Disclaimer: Rent was created by Jonathan Larson. Someone else now has the rights to it; I'm not sure who, but not me. I'm only having a bit of fun. Please don't sue me... pretty please?
The next day Mark avoided bringing up anything Roger had told him the night before. As they had planned, they did get to the library and borrowed videos. Roger chose Thelma and Louise after all, and Mark Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf. All too soon they were on their way to Mark's parents' house for dinner. "Are you sure you're ready for this?" asked Mark. His tone was light.
"I'm sure." After all, Roger hadn't seen the Cohens in years--though he remembered once, when he was ten. He and Sasha had spent the majority of their time hidden away upstairs, mocking Mrs. Cohen's insistence on using Sasha's first name-- Ruth-- and their uptight son. Roger realized now that he had been mocking Mark. Still... Mark had just graduated and his parents had been very, very proud.
But surely they wouldn't remember Roger from that. He had been seven years old.
"Mom can be a little hard to handle. Remember your back story. You're the son of a colleague who's in Africa with Doctors Without Borders." He pulled into the driveway. "We're here. Last chance to bail."
Roger nodded. "If anything goes wrong, I'll just start crying and say I miss my daddy," he said.
"Good plan." He got out of the car and walked up the flagstone walk. Roger was a couple of steps behind him. Mark rang the bell and waited.
The door opened and Mrs. Cohen ushered them inside. "Come on in. Marky! It's good to see you again. You look well. Looks like someone is finally feeding you properly. And you must be Roger! That pie looks delicious. I'm sure Marky has told you about my failures in the pie department. Anyway, let's go into the dining room and Mark you need to say hello to your father." She led the way and Mark fell behind her.
"I told you she comes on strong," he whispered to Roger.
"You weren't kidding!" Roger whispered in response. But things didn't look too bad. It was only Mark's parents, after all. In the dining room, he asked Mark, "Where should I sit?"
Mark looked down at the table. There were only four place settings, so Cindy probably wouldn't be coming. She and her husband took turns accepting family dinner invitations. Like the Cohens, Cindy's in-laws liked to keep constant contact with their son, so now it meant that she had to divide her time. Although she had admitted freely to Mark that dinner at the Weinstein home was far less traumatic. "Sit across from me. Cindy's not coming tonight, judging by the number of plates." As an afterthought he said, "That's my sister."
Roger nodded. "I kn-- okay," he said. He didn't like the idea of being parted from Mark, but he sat where he had been instructed to. Mark's parents clearly had a lot of money, but that wasn't something that made Roger uncomfortable. After all, his parents also had a lot of money. He was used to it.
Mark's father joined them at the table. Being married to Sarah, he didn't often get a chance to get a word in, so he figured he'd talk to the newcomer while she wasn't talking a blue streak.
"Hello, Roger. I'm Abram Cohen. I hear you're staying with my son, but he didn't mention the reason."
Roger shook Mr. Cohen's hand. "My dad works with Mark. He's doing Doctors Without Borders in Africa, and Mark was generous enough to let me stay with him." That was perfect, Roger decided: polite, a little asskissy...
"Wonderful organization that is. Maybe Mark will some day volunteer for it... see a bit of the world before you settle down and have a family, right, Mark?"
Mark just nodded politely. He did want to see the world and help people, but he had no comment about the settling down part.
Abram turned his attention back to Roger. "If you don't mind my asking, why aren't you staying with your mother?"
"My mother's dead," Roger answered. At least that avoided any further questions. Luckily Roger had a quick mind--he didn't know it, but he did.
"Ah, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to open old wounds. Do you like staying with my son? I expect it's different from what you're used to."
"It's very nice. Mark has been very understanding and I've made myself as useful as possible. I think it's working okay. Right, Mark?"
Mark smiled. "He's been very helpful. Roger's a great cook. He baked the pie we brought for dessert. Until yesterday I hadn't even heard of converted milk...no... CONDENSED milk." He grinned.
Sarah Cohen walked into the dining room, carrying a roast. She set it in front of Abram and took her seat at the foot of the table. Other covered dishes were already on the table. "If you can teach my Marky a cooking term, you're a miracle worker, Roger. Abram, will you bless the food?"
Roger grinned at Mark's condensed milk remark, then sat quietly, surprised at how comfortable the Hebrew made him feel. He hadn't heard the blessing in some time, and it was even more familiar than Rabbi Himmelfarb's bland interpretations of the Tanakh.
After everyone had been served, Sarah Cohen decided to get to know her new guest a little better. "So, Roger, where do you go to school?"
Roger opened his mouth, then shut it. He couldn't even remember the name of his high school. "I... well..." He looked to Mark. "Would you excuse me? I need to use the bathroom." He left the table as politely as possible. Roger knew where the bathroom was from his last visit, even if it had been seven years ago.
"Third door to the left at the top of the stairs," Mark called after him. Mark cursed inwardly. Of course they would ask about school. That's what parents do. He thought quickly. He couldn't remember the name of the new schools that had replaced his own so he said the first thing that popped into his head. "Roger's been home-schooled since his freshman year. I think that was around the time his mother passed away. He doesn't talk about it all that much."
"Oh, the poor dear!" exclaimed Mrs. Cohen.
They ate in silence for several minutes. Mark checked his watch and then realized that Roger had been gone for quite some time. "Excuse me, I better go make sure Roger's okay." Mark got up from the table, went upstairs and knocked on the bathroom door.
Roger opened it, not surprised that Mark had come after him. "I'm sorry," he said. He sighed. "I thought I was ready for anything, but..." but that question was just not one he could handle. The truth Roger struggled not to admit was that he had loved school, and he missed school.
"I've covered it. I told them you were home schooled since your mother's death in your freshman year. Be prepared for some hovering by my mother. If they ask, tell them I'm helping you out with math and biology and that you have correspondence courses for the other subjects. I think that's how it works. One of my boyfriends in college did that after he came out his junior year and the harassment got too bad."
Roger nodded. "Thanks, Mark," he said, relaxed quite a bit. "I'm sorry I ran out like that."
"That's ok. I forgot what they'd be like around a seventeen-year-old. Next they're going to ask you if you have a girlfriend," he grinned. "I suppose we should go downstairs again."
"All right." Roger headed back downstairs with Mark and sat at the table. "I'm sorry about that," he told the Cohens.
"That's alright, dear," said Sarah. "Mark told us you're home schooled. How is that going?"
"Oh... great. It's really nice to go at my own pace. And Mark's been helping me out with biology and math," he added, remembering what Mark had told him to say.
"That's wonderful, dear. What's your favorite subject?" asked Sarah.
"English," Roger answered easily. He always had been and, as far as he was concerned, always would be an English nerd. Well, not "nerd", he was too far behind to be a nerd, but... well, he loved English.
Abram chucked. "Mark always hated English. He did alright in it, but always preferred Math and Science."
"That's because there's only one right answer in those subjects," Mark said. "In English, you could say anything at all. There's no clear line between right and wrong."
"But everything is right in English," Roger said, "as long as you can defend it." He blushed, realizing what he'd said. He hadn't meant to contradict Mark like that... but he was wrong! Well not wrong, Roger reminded himself, just... misinformed.
"Defending it drove me crazy because there was no need to in the sciences. It always took me a while to form my arguments. Sciences were so much easier because the proof was right in front of you. In college, I had to take the mandatory English classes and I used to drive my professors nuts because I'd try to prove that such and such a thing in a book was indeed plausible. I borrowed theorems from some of my friends' physics books and then the profs would give me good marks rather than admit they didn't understand my papers." He laughed. "And for poetry I just said everything was a metaphor for death. My professors were relieved when I finished their classes, I bet."
Roger smiled weakly. "Uh... is everyone finished eating? I'll clear the table." He picked up his plate and reached for Mark's. At least getting into the kitchen would give him a quick reprieve from the fear of doing or saying something completely wrong. He was glad this dinner was ending. It had been fairly stressful for him
Sarah smiled but motioned for him to sit down. "That's not necessary, Roger. I don't mind clearing the table. Tell me more about yourself. Do you have a girlfriend?"
"No-- it's, it's difficult to meet anyone when you're homeschooled," Roger said. That sounded like a good excuse.
Mark nodded at the excuse but instantly became suspicious when his mother's eyes lit up in delight. Uh oh, he thought. What is she up to now?
"I'm sorry to spring this on you last minute, boys, but I invited some people over for dessert. I had thought they couldn't make it, but it turned out their plans fell through. They have a daughter your age, Roger. Maybe this will be a good opportunity to meet a special young lady. Now Mark, they know that you're a doctor, but please don't mention the hospital, dear. What with all that family went through last year, and that's after their son just disappeared." She continued to gather the plates.
"Wh-what family?" Roger asked, nervous. Surely he was just being paranoid--plenty of sons ran away. Plenty of families had illness. Plenty of families had teenage daughters. That didn't mean it was his family. It couldn't be.
"Why the Feinbergs, dear. Lovely family, we've been friends with them for years. We belong to the same temple. And I'm sure you'll get along well with their daughter Ruth, although for some reason she wants to be called Sasha now..." Mrs. Cohen took a moment to bring the dirty dishes into the kitchen. When she came back, she had a much larger stack of dessert plates.
"Uh, I can't, Mrs. Cohen that was really, really nice of you," Roger said, not wanting to sound rude. He swallowed a remark that Sasha was her middle name and Ruth was just plain outdated and who named their daughter Ruth these days, anyway. "But, there's no way I can date Sasha Feinberg."
"Oh, do you know them?" asked Abram.
Mark watched this exchange and noted with alarm how uncomfortable Roger appeared. Ever since the mention of a family and unpleasant business last year, he had grown paler and more agitated. He thought for a moment and put the clues together. One of the attempted suicides in the hospital last year was named Ruth Feinberg. He mentally calculated a few dates. Three years ago, the Feinberg's son had disappeared. Roger said he hadn't seen his family for three years. Roger would be about the same age as Josh Feinberg. It all fit into place. He was right. There was no way he could date Sasha Feinberg.
Before Roger could answer, Mark go to his feet. "Roger, I think I forgot something in the car. Would you come with me to check?"
"Sure," Roger answered, not sure what Mark had forgotten. They had brought in the pie... what else was there? Or was that a lie? Maybe it was a lie. That made sense. Should Roger have been a bit more willing to play Mrs. Cohen's games? He hadn't meant to be rude...
Roger followed Mark outside, unable to calm his nerves.
Mark opened the car door and took a couple of CDs from the glove compartment. "There, now it isn't a complete lie." He straightened up and faced Roger. "I probably should have figured it out last night, but it didn't hit me until Mom said something about the Feinberg family and their problems last year. You're right, there's no way you can date Sasha. She's your twin, isn't she?"
Roger's throat constricted far beyond comfort at the mention. He was glad Mark couldn't see just how terrified he was. As good as it might possibly be to be, well, himself, the idea of being caught worried him. This was the worst thing he had done since moving in with Mark, and if Mark found out he would be so pissed. And Roger didn't want to know what happened when Mark got angry.
"There's no way I can date Sasha because I'm supposed to be dating you," he said. It wasn't a lie.
"That's right, you're my boyfriend, no one else's!" he grinned. "Not that my mother would understand that one. I bet we could make out on the dining room rug and she still would pretend not to notice." Then he realized that the Feinbergs were probably on their way and the situation would become more and more awkward. He decided to ask straight out. "Roger, tell me the truth, is your real name Josh Feinberg?"
He lowered his head. "Joshua, actually," he said softly. What was he going to do?! He couldn't face his family after this-- and not here!
Mark enveloped Roger in a hug. "It'll be alright in the end. We're going to have to go back inside. I don't know if we can escape before they get here or not. You may have to see them. It's really hard to get away from my mother's dinners. I once had appendicitis and she wouldn't let my father take me to the hospital until after dessert. Remember, I'm here for you." He released Roger and held his hand, then chuckled lightly. "I know it's not that important, but you have to admit it's funny that Mom tried to set you up with your own sister."
Roger was surprised that he laughed. Actually he laughed really, really hard, because after everything it did seem funny. He was so tense his laughter was just... he couldn't stop. "Thank you for not being angry," he said, once he had stopped laughing.
Mark just shook his head. "There's nothing to be angry about. In some ways it makes a lot of sense. Now, do you want me to call you Roger or Joshua?"
"Roger, I guess. Were you there when me and Sasha were born?" he asked, unable to keep back his curiosity. They'd been born mutated, their hands grown together, and the stories Roger had heard always fascinated him--probably because of his own ego but so what. Then it occurred to him-- "Probably not. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insinuate..."
Mark laughed. "I'm not THAT old," he teased. But then he realized something. "Actually, I may have been. I volunteered at the hospital when I was in high school. That kind of thing really looks good on college applications, and it was a good way to see if I was cut out for medicine. Anyway, on of my duties was to bring ice chips to the women in labor. I do remember bringing some to a lady having twins. Did your mother have a Caesarian?"
"Yes," Roger admitted, although if that was the most fascinating thing about the birth it probably wasn't his. "But I doubt it was me unless you skipped a few grades." Or Mark was much older than he thought.
"I did skip third grade," he grinned. "And I was only 14 at the time. The doctor showed me the babies after they were in the nursery and told me to remember it because it may not ever happen again. They came out together, looking like they were holding hands. Their skin had kind of grown like that. The doctor told me that true conjoined twins were from the same egg, but these two couldn't be, since they were a boy and a girl. I remember thinking that they were lucky, to be together from the beginning and never have to worry about being alone." He smiled at the memory. "Was that you and your sister?"
"Yeah," Roger said. He couldn't be sure, but it wasn't too likely another set of twins had been born in just that way. "I mean, probably. I still have the scars from the operation." He paused as he heard a car on the street. "Mark... I can't do this."
Mark thought a moment. "Get in the car. I'll try to convince mom you've got a migraine or something."
"Thank you." Roger hugged him tightly, then got in the passenger seat.
Mark slipped into the house and told his mother that Roger wasn't feeling well. He added a couple of white lies to make the story more convincing to his mother, stating that he was prone to migraines and he needed medication so they wouldn't get too bad. Luckily, his mother fell for it and sent him back out with two pieces of pie wrapped up for later.
Roger watched the street warily. Things happened with him and Sasha, and he was sure that she would know if he was there. He just hoped Mrs. Cohen believed Mark-- and felt awful for making him do that, putting him in that situation.
Mark entered the car and started it up. "She bought it. You suffer from allergy-related migraines and need pills to get them under control. Next time I'll bring some aspirin in a prescription bottle for you." He drove around the corner just as another car approached the Cohen's driveway. "You know, one day you may have to face them."
"I know. Some day, I want to-- but not like this. Not... I'm sorry, Mark, but not in front of strangers. And I need to be ready. It's not fair, though, is it?" he asked. His parents probably wanted to see him. "I... I thought maybe... I could talk to just one person first, just... not everyone at once..."
Mark nodded. "I suppose it would be overwhelming. You're probably not the same person you were when you left. They'd expect you to pick up where you left off, too, and that would almost be impossible." He drove a bit further. "Who would you want to talk to first?"
"I'm not sure," Roger admitted. He supposed his father would be the most difficult to speak to, the most disappointed. It was Sasha he missed the most. He feared her the most, too, because she might not forgive him. But it wouldn't be fair to anyone to pick just one person. "My brother, maybe."
"When you're ready, I could contact him for you. No pressure though."
"What can I say? I miss my family." He hugged his knees around the seatbelt. "But they should hate me."
"I doubt they'd hate you. They'd probably be relieved to see you again. If I remember correctly, they think you were kidnapped and are still looking for you."
Roger shook his head. "They knew I was living with R-- with my boyfriend."
Mark took Roger's hand in his as he continued to drive. "How old is he? About my age?"
"Yeah. Give or take," Roger admitted. He'd never been totally sure how old, just a lot older than him.
"Did he let you call them or talk to them after you moved in with him?"
"He... he never... it's not as though he said I couldn't..."
"Did they know his last name? Did you stay in the same place the whole time?"
"No... yes." Roger didn't know where Mark was going with this line of questioning, but he didn't argue.
"Well think of it this way. You were still pretty young and then got involved with a guy about twice your age. Your parents didn't know much about him, not even his last name. Then you disappear, don't call and they don't hear from you for a long time. They don't know enough about this guy to track you down. They probably thought he had taken you away."
"Oh, God." Roger hid his face in his hands and whimpered. He was a horrible, horrible person. What he had done to his family was... awful. How could they want him back now? They should disown him. They should hate him. "Oh, God. I just... I just want to tell them I'm sorry," he said. He fought back tears.
Mark didn't mean to make Roger so upset and felt bad for making him feel so guilty. Luckily they had arrived at Mark's house, so Mark could comfort Roger. He helped him out of the car and brought him into the house. "Roger, I'm sure they don't blame you. Even if you did go willingly, you were only fourteen. They'll want to see you."
He shook his head. "I can't, I can't go back. I can't put them through it." But at the same time, his hands itched for the telephone. "Maybe... maybe I could... call them. I know they're out. I'll just leave a message and they'll know I'm okay, right?"
Mark wrapped his arms around Roger to steady him. "You don't have to go back and live with them. You're always welcome with me." He hugged him tighter. "I think it would be great if you called them. They would appreciate knowing you're safe." Mark leaned over and picked up the cordless phone and handed it to Roger.
Roger punched in the number. He waited while the phone rang, expecting the answering machine. Maybe it would be someone else's answering machine. Maybe his family had moved. After three rings, though, someone answered. "Hello?"
"Hello..." Roger didn't know what to say. He hadn't been counting on actually speaking to anyone. His throat constricted dryly. Why was anyone home? They were supposed to be at the Cohens'... "Adam?" Roger asked softly. "Is that you?"
"Yes. Who's this?"
"Um." Roger licked his suddenly reluctant lips. Nobody... "It's Josh."
"What?" Roger's brother demanded. "Who are?" he spat. "What's your problem? That's not funny! Fuck you, 'cause I'm calling the fucking cops!"
"No!" Roger cried. "Don't! No, it's really me. It's Josh. You know, your brother? The mutant?"
All he heard for a moment was breathing and incoherent mumbling. Then, "Josh? Really?"
He nodded. "Yeah. Oh, fuck." He was crying. He wiped his eyes on his shirt.
"Hey. Don't talk like that, you're four-- you're seventeen."
"I know. H-how is everyone? How are you?"
"Okay, I guess. How are you? When can we see you again? W-where are you? Do you need me to come get you?"
"I'm fine. I'm safe. I'm... I miss you..." Roger murmured, and his voice broke. He covered the receiver. "Can I tell him where I am?" he asked Mark.
Mark smiled. "Of course. You can give them the number if you want, too."
"Okay, you know the Cohens' son? Well, I'm staying with him."
Adam's response was basically the longest stream of obscenities Roger had ever heard. "Well I wasn't!" he cried when he finally got a word in. "I used to stay with someone else! Mark's really nice."
"He's forty!"
Roger sighed. "He's thirty and we're not doing it. Listen, can I meet you somewhere sometime? Please? Just you."
"How can you say that? What about Mom and Dad?"
"Tell them I'm okay? Please. I... I can't yet, Adam. I can't make this up to them."
"Make it up-- they just want to know their son is okay! I'm telling them where you are. They deserve to know."
"No!" Roger yelped. "Please. Just... you can tell them I'm okay. Please, I'm not ready yet."
"I'm telling them. It's not fair not to."
"Adam--"
"Joshua, no! Stop being such an asshole."
Roger sighed. He was beat, and he knew it. "Please tell them that it wasn't him three years ago."
"Is he there? I want to talk to him."
Roger turned to Mark and held out the phone. "He wants to talk to you."
Mark took the phone tentatively. "Hello?"
"Mark Cohen?"
"Yes, this is he. You're Roger's... I mean Joshua's brother?"
"Yes. How long has he been living with you? And why didn't it ever occur to you that his family just might want to know where he's been?"
"He's only been here for about a week. I didn't even realize he was your brother until today. I finally got enough clues to figure out who he was and then put it all together. And I did let him know that you would want to talk to you. I encouraged it."
"Are you sleeping with him?"
Roger overheard the question and blushed. His brother had never beat around the bush--this was the boy who called him a mutant when he was young and gave him Indian burns. Still...
"Sleeping with him as in sharing a bed. We haven't had sexual relations and I've made it clear to Roger that I won't do anything unless he initiates it. And even then, only if he is certain he wants it."
"If you hurt him I'll kill you."
Roger's widened. "He doesn't mean that."
"Yes. I. do."
Mark had to smile. He felt the same way about any boy who had taken out his sister. "I promise I will my best to make sure he's happy. I won't hurt him. He's been hurt enough."
"All right. Good. I should go, but I'm going to be in touch. Good night."
"Alright. I'll expect you to call." He gave Adam his number. "Look, he's been through a lot recently. I don't think it will be good for his state of mind if we force him back home."
"What do you mean? What's going on, what happened?"
Mark looked over at Roger and realized he didn't want to get into that in front of him. Roger already felt guilty enough and reminding him of the past horrors wouldn't help him at this time. He would have to face his demons eventually, but this was not the time. He turned his head, covered the mouthpiece and said softly, "I can't really discuss that right now. Perhaps we could talk at my office in the morning."
"All right. All right, that's fine. I'll see you in the morning, then."
"Very well. My appointments start at 9:30 so if you're there around 8:30, we'll have plenty of time to talk."
"All right."
Someone called Adam's name. "Just a minute, Mom!" To Mark, he said, "Unless he's ready to talk to our parents, we should hang up. I'll talk to you tomorrow."
Mark raised his eyebrows at Roger. When he shook his head Mark turned back to the phone. "He isn't. See you tomorrow." And with that he hung up.
Roger sighed. He felt worn through. "Bed?" he suggested.
Mark nodded. "Yes. I'm tired and I have an early start tomorrow." He led Roger to their room.
"Mark," Roger asked as he unbuttoned his shirt, "do you want the details? In case my brother wants to know... anything? In case you do?"
Mark also undressed. "Yes. Adam will probably ask a lot of questions. I'd like to be able to tell him something beyond what I speculate." He stripped down to his boxers and climbed into bed, motioning for Roger to join him.
Roger quickly pulled off his jeans and laid down beside Mark. "What would you like to know?"
Mark wrapped his arms around Roger to give him some security. He knew this was going to be hard, so he wanted Roger to feel as safe as possible. "Perhaps you should start from the beginning. You told me about your first kiss. When did you decide to move out?"
Roger winced. "After I lost my virginity," he said. "I... I had spent a couple days with Ro-- with my boyfriend, and when I got home my parents were furious. My dad told me if I wanted to behave like that I couldn't live under his roof. I was already upset. We had a fight and I walked out."
"So you moved in with him. How did he react? Did he like having you there?"
"He said he loved me and he would always protect me. We... adjusted."
"Adjusted?"
"Well... that summer I was home every day and he went to work... I wasn't bringing in any money, so I started helping out more. Keeping the place clean, cooking, you know... stuff."
Mark considered this. "Did he resent that you didn't bring in money?"
"I don't think so. He made money, he... he really disliked someone he worked with, but other than that... money wasn't an issue. But he was giving me food and shelter."
"So you did chores to pay him back," Mark finished. "Did he ask for anything else in return?"
"No. I did other things for him because I was his boyfriend."
Mark thought back to their previous conversations. "When did the rules start?"
"Earlier on there were a lot more of them," he admitted.
"What other rules did he have?"
"Well... you have to understand that... it was when... it was at the beginning of things and I was... he wanted to... you know... and it hurt so I was, you know, I was adjusting, and there were rules that, you know, helped."
Mark had a vague idea of what he meant, but knew he needed more detail. "What kind of rules? I need to know specifics." As an afterthought, he added, "I won't have to tell Adam, but I need a better idea."
"Well, there was the rule about not having an orgasm without him. That makes sense because if I was horny I'd like it more. Things like that." It wasn't distrust, but some of the more intimate details embarrassed Roger.
"Did he ever make you...you know... when you didn't want to? Or did he hurt you purposefully during it?" For some reason Mark couldn't bring himself to say sex.
Roger shrugged. "It hurt the first time," he admitted, "but doesn't it for everybody?"
Mark nodded. "Well, for almost everybody. No, I meant did he take pleasure in causing you pain or anything like that?"
"Well... not... not really," Roger said. "I mean, he liked kinky stuff but doesn't everybody?"
"No, not everyone likes that," Mark said slowly. "What do you mean by kinky stuff?"
"Just whipping and deprivation. Normal stuff!"
Mark couldn't help but cringe. The idea of someone causing pain to Roger made him angry. Those weren't normal practices. "Roger, making you hurt isn't normal."
"But... but it was just... I mean..." He whimpered. "It can't've been wrong," he whispered.
Mark calmly held Roger. "What did he use, when he whipped you?" he asked softly.
"A crop or a wooden spoon. Depends on where we were."
"Did he stop if told him to? Did you have a safe word or something?"
"Well... no," Roger admitted, "but I wasn't supposed to tell him to stop."
Mark reached over and turned Roger towards him. "Roger, you always have the right to tell someone to stop. It's rape if they don't."
"Well... I... I kind of said 'yes' when I moved in," Roger argued weakly. He couldn't stand the idea of it being rape. That was a very sad thing that happened to victims. He wasn't a victim.
"Did he make you feel obligated, then?"
"W-w... he... he said that it was only right and, and he was my boyfriend. I wanted to make him happy!"
"I know you did. He just didn't tell you that you had a say in it." Mark knew it would be a long time before Roger accepted that what he had been through was wrong. He hadn't known any different. Mark decided to let it pass for now. "When did he start hurting you physically?" He paused a moment. "I saw some older breaks on the X rays."
Roger sighed. He knew this part made him seem like a total fool. "Before I moved in, he slapped me once," he admitted.
"And once you moved in?" Mark prompted.
"It got a little worse," he admitted. "He just... had bad spells. He had a problem."
"Before you came to me, did you ever have to see a doctor for something he did?"
Roger shook his head. "It hurt a lot sometimes, but he took good care of me."
Mark frowned, but decided to ask something to clarify matters. "When you were young, did you break many bones?"
"No, never. I fought pretty rough with my siblings but the worst was a dislocated shoulder when I was seven."
The only explanation for what he had seen on the X-rays was that Roger's boyfriend had actually broken bones and not treated them. He must have been in so much pain. "Roger, I saw breaks on the X-rays. At least two of them. Did he bring you to the hospital or anything when you were hurt?"
"I never needed that. When I was really badly hurt he picked a doctor he trusted." Roger realized too late what he had said. Darn! Well, maybe Mark wouldn't realize what he meant.
That made Mark's hackles prick up. Really badly hurt? "How many times did he take you to the doctor? Not counting me."
"Never needed to. You're the only doctor I ever saw."
Mark was thankful that the dark hid the tears welling in his eyes. He saw the breaks. They weren't the worst he'd seen, but because of their location, they would have been quite painful. He felt torn between wanting to kill the bastard who hurt Roger and hiding away with Roger so he would always be protected. "Did you know your arm was broken?" he asked. "Not just the time you came to see me, I mean."
Roger shook his head. "I never knew it," he said. "Sometimes I couldn't use my arm... he made a sort of splint for it and I got along that way," Roger explained. There were times when he needed medication to speak or when it hurt so much he woke up screaming... but he didn't know how to explain to Mark how sweet his boyfriend had been then.
At least the man had the brains to splint the arm. It was lucky that Roger didn't have permanent disfigurement from his untreated injuries. Then he realized he had only seen one arm on the X-rays. "Did you get hurt in other places, too? Your other arm or legs?"
Roger shook his head. "My arm, yes. But it's okay. It's working just fine now."
"It's 'fine' as you say, but not completely better. I noticed you're weaker on that side, which is normal after being in a cast, but we'll have to work on you getting your strength back." Mark hugged Roger again. "What else did he do to you?"
"Nothing! He didn't do anything unreasonable! There was sex and sometimes he got upset with me, but he tried to protect me! He knew when he was dangerous and he kept me safe."
"When was he dangerous?" Mark asked. He suspected that it had something to do with Roger's aversion to alcohol.
"He... uh... he had moods. Usually he knew in advance. Or just after something bad happened. But if he had been drinking, he didn't know and things weren't great."
"Is that when you got hurt?"
"Only when things were bad," Roger told him. "It didn't matter why."
Mark decided he needed to know what 'bad' meant for Roger. "Can you explain the bad times? How often were they? What did he do?" he asked gently. "I just want to understand."
"I'm not sure how often. It just... happened. He got violent. He would put me on the porch so I didn't get hurt."
"What do you mean by violent?"
Roger shrugged. "You know. Violent. Hitting, shoving, that kind of thing," he explained as best he could, not sure what else he could say.
"And the porch? Is it sheltered? Did he ever put you out in the cold without blankets?"
"It was... it was kind of sheltered. It was hard to stay dry when it rained, but there was a little table I could sit under."
Mark shook his head slightly. Roger didn't seem to understand that what he went through was, in fact, abuse. He wanted to protect him and help him heal. He had more than enough information now, but still wanted to give Roger a chance to talk. "Is there anything else you think I should know?"
Roger shook his head. "I think that's all," he said--and he honestly meant that. To him, there was nothing else, nothing wrong with what had gone on with his boyfriend. Things got out of hand, that was all.
Mark gathered Roger into his arms and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "You don't have to go through that again. I won't hurt you," he whispered.
to be continued!
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