you have a second chance, but you do. Life can be the most beautiful piece of shit you could ever imagine, but you just have to wait for someone to prove it to you. This is it for me. This is how I'm going to die. I'm going to die with Angel. And if I can't die that way, I may as well be dead now. Because it's as if nothing in my life was my own until now. That she is the other part of me I never had. As if.. I don't know, as if we all have another heart. Maybe that's what love is." He started philosophizing as he spoke, a new theory smacking him in the face. "Maybe we all have two eyes and ears and hearts, and someone else has the other one. You just have to find it. I don't know, that may all be bullshit. All I know is, I belong here. For the first time, I belong anywhere. I feel like there's something I'm supposed to do and I'm going to do it. I have a reason now. I needed a reason. But, the last thing I expected was to wake up this morning and find it."
Mark was right. Collins' words came out like poetry, all at the right moment. I don't know how I pinpointed it. How I got Collins at the time that I needed him most. But then again, that was how I felt about the entire situation. How did I get here, and how did I get here just when I could exist nowhere else?
"Is that what you meant, Mia? Is that what happened to you?" Collins asked.
I looked into my drained tea mug, and then glanced up again into the darkness. My pulled back hair billowed out in front of my face.
"Yeah." I whispered. "Something like that."
He flicked his cigarette, then crushed it with his heel. Collins stood, towering above me, and I looked up at him.
"It's late. You coming in?" He outstretched his hand. But the stars called me.
"Yeah, I'll be there in a few minutes. I got some unfinished business." I said, turning away.
"Alright." He cupped my shoulders with his huge hands. "Don't think too much about it, Mia. Some things don't really have a reason. Some things just are." I'm not sure he knew exactly what I was thinking of, but the way the words tumbled out, it was as if I had just told him every moment of my life since birth. I smiled up at him graciously.
"Maybe."
"Live in the illusion. Because I guarantee you, you'll be much happier when you don't know the secrets."
"You're brilliant." I half-laughed. He laughed harder.
"I figure I speak from experience." He pinpointed a star to lock his eyes onto, and then disappeared into the loft. I had followed his line of vision; I now locked my eyes on that same star. There was probably a million to look at, but I just wanted to pledge myself to one. I wanted all of myself to be in one place; to disappear into the magic of one thing and disregard all that surrounded it. And instead of sitting there finding reasons and answers to things that probably didn't have either, I zeroed in on the only star I could see.
I refused to unravel this illusion. It was crazy, it was surreal, it was illogical – then why was it the only thing that felt real?
That was where my questioning ended.
Because I had that answer; it felt real because I wanted it to be. Because it was.
On my way back inside, I dropped the mug in the sink and stopped at every door down the hallway.
"Goodnight Mark,"
"Goodnight Roger,"
"Goodnight Collins," I bid them each. Benny's room looked more and more appealing as I pummeled into the bed. I reached to turn off the bed lamp, and came face-to-face with the picture of my brother and I. All that I needed.
It may all be magic, but I was happy to live a few lies for all this.
"Goodnight, Andrew."
The room fell to darkness.
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I'm not sure what in my life is actually real. My entire existence, I had been questioning what was true and what had been warped in my mind by my wants and fears. And even now, as I recall it all, I can't truly tell you why things happened the way they did. But I like to think it was supposed to happen that way. That there was no other way. That maybe, not being able to tell if it's real or make believe is what makes things worth happening.
A strip of light fell across my twisted body. My eyes met the day; I slowly opened my eyelids, feeling a boulder on my shoulders, and the morning light was seeping in Benny's window. It cracked through the shredded curtains, a faded print I couldn't make out. I sat up hesitantly, feeling the blankets wrapped around me, running my hands across the mattress. Slowly, I felt the world dawning on me, the pieces of it starting to make sense in my head. The first moment of morning was my favorite of the day. When you emerge into reality, and slowly everything around you starts connecting to each other, like your nerve endings are wires that are snapping together. You let your eyes see everything in the morning, unguarded. It's the only moment of the day you let yourself see everything without restraint.
I heard voices bouncing off the walls. A loud booming one, where every syllable was clear as anything. Collins. A deep pitch, that only punctuated a few of the former's thoughts. Roger. And one that kept the two on the same ground. Mark.
I tried to imagine where my voice would fit. So I got up to find out. I padded my way out the door, the hallway illuminated by the loft's windows. I felt the sunlight puring in around me, smothering me with its glow. A shaft of light fell across the metal table where the threesome sat, making their eyes and faces and movements gleam. Everything gleamed that morning. Like we were being surrounded by something beautiful, to keep us all together. I don't know exactly why that morning seemed so magical, but that's what it felt like.
"Merry Christmas!" Collins howled the moment I came into view.
"Right back 'atcha." I responded, my mouth sticky, as I took a seat at the metal table. Roger was besides me, his feet up on the edge of my chair. Mark leaned across the table at the edge, rubbing his temples. Collins bounded around the kitchen, giddy and ecstatic, pouring liquor.
"A little early to drink isn't it?" I asked him.
"Never too early to drink. I normally start at 7."
"What time is it?" Mark groaned.
"8:30."
Roger choked into his coffee. "What?! What the hell are we doing up, then?" We all laughed in response.
"What's the agenda for today, boys?" Collins chorused.
Mark and Roger groaned.
"Alright then." He laughed. "I'm going by Angel's in a little while. Will you three be okay today?"
It took me a moment to figure out I was in that three.
"Yeah."
"Yeah."
"Sure."
"Mia, watch out for them. They're animals."
"Oh, I can tell." I responded in sarcasm. Collins tottered off to his bedroom. Roger wordlessly stood up and wandered over to the couch, crashing down in his sweats and eyeing his guitar by the window sill.
"How is he doing today?" I whispered to Mark, my eyes still on Roger.
"Alright, I guess. Hasn't said much though."
"What do you figure?" I turned to him now.
"The usual. Nothing more, nothing less." Mark poured some more coffee into his mug. He held up a cup to me. I shook my head.
"What about Mimi?"
"I don't know." He answered, pained. "I have no idea what happened last night. I think I'd rather keep it that way." Mark burnt his hand and cursed under his breath. I shook my head and then my eyes found Roger again.
"I'll be back." I said to Mark, who waved his hand but said nothing, sucking on his burnt palm.
"Hey." I greeted Roger, plopping besides him.
"Hi."
"Merry Christmas." I said, with little enthusiasm.
"Yeah." He choked out a laugh, then his eyes went back to the window sill.
"How was last night?" I asked him.
"If anyone would know, it's you." He wasn't bitter, just exhausted.
"What do you mean?"
He didn't answer. "Are you sticking around?" The dreaded question. I had refused to even ask myself this one, just kept hoping something would keep me here if I couldn't do it myself. In this new world, I had nothing. Everything I was and everything I had was fading fast, and I knew if I wasn't here, I was nowhere.
"I uh, I don't know…" I mumbled, not sure how to answer. I tugged on the sleeve of my sweatshirt.
"You're sticking around." He answered for me, turning to me slowly and letting out a smirk. I shut my eyes and looked into my lap to hide the smile bursting on my face.
"You find all your roommates this way?"
"You mean mumbling like they're insane on our doorstep? Yeah…pretty much." We laughed together. It was the first of many things we would share.
I started to get up when his voice stopped me.
"You ran away." I let this sit in my head for a moment.
"You don't ask questions do you? You just know the answer."
"Usually." It didn't feel like I needed to respond, so I just allowed that to be my reason for being here. The one Roger came up with made more sense then what actually happened.
"Hey." He stopped me again. "I ran away too."
"How long ago?"
"Long enough to forget that I ever lived anywhere else. You don't need whatever made you run away, anyway. There's enough right here." He elaborated, his vagueness still plaguing all our conversations.
I smiled down at him even as he turned away. "Yeah, I'm starting to see that."
Roger was finally done speaking and I treaded to Benny's room. Out of my overnight bag came my clothes, and not a moment after I finished changing was there a knock on the door.
"Come in, Mark."
"How'd you know?" He demanded, stepping in.
"Lucky guess." I smiled. "Is this a consolation prize for putting up with you?" I asked, eyeing the toothbrush in his hand.
"It's a congratulations-for-surviving-and-conquering-the-wrath-of-Roger present. We don't give these out too often."
"How often is not often?" I asked playfully, taking the toothbrush from him.
"Never." He smiled a bit. "I heard you talking. If Roger says you're staying, you're staying." There was something bittersweet about it all. Obviously I was thrilled to be accepted into their world and to be surrounded by them, but there were so many things I hadn't figured out. Things I never would get the opportunity to figure out. Everything that I was before, what would be made of it?
"It's okay, right?"
"What?" I emerged from my thoughts at the sound of Mark's voice.
"To be here?"
"Yeah. No, I mean…I wanna be here. I'm amazed I'm here. I have no where else to be." I answered, taking a seat on the bed in defeat, feeling the answer wasn't what I wanted to say at all.
"Doesn't seem like it." Mark muttered, sitting beside me. He had found my photograph. "That's what you left behind?"
I looked away, disheartened. "Nah, he left me first."
"A guy?"
"Pretty sure. He's my brother." I explained, my usual Andrew reluctance paining me. Mark reached across me to pick up the frame, and a reflex almost stopped him. Don't touch him, he's too fragile, something screamed. But then I realized it was a picture. That was all he had been for a while.
"Same eyes." Mark noticed. "What's he like?" Roger, my head answered. He's like Roger.
"He's like Andrew." I said instead. "His name is Andrew." I cleared up.
There wasn't much Mark could ask now, or maybe there was so much and nowhere to begin. Whichever it was, he set the frame back on the nightstand.
"So now what?" He asked.
"I was hoping you knew."
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Collins was heading for the door in less than an hour. Mark, Roger and I had assembled ourselves on the couch, listening to Collins slamming doors and crashing into things. He didn't realize his own strength. He pummeled out of his room at 9:15, making a mad-dash for the toaster as a frozen waffle sat idly; the springs in the damn thing were broken. He shoved the waffle between his teeth with a cardboard box resting in his arms. As he neared the hook where his coat was hanging, he realized he had no free arm to grab it. He made an unidentifiable sound through his breakfast. Roger nudged Mark. Mark nudged me.
"Alright, I'm going." I groaned. I got up and grabbed the coat off the hook for Collins, sliding it over his broad shoulders.
"Where are you going?" I asked him, and he tried to answer with the waffle still in his mouth. Mumbling. I pulled the thing from his lips.
"Try again."
"Angel's. I'll be back in a few hours." He waited for me to hold the waffle back up, and he took it with his teeth. He shook his head as a "goodbye", and then slithered out the door.
"And he's off." Roger mumbled. Mark shook his head, clearly not up for Roger and his moping today, and he headed towards his room.
"He just met her last night." Roger said to me, like he couldn't understand how there could be a connection that quickly. But I knew he did.
"I know." I nodded. I took a seat on the floor in front of him. The wood was cold. "But you just met Mimi last night." He glared at me. Then let it go.
"Yeah."
"Maureen's coming by." I told him.
"Yeah."
"Does she always come by?"
"She started dropping in again a few weeks ago. After she thought she'd given Mark sufficient time to move on." He scoffed.
"I'm assuming it wasn't enough."
"If Mark was dead, it'd be enough."
"You're so morbid."
"Thanks." He shook his head. "Used to be different. Better. When she lived here. But don't tell her I said that." He added quickly. I made an 'x' over my heart.
"What was it like?" I asked, pulling my knees up to my chest.
"It was a different time. She's fun. Annoying as hell, but sweet when she wants to be. I don't know, maybe she was good for Mark in some ways. Gave him some confidence, helped him grow up. Even if she wasn't good for him as a girlfriend." For some reason, I think I understood what he meant.
"Used to be like a sister, you know."
"Really?" I asked, truly surprised.
"I know, it's shocking right?"
"Well, why not anymore?"
"Loyalty." He answered fiercely, locking eyes with me. "And I was different then. She was a sister to a different person." That was where he stopped. Roger could only go so far, I was starting to realize, allow so much out in words and then he'd put it somewhere else. For now, I was happy for what I got out of him. I'd settle for it.
"Why do you think she's coming by today?"
"No idea." He shook his head. "To hang around. Get things back the way they were, maybe. She always complains about it, how we ended everything, but honestly, can she be so blind to the fact that things can't go back to the way they were unless somebody steps up to fix it?"
"Who's going to?"
"Not Mark, that's for sure. He's still grieving; I think he kinda believes he's still got a shot. Not me, because I don't need anything. I'll be here tomorrow with or without her. Or…"
"…maybe you won't." I filled in for him. He looked at me disappointed, as if I had broken a rule by actually admitting Roger might die. As if it was only okay if he said it, and only to himself.
"I'm not gunna be around when she gets here." He mumbled, getting up.
"What, are you going out?" I asked in disbelief. He snorted.
"Yeah." He rolled his eyes as he walked past, treading down the hallway. "I'll be in my room." As Mark emerged and they locked eyes, Roger slammed his door. Mark spit beneath his breath, then came to meet me in the living room.
"Fucking moody."
"Yeah," I looked to his door, "moody." I couldn't help feeling as if I brought it on. "Why's Maureen coming by?" I asked, following behind him as he paced.
"Don't ask me. Probably to hang on me about the riot footage. Or the other complaining she's been doing lately. Or maybe for you."
"For me?"
"To meet you. Maureen needs to know everyone." Mark was heading to his room again.
"Wait, will you be around?"
He stopped himself from going in the door, took a deep breath, and spoke slowly, "Yeah." He turned back to me. "I'll be around."
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It was 11:30 when the phone rang. I was sitting on the tattered couch, my fingertips tightly laced around a ballpoint pen and a legal pad from Mark in my lap.
"You're starting to scare me." He had said two hours ago.
"How so?"
"Staring out the window like that. Like Roger." I smiled at him, dropping my hand and my chin that was in it.
"Well, Roger is pretty scary." I admitted.
"Come on, there's gotta be something you can do to entertain yourself. You must be seriously considering making a run for it with how boring this place is." I uncrossed my legs and giggled.
"I'll give it a week." A smile. "Actually, do you have any paper?"
"Paper?"
"Yeah. Don't worry, it's not for a suicide note or anything." His face fell. "Shit." I mumbled, completely mortified with myself. I really could be an ass sometimes. He shook his head.
"Nothing. It's nothing. You know, we have like a thousand legal pads around. I'll grab one for you." He retreated to his bedroom, fumbling in the corner where his equipment was set up and remerged with the yellowed pages in his hand.
"Thanks, Mark."
"Alright, so what's it really for?"
I smiled, grabbing a pen that was sitting on the side table. I curled up on the couch and touched the pen to the paper. Yes, now this was right.
"You all aren't the only artists in the city."
And now it was 11:30, and the phone was ringing. My legs were curled beneath me, my eyes glued to the pad. I had sketched four views of the same vase sitting in front of me, the lines smudged and the proportioning off. I scowled at my inability, and then listened to the excessive ringing. I looked down the hall; Roger and Mark were out of sight. I sighed. I stood reluctantly, and grabbed the phone before the machine picked up.
"Hello?"
"Oh my god, you're not screening!" Someone squealed on the other end.
"Maureen?" I knew that voice anywhere.
"…Yeah, Mark did you go through like, reverse puberty?"
"Oh no, it's Mia!" I shouted quickly.
"Oh my god!" She exclaimed. "Ah, I'm so sorry!"
"Don't worry about me, I feel bad for Mark." She cracked up on the other end.
"I'm outside," I went to the window and saw Maureen with a pink wool hat and scarf, stomping her feet at the phone booth, "throw down the key?"
I smiled, eyeing the keys on the counter. What I'd always wanted to do. I felt the cold metal in my hand, groping them as I opened the Peter Pan window. The cold air rushed in, and Maureen staring bouncing up and down on the street, waving.
I grinned down at her, "Gladly."
Only a few moments passed until I heard Maureen bounding up the stairs. I took a deep breath, steadying myself, and heaved open the loft door. Maureen's hazel eyes gleamed as she took me in.
"Finally. Mia Cordon." She smiled, looking small where she stood. Small was never a word I had associated with Maureen.
"Finally. Maureen Johnson." She giggled, and I let her wander in beside me.
"So the gang pulled a disappearing act?" She asked, twirling around the loft with her arms splayed out to her sides.
"You could say that. Collins ran off to Angel's this morning." She smiled earnestly, her eyes meeting the floor.
"Angel's…" she whispered, now looking up and biting her lip as she smiled harder. "Thank God for Angel."
I looked at her bewildered, and her dream-like demeanor disappeared.
"It's been a while for Collins. He needed this." She answered vaguely, making herself at home and taking a seat on the arm of the couch.
"What about Roger and Mark?" She asked curiously.
"Ducking it out in their rooms." She laughed, gazing down the hallway.
"So it's just you and me?" She asked, excited.
I smoothed back my caramel hair, tied up in a ponytail on my head. "Looks like it."
She giggled, waving me over. I sat cross-legged on the coffee table, feeling her hazel eyes probing me.
"Okay. How long?"
"Huh?" I asked, bewildered.
"How long?!" She squealed, cupping my hands.
"I don't know what you're asking me…" I started, the words dripping with confusion.
"How long have you been with Mark?" She said slowly, as if I wouldn't understand otherwise. My face snapped.
"No, no, no!" I shouted, laughter chopping in at the edges. "Maureen, I'm not dating Mark."
"What?" Her turn to be confused.
"I just met the boys last night."
"And you moved in?"
"I…think so." She slapped her forehead in embarrassment.
"Oh god, I thought Mark finally landed a new girl."
"If he did, it isn't me." I shook my head, and we both burst into a round of laughter. A layer of resistance melted away, and the air became cleaner between us. I felt the tension shift, feeling whatever anxiety I had about my first conversation with Maureen subsiding.
"So, how did you meet them?" She asked when our laughter dispersed.
"Not sure." I answered delayed, trying to formulate a story. "Wandered up here looking for someone, and what do you know? – I did. I met Mark and Roger."
"And now you live with them?" She wondered in disbelief.
"I didn't say it made sense."
"No, no!" She defended, waving her hands animatedly around her porcelain-skin face. "I met the boys and moved in that night too."
"Yeah? Tell me about it." She took advantage of this opportunity.
"I met Collins first." She started, and I leaned in to hear. "At a performance. It was one of my first Off-Broadway parts; all I dreamt of was Broadway then. Anyway, I hated the character. More then anything. Quiet, reserved, never voiced anything. And I don't know, I couldn't connect to her. Hard to believe, right?" She joked. I smiled gratefully.
"Quite."
"I just remember that night though. He was in the front row. With his boyfriend at the time. What was his name…?" She asked aloud, tapping her chin. "Craig? Curt? Calvin! Yes, his boyfriend Calvin. Anyway, it was in the middle of the second act. And my character's sister was dying. Dying, right then and there and you could see it. But she said nothing. Couldn't go home, kept running away, never really said what she had to say to her sister. And there was Collins, just this big, black shadow in the first row; a phantom really. I thought I imagined him. But in the midst of the sister finally calling me out on my feelings, forcing me to admit to everything I kept pushing down… I saw Collins crying. This giant, strong, intimidating man with these fat tears streaming down his face…I couldn't even believe I was seeing it." Her voice quieted, her voice coming out in hushed tones. "And I watched his hand find his lovers, squeezing it within his own to steady his heaving chest, and that's when I knew that Calvin was dying. And Collins wasn't saying what he had to." Maureen stopped a moment, her vision blurring. I could see the tears forming in the corners of her eyes the more she tried to blink them away.
"That was it for me." She explained. "When something like that happens, you know what ever you're doing is what you're meant to do. If you can make someone live through you onstage. I couldn't connect to my character, but he could. And I could connect to him. I did the rest of the show for that man in the front row. He found me in the lobby afterwards. All he said was, 'You made so many things clear for me.' Turns out Calvin wasn't feeling well and left, but Collins waited for me to exit the stage door. We walked home together, although neither of us went in the right direction. Damn, it must have been like, 2 am when we realized we'd ended up at his loft. He asked where I was living. I said no where really, crashing with a few friends until they got sick of me. And then he promised he'd never get sick of me. I followed him up to the loft, and I never left. Until now." At this point, more then a few tears had found their way out of Maureen's eyes, exploring the caverns of her face. I just sat there, watching her relive this moment, and I felt my own tears sting me. We were quiet for a few moments, both of us reacting to the story in the way that suited us. In whatever way we had to to get past the overpowering emotion.
"I understand what these guys are like. The spell they cast on you. But don't leave, Mia. I swear. No matter what they say or the shit they pull, stay. Because there's no place better out there. I can tell you that." She grabbed hold of my hands; I could feel her pulse through my skin.
I promised her, "I have no where else to be."
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A few hours past. Maureen was on her back on the floor, her hair splayed out around her head. I sat on my stomach, my legs in the air and crossed at my ankles. I fingered the zipper on my green cardigan, taking in the sound of her voice. Something was funny, and we laughed together, rolling into each other because we couldn't contain ourselves. And the laughter disappeared and we realized it was only us.
"So this is Christmas for them?"
"I guess so." She shook her head. "Joanne and I exchanged gifts this morning, but whaddya know? She had to work the afternoon." She rolled her eyes in disgust. "We're going out tonight though. I have something planned!" She squealed in excitement.
"What?" I asked, the highs and lows of Maureen infectious.
"Ice skating in Rockefeller Center!"
"Serious?" That took me aback. I lived in Queens, but I had never ice-skated at Rockefeller Center. I had always wanted to ice-skate in Rockefeller Center.
"Yeah!" She screeched. "But you know, I think it might be nice if we all went." My mind exploded.
"I think you're a genius."
"I know I'm a genius." She shouted, getting a high off of her idea being appreciated. "Collins will go. Collins is up for anything. And one of us can convince Marky." She told herself.
"But what about Roger?"
"He's not my territory." She shook her head. "Not now." She looked up at me, her eyes pleading.
"Does that mean he's mine?"
"I saw you with him last night." She rolled onto her stomach, then onto her knees. She grabbed hold of my arm. "Pleaseeeeee, Mia. He needs to get out of this place. He's going to die here." Her words were surprisingly stern. Something about her face and her words and her voice told me that you didn't say no when all those came together for Maureen. You just didn't say no.
"Alright." I caved. I stood slowly. "Forgive me, Roger." I muttered.
"And you'll ask Mark?" She chirped, jumping up. I sighed and turned back to her.
"I'll ask Mark." She clapped her hands and giggled.
"Thank you!" She kissed my cheek in gratitude, her eyes huge and wild. Her tossed dark brown curls fell around her face, and her eyes exploded from within the forest. Everything about Maureen exploded.
"Joanne will be home soon. I'm gunna go back and meet her." She told me, grabbing her coat from the hook. "Tell the boys we'll meet them at Rockefeller Center at 7:30, okay?"
"What, no dinner?" I yelped.
"Joanne and I have special arrangements." She giggled and nudged me.
"Say no more," I stopped her. "7:30." I nodded. She wound her scarf around her neck and tugged on her hat. The pink made her skin glow.
"Thank you Mia. Thank you, thank you, thank you." She turned to leave when we heard a door open and close. A pair of piercing blue eyes met me from the hallway as Mark strolled towards us. He stopped immediately, like a deer in headlights. His face froze, and so did his heart. Maureen smiled slowly, and it took him a moment to return it.
"Hi, Marky." She cooed. He took a deep breath.
"Hi Maureen." That was enough.
Maureen turned to me, sliding open the loft door. "I'm not letting you get away!" She exclaimed, and I watched her disappear down the stairs. The moment she was gone, the loft felt empty. And I knew then why Mark was staring after her with that longing in his eyes.
"Mark…" I started.
"Is this gunna be the type of question I say no to?" He cut me off, rummaging through the drawers for something.
"Not if I have anything to do with it." I said, sounding more convinced then I was. He chuckled as he strolled past me, turning over cushions and clearing off the coffee table.
"What is it?"
"Maureen wants to have us all go ice-skating in Rockefeller Center. And you actually don't really get a choice weather you go or not, so I don't know why I'm asking."
"Thanks for your consideration." He mumbled absent-mindedly, his eyes scanning the room. "Wait, what?"
"Mark, PLEASE?" I begged. I followed right behind him, my hands clasped together. "I never got to ice-skate in Rockefeller Center!" He stopped his searching and looked me in the eyes.
"Yeah, okay." He mumbled. "I really need to move forward with this."
"Thank you." I smiled gratefully, and then my eyes fell down the dark hallway. "I have to go make a visit to Roger."
"Good luck. He's been holed up in there all day."
"Alright quick, what are the chances he says yes?"
"Uhm…slim to none." Mark replied.
I groaned. "You could have lied."
"Coulda." He shrugged.
The hallway seemed longer now.
I knocked timidly. "Yeah?" A bark from the inside.
"Roger. It's me." I murmured into the wood. A painful silence.
"Come in."
I gripped the doorknob reluctantly, like it would burst into flames at my touch. Either that, or Roger would. The door creaked when it opened. Probably because it hadn't been opened too much the past 6 months.
"Roger?" I called for him before I stepped into the room.
"Yeah?" He was seated on his bed and I watched him swiftly shove a yellowed Marble notebook beneath the covers. Like he couldn't take his eyes away sooner to stash it before I came in. He was slumped against the backboard, his disposition so loose and free. It was hard to believe how much really held Roger down.
"I have a proposition." I think he smiled.
"Alright." He offered.
"From Maureen." And then he turned away. "Come on Roger, please? Just hear it out?" I pleaded, slowly crawling onto the bed. His hand fell across the exposed notebook cover. My eyes followed his hands and when I looked up, he was staring back at me. I looked away embarrassed, Roger's glare still settled and unbroken.
"What is it?" He gave in.
"Ice-skating in Rockefeller Center."
"And you thought I'd say yes to this?" He gripped the spine of the book and thrust it beneath a pillow.
"I thought I could persuade you with my charm." He laughed in restricted tones; it had been so long since he'd done it freely, I knew.
"Seriously, though. Maureen and Joanne are going, we're going to get Collins and Angel, and Mark's coming, and me and…you could bring Mimi." He grunted.
"It'll be like last night." I persisted.
"Do I want another last night?" He had hard eyes, but his tone said they lied. His tone said he was really asking. I couldn't answer that one for him.
"Why do you do this?" He whined.
"Do what?"
"This. Put up with me? Beg? Drag me out? Stay patient? What are you waiting for?"
"You know, not everyone has ulterior motives, Roger. Maybe I just care."
"Why would you care? You stumbled on us last night and we roped you into the drama of the Roger/Mark household."
"I need a roof." He smiled when he realized I was kidding. "Mark's running out of patience." I said instead.
"He'll never run out. He's lasted this long."
"I'm giving him a break then." As much as I treasured these conversations I had with Roger, I wasn't up for his heavy words right now. Or my own. The sound of my voice and what came out of my mouth burned my ears, like everything was recycled phrases and naive statements. Like I believed more then he ever would.
"Come on." I grabbed his arm. I could feel the veins in his forearm. "Okay, if you were me, trying to convince the ever-depressed, brooding roommate to go out on Christmas and actually enjoy himself for once with the gorgeous girl from downstairs, what would you say?"
He contemplated this, playfully tapping his chin. "I woulda' given up 14 hours ago."
I scowled. "You're funny when you want to be."
"Like now?"
"No."
He laughed. "Oh, that hurt." He grabbed his chest to show mock injury. "Mark would give up, you know."
"I'm not Mark." He looked to the floor, nodding. He was beginning to see that.
"Alright."
I jumped up in excitement. "My first successful Roger mission!" I pumped my fists in the air like a child. This sure amused him.
"Yeah, tell the press." He mumbled, getting up to stumble to the bathroom. He ran his fingers through his mangy hair with its early-morning tangles. Although it was five in the afternoon.
Once Roger made it to the hallway without turning back, my eyes darted straight to the corner of the composition book peeking out from his sheets. I looked to the hallway again, biting my lip in frustration. My fingertips itched and I inched towards his bed. That's when I heard Mark in the hallway.
"Roger?" He asked in disbelief.
"Surprised to see me facing daylight?"
"It's five o'clock." Mark informed him.
"Baby steps." Roger opened the bathroom door and shut it behind him, leaving Mark in the hall. I looked to the floor, pleased. The notebook became a haunting image in my mind as I turned away.
I was in Roger's doorway, leaning against the doorframe. I smirked at Mark who stood in shock at the bathroom door. He looked back to me, his face with a puzzled expression. He shook his head, pleased with what I'd done.
"Do you ever fail?" I stifled a laugh, looking down into the folds of my crossed arms.
I met Mark's eyes after a moment. "Not yet."
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Author's Note: Alright, what do you all think? I really so much enjoyed this, and the Mia/Collins conversation is probably my favorite thing in the story so far, for some unknown reason. Anyway, I know I should have really finished this, but I'm leaving for an 11-day trip and I wanted to give you all something to review! –smile- So, when I get back, there better be like, 50,000 reviews waiting. Love you all, and thank you for your continuing support !