Chapter 5

It was the beginning 12th grade, and Roger and I sat in his car. He had bought it just after Christmas break, of grade eleven, and we now spent almost every moment in it. "This is the car that's going to take me to New York City." Roger said, one unusually hot September night.

"Roger, this car can barely get us to school. It breaks down every other day." I told him, "It will never get you to New York."

"Shh, don't make fun of her."

"Her?" I questioned.

"Well, obviously my car's not a dude." Roger replied matter-of-factly. We sat listening to the radio as a new song came on, or at least I thought it was new. Roger sang along to every single word, and in my opinion he had a better voice then the guy on the radio.

"Roger, if anyone can make it in New York, it will be you."

"Ha. I told you so." Roger grinned, then looked at the radio clock, "Mark...it's 7:15."

"Fuck." I replied, knowing that since I was already 15 minutes late, I would never make it to dinner without being punished, "You know what Roger?"

"What?" he asked.

"I don't care."

Roger looked at me incredulously and said, "I'm taking you home," he turned the key in the ignition and sped out of the deserted parking lot of the arcade. I gripped the seat tightly, Roger was not what I called a safe driver. Roger pulled haphazardly into my driveway, and I clambered out of the car, scared now that I saw the lights in the dining room shining through the front window. It was now 7:30. "Crap, crap, crap." I muttered as I waved to Roger, who sped down the street, narrowly avoiding the mailbox on the corner.

I rushed in, as quickly and quietly as I could. I tried to sneak into the kitchen, but my father's eyes snapped up as soon as he saw me, "Where have you been?" he demanded.

"I'm sorry, I was out with Roger, his car ran out of gas," I lied quickly.

"You should have called."

"I couldn't!" I shouted, immediately regretting the choice, but already angry enough to continue, "There are no phone lines in the middle of the road."

"Then you should have called at the gas station."

"I didn't go to the gas station! Roger did, he's faster then I am, and someone had to wait in the car!"

"I don't like this story of yours. It seems to easy, like you're lying to me," my father paused to take a large gulp of his drink – scotch tonight – then he said, "If there's one thing I hate worse then tardiness, it's dishonesty!" his fist shook and scotch dribbled onto his shirt from the glass in his hand, "Now look what you've made me do!" and I ducked his first swing, knowing that it would be worse the longer I avoided it.

I was in a reckless mood tonight. Roger talking about New York, and it being about a year away, I didn't know what to do. I think that I had a little bit of Roger in me that night, daring me to do and say things that normally I would never say or do. I dodged the second and third swing as well, adrenaline pumping through my veins, and aiding my normally klutzy reflexes.

"Stand still!" my father ordered, and I froze, mostly to save myself. My father poured the rest of his scotch – not much – down the back of my shirt, and then smashed the glass against the side of my face, where it shattered, it had been much abused tonight. I felt the blood trickle into the corner of my mouth from a gash on my cheek. I stood tall still, I didn't want my father to win easily. He wouldn't stop until he knocked me off my feet, and to do that he kicked me in the shins, and while my knees buckled I struggled to stay standing. "You will obey." my father stated as his thick hand crushed against the back of my neck forcing me to my knees. "Listen, Mark," my father whispered, which was even scarier then when he shouted, "You will do as I say. You will be on time for dinner from now on, do you understand?"

"Yes sir."

"You will not lie, do you understand?"

"Yes sir."

"And you will no longer continue to hang out, or whatever it is you call it, with your so call friend Roger, do you understand?"

This time it took me a bit longer to answer. My father's hand whipped backwards across my face, "Do you understand?"

"Yes sir." I whimpered, tears coming to my eyes at the pain, but also at the order.

Roger wasn't to worried when Mark didn't stop by his house for the ride to school in the morning. After all, Roger had known Mark long enough to figure out what happened when Mark was late for dinner. He didn't like it, but there was nothing he could do about it. Roger was sure he would see Mark at lunch anyway.

When Roger didn't see Mark at lunch, that was when he became concerned. The two were outcasts in high school, and though Roger hated to admit, eating your lunch completely alone was not only uncool, it was downright embarrassing. Mark's absence was also a mystery, Mark never missed school.

Mark was huddled outside, though the day was again, unusually warm for September. His glasses sat awkwardly on his swollen face, and the cut still sported some dried blood, but Mark could care less. His main goal today was to avoid Roger. It was inevitable of course that they meet, as they had the same gym class at the end of the day, but so far, Roger had been avoided for half the day. Mark was putting off telling his best friend that they could not longer be friends. He wasn't going to tell Roger the truth, Mark decided, it would get him into more trouble.

Roger sat in the bathroom, tempted to light up a cigarette, though he knew he would get in trouble, he leaned against the wall underneath the window, facing obviously the opposite way of the urinals, and pondered about Mark some more. At any rate, Roger was sure to see him in gym, in fact, Roger planned to corner him in the changing room and make him talk.

I was fearful as I slipped quickly into my gym shorts and Scarsdale High ratty grey t-shirt. Roger was sure to be around, no sooner than I thought that, I spun around and found myself face to face with Roger. "Where have you been?" Roger asked harshly, then he took a better look at me, and saw the cuts and bruises, "Mark, Mark, you should tell someone."

I shook my head, and suddenly every lie that I had prepared was forgot and the truth came tumbling out. "My father forbids me from seeing you ever again Roger."

"What the fuck?" Roger said, "He can't do that!"

"But... he can," I state simply, waving a hand and my mashed up face, and then pointing to the huge bluish-purplish-blackish bruise on my shin. "He already did."

"Mark, listen to me," Roger lowered his voice so no one could over hear us, though that was unlikely in the overcrowded, extremely noisy boys changing room. I nodded to Roger once, to let him know I was listening, "Is your..." Roger changed what he was going to say a second too late, "Is he going to keep doing this to you whether I see you or not?"

"Yes." I answered honestly, locking my blue eyes with Roger's green ones.

"Then we'll still see each other," Roger said, then he laughed, "I feel like I just broke up with you and told you we could still be friends."

Even I cracked a grin, though the movement hurt. "I can't do whatever sort of torture the coach has planned for us today, Roger, I need an excuse."

Roger took another look at me, and said, "You were helping your neighbour fix a shelf in the garage, when you dropped the board you were holding...no wait, the cut, let me see... you were baby-sitting for the neighbours toddler, when the toddler stumbled and nearly hit a wooden coffee table, you threw yourself down, scratching your cheek on the corner, but preventing the little runt from getting a concussion. Though the same, unfortunately cannot be the said for you. It's heroic and covers up any suspicion, and you're klutzy enough that that teacher will believe anything you say."

"True.... thanks."

"Don't mention it." Roger replied, and he went to thump me on the back, then though better, and reached for a nuggie, stopping when I squealed in pain. "You sure you really don't have a concussion Mark?"

"No. But there's not much I can do about it, is there?"

"You could-"

"No."

"Okay."

A/N: so this is just to let everyone know, I think that the Roger before heroin was slightly more overprotective. Because Roger after withdrawal is still protective of Mark, this is young Roger too, and maybe he's slightly more happy? That's the wrong word, naive, I suppose, thinking that Mark can't take care of himself. Which, he can't, but he doesn't need to know that now does he? I hope that explains what I find to be Roger slight OOCness. I already have the beginning of the next chapter, so it should be up soon. Tomorrow? Maybe if you're lucky.