"Benny? I've been meaning to talk to you about something."
"Go ahead."
Allison twirled the spaghetti around with her fork. "It's kind of stupid. A little embarrassing to ask, really. It's just that my father mentioned some strange withdrawals in your bank account. And since you aren't really around that much, he had his suspicions about your fidelity, and I promised to bring it up. Stupid, huh?"
Benny swallowed—his oral cavity had suddenly been drained. "Does he really think I'd do that?"
Allison looked relieved. "He's just being paranoid. But I knew better. You're so sweet!" She smiled at him.
He mirrored the smile. "Not as sweet as you."
"Oh, and charming too," she giggled.
Her suspicions were soon dropped, to the great relief of Benny, as he flirted and charmed his way through dinner.
0----0
"Mmm…Angel?" He fumbled around his chest. His lover wasn't resting there anymore. Collins sat up, groggily, and rubbed his eyes. "Angeeeeeel?" he yawned. On unstable legs he stomped his way to the bathroom. Only through peripheral vision did he see himself in the mirror, and discern the source of the strange itching of his forehead.
There was something stuck to his brow. He squinted and his brain failed him as he tried to read the note in the mirror. He then mentally smacked himself before pulling the note off. It was stuck to him with a small, neatly rolled, square of tape. He chuckled, easily recognizing Angel's handwriting.
Honey, Mimi called—she says it's important. As much as I'd love to stay here with you, I have to go. I love you
--Angel
That calmed his beating heart. Angel was safe, everything was fine. He was a bit pessimistic now that he thought about it…
Collins stretched his long limbs. His stomach growled and churned. Out of the kitchen cabinet he produced a box of the best cereal in the world—Captain Crunch. So he sat on the couch, propped up his shanks, and pulled out a book and a cereal bowl. Today was going to be great…
…except that he couldn't get through half of the book. The main characters were sick and dying. There were too many parallels with his life—he just couldn't bear to read the ending.
0----0
"Mark?"
"Yeah?"
"Where did I go wrong?"
Mark played the part of the confuzzled Jewish boy. "What do you mean?"
"With her."
"Mimi?"
Roger didn't speak, he just sat in the chair.
"Or April?"
He looked up at Mark. "Honestly? I don't know."
"Then how do you expect me to help?"
"I don't know," he sighed.
It was quiet for a while.
"You know, I can't help unless you talk to me," Mark commented.
Roger stayed silent.
"Fine." Mark knew that Roger wasn't going to talk.
He was right. Roger wasn't planning on saying another word. He wasn't big on talking to begin with—he wasn't going to start spurting his feelings. That too was on his list of Emo-boy flaws.
"So how long do you plan on being mad a Mimi?"
Roger didn't say anything. Mark just gave up now.
But Roger's mind was still churning. His relationship status was pathetic. Almost as pathetic as Mark's.
Roger took a look over at the albino, who seemed to be…cooing to his scarf?
Never mind. Not as pathetic as Mark.
Just pathetic.
0----0
"Maureen! Tell me what's going on!" Joanne was on the verge of tears.
"Later."
"No—now!"
"I just have to do something first."
"What?"
Maureen turned to face her, eyes still a bit puffy. "I'll tell you everything eventually."
"Maureen, I don't want to know everything eventually, I want to know everything now!"
She bowed her head, and shaking fingers swiped at misty eyes. "I'm sorry," she mumbled. "Love you, Pookie." She blew a small kiss in Joanne's general direction, all without looking up, before walking out the door.
Maureen was taking power walking to a new level, tearing through the rungs of people on the streets. Her mind was focused on only one thing, one target. She ignored the strange glances, and the calls of people who happened to know her.
The distraught young woman ran into the building, made a quick dash up the stairs, and frantically pounded on the door of the loft. She knocked and yelled for Mark, who eventually was pounded in the face by Maureen's still pounding fist.
"Oh, Mark!" She threw herself at him, he who clutched his nose, from witch elegant curtains of crimson flowed.
"Maureen? What's your problem?" came a nasally voice. The bloody-nosed pumpkin head was clutching his honker. Maureen marched into the loft and plopped onto the couch. She mumbled something.
"What was that?"
She just sat there, pouting.
Mark was wrapping his nose in tissue paper. Tilting his head upwards toward the accidental skylight, he stumbled his way to the couch.
"What's going on?"
Maureen sighed. She looked over at him, through he couldn't tell, for, contrary to popular belief, Mark has no eyes in his exposed neck.
"I'm pregnant. And it's yours."
Mark's head snapped forward, expelling a shot of bloody…nose goo…from his snout. He hurriedly mopped it up, happy to be keeping busy. That way he didn't have to react to Maureen's news. But she was reacting via more tears then he'd ever seen one person shed. He wanted to reach out to her, he really did, but he couldn't. He just couldn't.
0FIN0
Delicious, eh?
I almost made the stupidest mistake ever with this chapter. In the original draft, in the beginning when Benny and Allison are discussing those withdrawals he made, Allison mentioned a large one on Halloween. When she asked what it was, Benny said that he paid for the funeral of a friend's lover. DUH, ALI! Angel is alive still! smacks self with large objects
Own I do not. If I did, then I could meet Jesse L. Martin, he'd realize how much he loves me, and we'd have a little contact of our own.