There had always been a few things in life that Mark had known that he'd never be cut out for. One was a steady relationship. Another was getting a tan. A third was fatherhood.
And he sat there on the couch, skin burning with a flush, with his pregnant ex-girlfriend.
All he could do was clutch at the frayed ends of his scarf and thank whatever gods that there were that he hadn't left his camera on.
"So?" Maureen sniffed.
Mark was still quiet, eyes tracing the grainy patterns of the dark floorboards.
"Mark, you have to talk. Tell me what you're thinking," she urged.
He raised his eyes to meet hers. "What do you want?"
She stalled. "What?"
"Maureen, what do you want from me?"
"I wanted a little bit of something! Mark—I'm carrying your child! I have a steady girlfriend and a whole new life now! What do you suggest that we do?"
"We?"
"Yes, we!" Maureen articulated, irritated.
"Since when has there ever been a 'we'? It's always been all about you."
Maureen had never heard such an outburst from Mark and it almost flattened her. "I don't know what your problem is, but I'd like you to get over it fast. We have a problem to discuss."
Mark shook his head. "No, Maureen, you have a problem. Go talk it over with Joanne—not me."
"You don't care what happens to your baby?"
Mark didn't look at her.
No emotion, he kept telling himself. No emotion. This wasn't real. None of it was.
Maureen stomped out of the loft, looking more hurt than before.
Mark let the familiar feeling of detached misapprehension wrap around him. He couldn't care—he just couldn't.
It would ruin it all.
0---0
"Collins? Darling, are you here?"
A hug greeted Angel at the door. Her lover had attacked her from behind with a giant embrace and a sloppy kiss. "How are you?"
"Eager, aren't we," she chuckled.
"I just love you so much."
"You're getting sappy," she smiled.
"I just don't like being away from you."
Angel turned to face him. "Then the next three days are going to be a hell for you."
Collins frowned. "Why?"
"I promised Meems that I'd stay with her for a few days."
"Why?"
"Because she asked me too. It's a long story. And I also told her that I'd do something else, or, more accurately, have you do something else."
His eyebrow rose. "Oh?"
"Remember that you love me okay?"
"Okay…."
"And that you'd do anyyything for me."
"Right…."
"And that—"
"Angel! Point please."
"ItoldMimithatyou'dgotalktoRogertogethimoffofherback," Angel blurted. She sighed. "I feel better now that that's off my chest."
"…what was that?"
Angel took a deep breath. "I told Mimi that you'd go talk to Roger to get him off of her back."
"Off her back?"
"About the drugs."
Collins seemed shocked. "Drugs? Is she back on drugs?"
"Not the point. The point, my love, is that Roger can't think that she is."
"So you want me to lie to one of my closest friends?"
"It doesn't have to be a lie—it's all in what you believe."
"But—"
"Thomas, please!" Angel meant business—this she signified by using the 't' word. "I'm going to stay with her to make sure that she isn't. So it won't be a lie."
"I'll see what I can do for her."
"Thank you! I love you so much!" She reached up and pecked his cheek.
"Now how about you see what you can do for me, eh?"
Angel chuckled. "I think we both already know exactly what I can do for you."
0---0
Mimi was pacing erratically, as if trying to engrave some strange code into the wood of the floor. Her tongue clicked in her mouth—an old impatient habit. The quicker that Angel got back, the faster that she could set her plan in motion. Too bad she'd been gone for a few hours now. Mimi had three days to convince Roger that she was off the drugs (whether or not this was true) and that she wasn't going to run out with Mr. So-and-so from wherever and declare her everlasting love for him. She was here to stay as long as Roger wanted her—and in three days time she had to convince him that that was forever.
She began to skip around the tiny, cluttered, comfy apartment. Granted, she didn't feel as sexy in a tee shirt and jeans as in her uniform, but a new routine for the Catscratch always put a rise in her mood and paycheck. She was really pulling out the stops for this one, until her downstairs neighbor had to come up, complaining about the paint chips falling from the ceiling. Now normally Mimi wouldn't care, nor would she stop, but her relationship with Benny couldn't even be a friendship anymore—there was no more getting out of eviction after the neighbors called the cops at two in the morning because she was being a 'menace to society'. 'You know who's a real menace to society?' she always wanted to ask. 'People who bang on their neighbors doors at two in the morning because they're too uptight to appreciate that some people have fun!'
But, of course, she'd never said that. Unless you count that one time, but the old lady was deaf so it didn't really matter. Which brings back the question that haunted Mimi for months—how did the lady hear her in the first place?
Before anymore thought could be put into this bizarre question, Mimi's new drug counselor bursts through the door, bring clothes, accessories, and, most importantly, savior through the form of Collins.
Mimi squealed and waltzed up to them. "He agreed?" she asked Angel. Angel nodded.
Mimi let out another squeak and attacked Collins' neck. "You agreed! Thank you so much!" She planted a kiss in the middle of his forehead. "You are the Patron Saint of my love life."
He smiled that smile that made you want to melt. "Glad to oblige."
0---0
Joanne knew. She knew exactly what was happening. The tears, the hysteria, the running off in the direction of Avenue B—she couldn't believe that it took so long. Maureen's infidelity disease struck again—and this time Cupid aimed his arrow at the pale ass of the only person that Joanne had thought that she could trust. She wouldn't make a mistake like that again.
Maureen had always been flirty with Mark—it bothered Joanne, but she didn't make a big deal about it because she knew that Mark would never return the affection, she knew that he understood. Or, really, thought is a better word then knew. Because he had finally returned the affection, and he obviously didn't understand—or didn't care enough to mask his jealousy.
Not that Maureen had actually told her about this…it was more of an educated guess.
Rash—maybe.
Hasty—sure.
Preemptive—why not?
Wrong—yeah right.
Maureen's blown kiss, her 'love you, Pookie', her tears—a ploy. A fabricated attempt, and an awfully good one, at making Joanne think that she was upset about the affair. But that was Maureen. She was a performer who manipulated herself and others around her to get what she wanted. She was under this impression, this fabrication that the whole world would bend over backwards to do what she wanted.
Well Joanne couldn't bend anymore. She was through with the back aches and the drama. She stood up straight, piling boxes on the bed—all with 'Ze stuff a Maureen' scrawled across—the boxes that she moved in with. Let her take it all back to Mark, back to their loft, back to their life where everything was perfect and no one stood up for themselves.
0----0
This sucked. Baaaaaaaaad. For this I apologize—but I wanted to get something to you fine people, who definitely do not suck.
But don't worry—the plots is starting come out! But I'm trying not to do them all at once—that's a lot of plot.
Alas, I might not be posting as much. See, I got my Interim Report Card and my grades are slipping badly. I have decided (to my unfortunate, heartbreaking, miserable surprise) that the reason for this is that I am always writing in class instead of paying attention.
So I've decided that I, Ali—Master Of All Things Having To Do With Hiding A Fanfiction Notebook In Class—must put away the notebook for now and pay attention. It makes my eyes moisten just thinking about it.
But don't fret—I won't let this die.
Love always,
Your suckish author,
—Ali