Hey guys! I'm SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO sorry for lack of updates. I'm going through a dry spell in inspiration and my muse jumped out the window. But I think I got her back temporarily because she helped me write this wonderful chappie :) Enjoy the long-awaited Part 4:
I'm in a dirty alley; a dark one...The only light is from the small yellow light hanging up in the middle of the alley and from the cloudy skies. Mark and I are talking about something—I don't remember what about—but apparently it's an interesting and fun conversation because him and I laugh at least 2 or 3 times during the conversation.
Mark and I had just finished laughing about something when I first see them.
2 big, burly men, both with sneers on their faces. I don't have to be a genius to realize that these men are bad news. Mark seems to notice them too, and whispers, "Maybe we should go the other way."
Well, I know it's not the best idea to turn your back on the enemy, but all I really want to do is get Mark and me out of that alley before we get hurt. So against my instincts I turn around and begin to speed walk away, almost dragging Mark with me. I vaguely hear that the burly thugs are calling out to us, asking us where we were going and why were we leaving them un-entertained, but I ignore them.
I almost cheer in victory as we neared the exit, but just as we neared the light at the end of the tunnel, we met some more trouble…the trouble coming in a another burly man, sneering as he blocked the exit.
I hear Mark gulp beside me as we both back away from the newest thug. I begin to panic, knowing that we two couldn't handle three thugs, but I'm also determined to get through this alive...and hopefully intact.
My one regret later on was forgetting how scrawny and—though Mark would get pissed at me for saying so—helpless Mark was. At least against these guys. If I was with Collins, Benny and hell even Maureen, I'd be fine I knew…but with Mark it was a different story. He wouldn't hurt a fly if he could help it.
I forgot about that simple fact at the time…
That was something I'd pay for.
Mark suddenly grabbed us both to make us back to back as the three thugs drew nearer, and I felt myself shaking slightly; from both fear and adrenaline. "Be careful." I whispered low so only Mark could hear.
"You too." He whispered back, trying to look fearless but failing miserably.
"Well well, looky here boys. Two fags." One of the thugs laughed, eyeing us both as if we were a piece of meat.
"Leave us alone." Mark angrily hissed back with the slightest hint of a quiver.
Oh Mark...I mentally sighed, trying to eye all three thugs to try and detect if they were going to throw a punch and trying to find a way out at the same time.
"Oh, wow boys. The poor little scrawny queer is trying to protect his big-man queer." Another one of the thugs laughed, going into his pocket. I instantly tensed. He either has a gun or a switchblade in there, two things I don't want to see. I thought, clenching my two fists.
I vaguely realized as I stood there paralyzed that if this was happening two years ago when I was still a junkie, 2 main things would've been happening: 1) we wouldn't have stood a chance and 2) I would've been trying to kill these guys already. But like Mark would say: I'm acting quite uncharacteristically for me. I'm actually calm (for the most part) and thinking before I act...well, except for the fact that I'm just beginning to feel anger coursing through my veins and I honestly wanted to kill these guys for even daring to come up to us. And I also hoped that Mark was feeling the same way, or we're doomed.
"Look, we don't want any trouble. Hell, we don't have anything to steal." I said carefully, eyeing the two men in front of me. They just laughed at my attempt to get out of this unscathed.
"Everyone has something to steal..." one of the thugs drawls, eyeing the two of us. By the looks of things, he's the smarter one in this group. Of course, that doesn't mean much because it's quite obvious that none of these guys graduated high school, but still...3 burly men, 1 of them relatively smart...
We're so fuckingscrewed
I honestly don't know who threw the first punch, but quite suddenly all of us are in a brawl, something I wish we could've avoided. We're all just one big cloud full of exclamations, blood, violence and fists. I try to watch over Mark while I fight, but soon enough I lose my concentration to the first two guys who were double teaming me.
I don't know how long the fight lasts, but it feels like forever (though I bet it could've hardly lasted more than 20 minutes). Finally though, I was able to knock out both men (no easy feat let me tell yah) and I quickly start to twist and turn, looking for Mark and the smart mugger…
What I see makes me want to choke and kill anything and everything in my path.
Mark was crumpled on the floor of the alley, covered in blood and dirt. He looked unconscious or quite near it, and...the mugger was still beating him up. It looked like the smart mugger was going to beat Mark until he was a pulp, or at least within an inch of his life.
With an almost inhuman war cry (something I didn't realize had come from me until much later) and an adrenaline rush, I ran at the man and with all the strength left in me, I attempted to tackle the man to ground.
Something that fortunately worked.
The man was taken by surprise and fell to the cement with me on top of him, thankfully away from Mark, and before I could even contemplate on what type of torture I could inflict on the asshole, my fists were punching the mugger in the face as hard as they could. I needed to hurt the dude; hurt him as much as I knew Mark must be hurting. I kept punching and punching...and punching some more even when the impacts of my fists had finally knocked the sonofabitch out. My self-control was out the window, and I was too far gone to remember that Mark was near me, probably bleeding to death.
All that existed was my fists in the asshole beneath me…
... Until I heard someone croaking my name.
I looked up curiously, my fists slowing down the tiniest fraction. It was then that I remembered everything; where I was, who I was with, why I was punching the mugger beneath me...and I froze.
Mark...
"Roger?" Mark whispered again, looking terribly broken.
"Oh God...I'm here Mark!" I cried, running—and almost stumbling—over to my best friend. I fell to my knees beside my broken Mark, who definitely looked worse than before.
"Roger..." Mark sighed in relief, a small smile showing on his bloody face.
"Shh, shh buddy .I- I'm here. W-w-w-we're g-going to get you t-to a hospital, okay? But stay awake." I stutter sternly, taking my jacket off and looking for the most mortal wound.
There! On his ribs. A long bloody cut. I quickly place my jacket on his wound, earning a painful cry from Mark. I jump at the sound, but I don't take the jacket off of the wound. Instead I try to comfort Mark by rubbing his shoulder and whispering what I hope are comforting words. His cries cease, but a grimace stays on his face.
"There there...it's all gonna be okay. J-just hold on okay?" I whisper to him before looking around frantically for help. Nothing.
"H-help..." I cry out weakly, "Help!"
Nothing and no one. I feel as if nothing can get any worse... I had to fight off and knock out three guys, I have a bleeding friend beside me and no one to help me out...how could it get worse?
Mark suddenly coughs loudly and harshly, making me look down worriedly at him. I gasp in shock when I see blood smeared on his hands and on the corner of his mouth. His eyes are closed, as if in pain. I want desperately to take the pain away and save him, but I need help first.
"HELP!" I scream as loud as I can, which is loud because of my nights spent on the stage. I wait a couple of seconds before I scream for help again. Nothing.
Mark's stopped breathing now. I keep screaming for help almost hysterically, trying to wake up Mark and keep him that way. I shake him; I cry out his name once in awhile; I talk to him...nothing. He isn't waking up...
HE ISN'T WAKING UP!
"Mark! Mark! Mark!"—
"Roger! Wake up!"
"MARK!"
"ROGER!"
I gasp and sit up quickly.
I look around the waiting room almost hysterically, and it's only after I realize I'm not in the alley do I wipe my eyes to fully wake myself up. I feel wetness there, so it's obvious that I'm crying...weird, I've never cried because of a dream before.
This whole fucking thing is changing me so much I barely recognize myself.
After wiping my eyes thoroughly I look into the dark brown eyes of my waker and relax in the worried gaze of Maureen. Apparently they're back from their rest...and apparently I've been asleep for quite awhile.
"Rog? You okay now?" Maureen asked, looking concerned—an expression I wasn't used to seeing on her face and it was making me freak out.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Bad dream." I muttered roughly, my voice scratchy.
"Are you sure? You were shaking and crying and calling out for Mark."
Ah, that's why my voice is scratchy.
"I'm fine." I whisper, though it's far from the truth. All I really want to do right now is run up to Mark, wrap my arms around him and cry like a fucking baby.
God, if Mark doesn't die from this I'm going to break something in his body for making me feel this way.
"Okay pookie." Maureen shrugged, still looking slightly concerned.
"Don't call me that." I snapped as I fidgeted in my chair some more. God, it was just a dream, just a nightmare...
Well, more like a memory.
Everything in that dream was pure truth...except for the ending.
The ending of Mark dying and me doing nothing about it...that's pure fiction that my hurtful mind came up with.
In my real memory, everything right up to me calling for help the first time was truth...thankfully in real life someone had come seconds after I first called out for help and within minutes an ambulance was taking Mark to the hospital. He was saved in time, and in the end all he got was a broken rib and nose, 2 bruised ribs, 2 blood transfusions and many bruises and cuts. Thankfully he was out of the hospital within six days.
The ending of the fucking nightmare probably came from the helplessness I felt when I was trying to save my best friend.
I used to have this same dream over and over again within the first couple of weeks of Mark's recovery. It would wake me up screaming for Mark most nights. I freaked Mimi out a good couple of times. Once Mimi even called in Collins and Mark himself. That one was a sleepless night for everyone. It was one of the many times that the whole group gathered to help out one in need, like when Mimi went missing or when Angel was dying.
I shook my head of those thoughts as I looked around the waiting room. I had totally forgotten for a second that we were in a very crowded hospital and not in an essentially empty loft. I sighed sadly as I straightened up and wiped any remaining tears that clung to my cheeks, hoping that maybe, just maybe, no one had noticed.
But by looking at the concerned faces of Collins, Maureen and Joanne, I knew that that couldn't have happened even if I prayed for hours.
"Where's Mimi?" I asked, hoping to distract them.
"She had to go to work. The Café called just before we were preparing to visit. She tried to get off of it but it didn't work out so well—" Joanne stated.
"It got really ugly, so I ended up stealing the phone away from Mimi and yelling at her boss." Maureen said brightly and seemingly proudly.
"Then I stole it from Maureen and talked politely and calmly to Mimi's boss. In the end I was able to sell a story so good that he offered Mimi a raise if she went in today." Joanne said proudly.
"An offer she just couldn't resist. I mean, think of how much glittery make-up she could buy with that raise!" Maureen cried dreamily.
…I wasn't really listening to a word either woman was saying.
All I caught was that Mimi was at work and had gotten a raise. What I was really thinking about was where Mark could possibly be and how he was doing.
Was he impressing the doctors with how fast he's healing? Are his sky blue eyes opening to see a bunch of smiling doctors, who were telling him that he was going to be just fine? Is his skin mending, his bones healing, his blood flowing?
…Or were the doctors trying to revive him? Were they yelling "Clear!" as they pumped his chest and tried to breathe life back into him? Were they placing a white sheet over his closed eyes? Were they putting his body in a body bag and rolling him away?
"…Roger?"
I looked up and saw Joanne looking worried and confused.
Shit. I dazed out.
"…Yeah?"
"Um…Are you okay?"
"…Yeah." I whispered, running my fingers through my hair distractedly and straightening out, desperately trying to forget the image of Mark being wheeled away in a body bag.
"Are you—"
"Will you guys fu—"I started to yell, beginning to get up from my chair. I was officially tired of people asking if I was okay, while they should be asking how Mark fucking is because he was the fucking one to—
I suddenly doubled over as I felt the breath rush out of me. I attempted to piece together what happened as I clutched to my throbbing ribs. As I gasped desperately for air, I realized quickly by the way Collins was letting his arm drop that it was quite obvious that he had lifted his bloody elbow to hit me! I tried to get enough air to yell at Collins, but before I could the man I desperately wanted to see right now came strolling into the room…
CLIFFHANGER! DUH DUH DUH! …
….-*cough cough*
*breaths in*
-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
Ok, I'm done :) lease R&R and please be patient with me! I hit serious writer's block, but I'm back, and I'd appreciate it if you guys wait a little longer for the last couple of chapters…
BTW, thanks to everyone who has stuck with me for this story :) Your support is appreciated soooooo much!